.dt Making His Mark, by Alger, Horatio, Jr.--A Project Gutenberg eBook
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HE TOOK HIM IN HIS ARMS
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MAKING HIS MARK
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BY
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HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
Author of “The Odds Against Him,”
“The Young Boatman,” etc.
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ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT L. MASON
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THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA MCMIII
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Copyright 1901 by The Penn Publishing Company
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CONTENTS
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I | #An Unpleasant Talk:ch01#
II | #Mr. Tubbs, the Grocer:ch02#
III | #Mrs. Lane’s Disappointment:ch03#
IV | #The Lost Letter:ch04#
V | #Abel Arrives in Portville:ch05#
VI | #The Son and Heir:ch06#
VII | #A Plebeian Relative:ch07#
VIII | #A Cold Reception:ch08#
IX | #A Lucky Rescue:ch09#
X | #Gerald Finds a Sympathizing Friend:ch10#
XI | #The Burglar’s Defeat:ch11#
XII | #A Grocer’s Clerk:ch12#
XIII | #An Artful Trick:ch13#
XIV | #A Crisis:ch14#
XV | #A Strange Proposal:ch15#
XVI | #Mrs. Lane’s Surprise:ch16#
XVII | #Gerald Leaves Portville:ch17#
XVIII | #A New Acquaintance:ch18#
XIX | #A Bold Robbery:ch19#
XX | #A Letter from Portville:ch20#
XXI | #A Mining Settlement in Montana:ch21#
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XXII | #The Tables are Turned:ch22#
XXIII | #New Arrangements:ch23#
XXIV | #A New Home:ch24#
XXV | #A Perilous Ride:ch25#
XXVI | #Saul Gridley Seeks Revenge:ch26#
XXVII | #Saul Gridley’s Unpleasant Surprise:ch27#
XXVIII | #A Trip on Horseback:ch28#
XXIX | #Nero:ch29#
XXX | #The Circus:ch30#
XXXI | #Ransom:ch31#
XXXII | #Imprisoned:ch32#
XXXIII | #Rescued:ch33#
XXXIV | #A Deed of Gift:ch34#
XXXV | #John Graves Reappears:ch35#
XXXVI | #Mrs. Lane’s Discomfiture:ch36#
XXXVII | #Conclusion:ch37#
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MAKING HIS MARK
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CHAPTER I || AN UNPLEASANT TALK
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Gerald Lane rose from the breakfast table
and was about to leave the room, when his
stepmother addressed him:
“Stop a minute, Gerald, I have something to
say to you.”
Mrs. Lane was a thin woman, rather above the
usual height, with a prominent nose and thin
lips. It was easy to see that she was not
Gerald’s mother. He was a strong, well-made
boy, with red cheeks and a pleasant face, but
his expression at this moment was grave and
sad.
He paused and looked inquiringly at his stepmother.
“Sit down,” she said, “I have considerable to
say to you.”
Gerald drew a chair from the table and seated
himself.
“Your father’s sad death,” began Mrs. Lane,
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“will, of course, make a difference in the family
arrangements.”
“It makes a great difference to me,” said
Gerald, bitterly. “I am disinherited and I have
no prospects.”
“Ahem! I hope you don’t reproach your
father so soon after his death. It is unbecoming
to say the least.”
“I don’t reproach him, but I can’t understand
why he should leave all his property to you,
and nothing to me.”
“That statement is misleading.”
“Isn’t it true?”
“Yes, he has shown his confidence in me
sufficiently to leave the property in my hands,
but he commends you to my care. Therefore,
you cannot be said to be disinherited.”
“I am left dependent upon you,” said Gerald,
with a tinge of bitterness in his voice.
“So you were dependent upon him.”
“That was different. He was my father.”
“And I am your mother.”
“My stepmother.”
“At any rate, I was your father’s wife, and I
am ready to do my duty by you. I have been
carefully considering what was my duty, and I
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have asked you to stop after breakfast in order
to talk over my plans for you.”
“I am listening.”
“I think I shall withdraw you from the academy,
as under present circumstances it would
be impossible to send you to college, and you
already have a good education.”
“Why impossible?”
“It would be very expensive.”
“My father intended to send me to college.”
“That may be, but he was earning an income
apart from his property, and I am not.”
“What is your plan for me, then?”
“I think it will be well for you to go to work
at once.”
“Mrs. Lane, will you allow me to say a word?”
“Go on,” she said coldly.
“I have reason to think that my father left
a good deal of property. I have heard it estimated
at fifty thousand dollars.”
“Property is almost always very much over-estimated.”
“Call it thirty thousand, then. If I go to
Bowdoin, my father’s college, I will get through
for fifteen hundred dollars, probably.”
“That’s a good deal of money.”
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“Not when spread over four years. I shall
be ready to enter next fall.”
“In the four years you were at college you
might work up to a good income.”
“Perhaps so. If I were a poor boy, that
would be a consideration.”
“It is a consideration now.”
“Then you have made up your mind to deny
me the education my father intended me to
enjoy. Will you tell me what plans you have
formed for me?”
“I don’t like your tone, Gerald; you are too
independent and are scarcely respectful. However,
I will answer your question. Mr. Tubbs,
the grocer, needs a boy to tend in his store and
to help keep his books. You have studied
book-keeping, I believe?”
“Yes,” answered Gerald, eying his stepmother,
intently.
“He will take you and pay you three dollars
a week. You can stay at home, and I will
allow you half your salary, but I shall expect
you to buy your own clothing.”
“Out of a dollar and a half a week?”
“Yes; I look upon that as a very fair income.
One dollar a week will suffice for your
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clothes, and you will have fifty cents for spending
money.”
Gerald’s face flushed. At this rate he would
derive very slight advantage from the handsome
property his father left behind him.
“Do you think, Mrs. Lane,” he said, “that in
making this arrangement you are carrying out
my father’s wishes?”
“Probably I am as well qualified to judge on
that point as you,” said Mrs. Lane, stiffly.
“When do you wish me to leave school?”
asked Gerald, after a pause.
“Mr. Tubbs wishes you to begin work a week
from next Monday. You can go to school another
week, if you wish.”
“I shall not care to do so. I shall want a
week to think over the change in my life.”
“Just as you please.”
“Have you anything more to say to me?”
asked Gerald rising.
“Yes.”
To Gerald’s surprise his stepmother’s manner
changed, and she seemed nervous and no longer
cool and self-possessed.
“Very well.”
“I am about to tell you something that may
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surprise you, though it was, of course, known
to your father.”
Gerald’s curiosity was excited. It must be
something of importance, or Mrs. Lane’s self-possession
would not be disturbed.
“Probably you are aware that when I married
your father I was a widow.”
“I have heard so.”
“But you did not know that I have a son
about your own age?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” returned Gerald,
his face showing his amazement. “Why have I
never seen the boy? Why did you not bring
him here?” he asked.
“Your father thought it was not best. He
thought you and Abel might not agree.”
“Am I so difficult to get along with, then?”
“Ahem! You are very independent and
self-opinioned.”
“And Abel?”
“He has quite a proper pride. You would
probably have made him feel that he was in an
inferior position, and then there would have
been trouble.”
“Still I don’t see why his existence should
have been concealed from me?”
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“Your father thought it best.”
Gerald eyed his stepmother thoughtfully.
Was this true—this statement of hers? Not
about the boy’s existence—he had no doubt of
that—but as to his father’s being in the plot to
keep it secret.
“Where, then, is Abel, since he has never
been here?” he asked.
“He has been at a boarding-school, fifty miles
away, in the town of Fulton. I am expecting
him here to-night.”
“So the secret is out!” thought Gerald.
“But is there not the same objection as before?”
he asked. “Perhaps we may not
agree.”
“The circumstances are changed. He will
no longer be in an inferior position.”
“I don’t understand.”
“As my son, he will take precedence of you,”
said Mrs. Lane, with a triumphant smile.
“But the money belonged to my father.”
“It belongs to me, now,” said his stepmother,
sharply.
Gerald was thunderstruck. It was not enough
that his stepmother should appropriate the property
which he felt ought properly to be his,
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but this unknown boy whom he had not yet
seen, and of whose existence he thought it not
improbable that his father had been ignorant,
was to be invested with a right superior to his
own. He remained silent for a moment. Then
he said:
“I hope Abel and I will be friends.”
“It will be wise for you to treat him well,”
said his stepmother.
“When do you expect him here?”
“Some time this afternoon.”
“Have you any more to say to me?”
“Not at present.”
Gerald rose slowly and left the house. He
felt crushed and humiliated. He felt that his
stepmother had the upper hand. He remembered
well the day, only two years before, when
Mrs. Ruth Tyler entered their home as his
father’s wife. She had come to Portville and
opened a milliner’s shop on a very small scale.
She attended the same church as his father, and
in a short time managed to make his acquaintance.
She consulted him on business matters,
and exerted herself to please him. Finally,
marriage followed. During his father’s life
Gerald had no fault to find with her treatment
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of him, but since the funeral she had thrown
off the mask. Gerald could only think of her
as one who had defrauded him of his rightful
inheritance.
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CHAPTER II || MR. TUBBS, THE GROCER
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Gerald was so disturbed by the communication
which his stepmother had made that he walked
at random, hardly knowing in what direction he
was going. Before he was well aware of it, he
found himself passing the grocery store in which,
according to Mrs. Lane’s plans, he was to find
employment. Raising his eyes he saw Mr.
Tubbs standing in the doorway.
The grocer was a short, stout man, not over
five feet four inches in height and weighing
well on to two hundred pounds. His features
relaxed into a smile as he recognized Gerald.
“Come here, Gerald,” he said.
Gerald paused, and as he looked into the
grocery store with its sanded floor, barrels
of flour, and boxes of potatoes, with the dried
codfish hanging against the wall, his heart sank
within him. He was not afraid of work, but to
work in such a place and with such surroundings
seemed to him dismal indeed.
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“Then you are coming to work for me?”
said Mr. Tubbs smiling broadly. “Hasn’t your
mother told you?”
“My stepmother mentioned it this morning,”
said Gerald, gravely.
“We made the bargain last week. You’ll
get good pay, too. Three dollars a week. I
never paid so much before, but I expect you
will earn it. You look like a good, strong
boy.”
“Yes, I am strong,” said Gerald, briefly.
“And you are willing to work, I suppose?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Tubbs. Mrs. Lane had
no right to make a bargain for me. My father
always intended that I should go to college.”
“That would cost a sight of money, Gerald.
Here you would learn business. In a few years
you may be earning ten dollars a week.”
He spoke as if this were a very large sum.
“I am not afraid to work, Mr. Tubbs, but
I don’t think I shall like the grocery business.”
“Pooh, pooh! a boy like you doesn’t know
what he would like. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen? Why, at sixteen I could lift a
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barrel of flour. I worked well, if I do say it
myself. I only got two dollars a week in this
very store, and now it’s my own.”
He looked around him with an air of pride.
His highest ambition was realized in the possession
of a grocery store.
“What do you say to that?”
“You have done well, Mr. Tubbs.”
“Haven’t I? And you can do as well.
Why, in five years if your mother will advance
a little money, I may give you an interest in
the business.”
Gerald did not reply. His heart was sore,
and he felt that life had few attractions for him
if it was to be passed here.
“Are you going to school now?”
“I have been.”
“Your mother told me you might come here
a week from Monday, but I’d like to have you
come a week earlier, if you can as well as
not.”
“No, I will wait,” said Gerald, hastily.
“Well, just as you like, but if you’ll come in
evenings so as to get a little used to the work,
I’ll give you—say, seventy-five cents for a
week.”
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“I think you will have to excuse me, Mr.
Tubbs.”
“Oh, well, I won’t insist upon it,” said the
grocer, half dissatisfied.
It was Saturday, the weekly school holiday.
To-day, at least, Gerald was free. He decided
to walk to Crescent Pond and go out in his
boat. He had a small dory there, which his
father had given him on his last birthday. On
the way he passed a small cottage belonging to
his father’s estate. It was tenanted by a widow
named Holman. Her son, John, had been one
of his schoolmates but was now employed in
a shoe shop.
John was sitting on a wheelbarrow in the yard.
“Come and have a row, John,” said Gerald,
“that is, if you are not working to-day.”
“No, the shop is shut down for a fortnight,”
said John, soberly. “It is likely to be a bad job
for us.”
“How is that?”
“Our rent was due yesterday, and we can’t
pay it.”
“But this is one of father’s houses.”
“Yes; if your father was alive there would
be no trouble.”
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“Have you had any notice to pay?” asked
Gerald, quickly.
“Your stepmother says that if the rent is not
paid on Monday we must turn out.”
“Surely she would not be so inhuman.”
“That is exactly what she said when mother
went to the house yesterday afternoon. My being
out of work made no difference to her. I
wish the house was yours, Gerald.”
“Nothing seems to be mine, John,” said Gerald,
gravely. “Mrs. Lane told me this morning
that I must leave school and go to work.”
“What a shame! How could your father
leave you in the power of such a woman?”
“I can’t tell, John. That is what puzzles me.
But how much is the rent?”
“Six dollars.”
“Have you got anything toward it?”
“No. What money we have must go toward
food.”
“Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I have some
money in the savings bank. I’ll go and draw
out six dollars and lend it to you, but you mustn’t
let Mrs. Lane know where it came from.”
“You are awfully kind, Gerald; but I don’t
think we ought to accept your offer.”
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“Why not? The money is mine.”
“Your stepmother might object.”
“I don’t think she knows that I have any
money in the bank; besides, it has always been
mine to do what I pleased with. Father never
interfered with it at any time.”
“Still, as you have no money left to you, you
may need it.”
Gerald admitted to himself that this might
very probably be true, but he felt that Mrs.
Holman needed the money more than he did.
“We won’t worry about the future,” he said.
“At present you need the money and I don’t.”
“I am afraid I shall have to accept the money
for mother’s sake.”
“That is right, John; come with me and I’ll
get it out.”
The savings bank was a small building on
the main street. It was scarcely a quarter of a
mile distant, and the two boys were soon inside.
Gerald made out a check at a small table
near the door and presented it to the paying
teller. Gerald was a favorite with the bank
officer, who said to him jocosely:
“What are you drawing this money for? Are
you going to get married?”
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“Not just yet, Mr. Barton, I am afraid my
account isn’t large enough for that.”
“It wouldn’t last long, I am afraid, if you
wanted it for that purpose. How will you have
it?”
“It doesn’t matter. A five and a one will
do.”
“Here it is.”
Gerald took the bills and went out into the
street.
“Here, John, take the money,” he said, “I
am glad it will help you.”
“It will relieve us very much. Mother has
been worrying a good deal over our trouble. She
didn’t know where to go.”
Now it happened that Mrs. Lane, who was
walking on the opposite side of the street, saw
the two boys coming out of the bank. Her curiosity
was aroused, and unseen by Gerald, she
crossed over and entered the savings bank.
“Mr. Barton,” she said, “didn’t I see Gerald
come out of the bank just now with the Holman
boy?”
“Yes, Mrs. Lane.”
“What did he come in for?”
Mr. Barton had never liked Mrs. Lane, and he
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wasn’t pleased with her somewhat peremptory
tone.
“He came on business connected with the
bank,” he said briefly.
“Oh, he did, did he? What business can he
have here?”
“You had better ask him.”
Mrs. Lane was provoked, but she saw that
she could not browbeat the bank officer.
“Mr. Barton,” she said, “has Gerald any
money in this bank?”
“Yes.”
“Did he draw any this morning?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t answer such questions in regard to
our depositors.”
“Has he any left here?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t let him draw any more out—do
you hear?—without communicating with me.”
“Mrs. Lane, this deposit is in Gerald’s name
and has always been under his control. His
father never interfered with it, nor have you
any right to do so.”
“Gerald Lane is my stepson. It is my duty
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to see that he doesn’t waste his money, do you
hear?”
“Whenever Gerald presents a draft, I shall
honor it, do you hear?” retorted the cashier.
Mrs. Lane’s face became red with anger.
“You are very impolite,” she said.
“So are you, Mrs. Lane. You did not even
know that Gerald had an account here, and as
his father did not interfere with it, I fail to see
why you should. Good morning, madam!”
Mrs. Lane left the bank in a passion. She was
not used to being thwarted and she would have
had Mr. Barton discharged from his post if she
could have had her way.
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CHAPTER III || MRS. LANE’S DISAPPOINTMENT
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Half an hour later the two boys were passing
the savings bank, when Mr. Barton espied
them.
Leaving his place, he went to the door and
called them.
“I have a word to say to you, Gerald,” he
said. “Does your stepmother know that you
have a deposit in our bank?”
“Not that I know of. It is nothing to her,
anyway, as my father put the money here under
my name, and it was left to my control.”
“Precisely; but I have to tell you that Mrs.
Lane does know you have money here.”
“How did she find out?” asked Gerald,
amazed.
“She saw you go out of the bank and, suspecting
something, came in and inquired.”
“Well?”
“Of course I told her that you had an account
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here. Then she forbade me to let you
draw any of it.”
“And you agreed to it?”
“No, I told her the money was under your
control.”
“Thank you. What did she say then?”
“She asked how much money you had here;
I declined to inform her.”
“Mr. Barton, you are a true friend.”
“I don’t mind telling you, Gerald, that I
don’t like your stepmother, and that I do like
you.”
“I am afraid there will be trouble. What
do you advise me to do?”
“To draw out all your money except one
dollar. Our rules will admit of that.”
“But what shall I do with it? If I keep it
at home she may get hold of it.”
“Put it in the hands of some friend you can
trust.”
“Will you take charge of it for me?”
“Yes, Gerald, if you think you can trust me,”
said Mr. Barton, with a smile.
“There is no one I would trust with more
confidence.”
“Then draw a check for forty-three dollars.
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That, together with the six dollars you have already
drawn, will leave one dollar in the bank.”
“Good! I will do it.”
Gerald made out a check for forty-three
dollars, and, when received, handed the money
to Mr. Barton, who gave him a memorandum
of it.
“Keep this from your stepmother,” he suggested,
“or she will ask me for it.”
“Won’t you keep the memorandum yourself,
Mr. Barton?”
“But that would be hardly businesslike.”
“Never mind that. I have perfect confidence
in you.”
“Very well, since you have confidence in me,
I will put it in my tin box at home, and if anything
should happen to me it will secure you.”
“Well, I am glad that is off my mind,” said
Gerald; “I think I have checkmated Mrs.
Lane.”
“It must be disagreeable to find it necessary
to take such extreme precautions.”
“It is, but I must submit to it.”
“You told me you were going to work, Gerald,”
said John, suddenly. “Have you engaged
any place?”
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“No, but Mrs. Lane has made an arrangement
for me with Mr. Tubbs, the grocer.”
“You don’t mean it? You work in a grocery!”
“It is respectable, and I am not afraid of
work, but it will be very disagreeable.”
“I can tell you it will be. I once worked for
old Tubbs myself.”
“How did you like it?”
“Not at all. I had to work twelve hours a
day, and received but two dollars and a half a
week.”
“I am to have the munificent sum of three
dollars. Evidently Mr. Tubbs thinks that very
liberal. He tells me that by the time I am
twenty-one I may be getting ten dollars a week,
and if my stepmother will advance a thousand
dollars he may sell me an interest in the business.”
“What a shame!”
“That I should have an interest in the business?”
asked Gerald, with a smile.
“No, but that a boy of your scholarship
should tend in a grocery, and for such a sum.
Why, I earn six dollars a week as a pegger.”
“I should rather work in your shop than in
the grocery.”
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“But there is no vacancy. That, too, would
be unfit for you. Why, you know Latin and
French, don’t you?”
“I have studied them. If Mr. Tubbs has
any Latin or French customers I may be able
to wait on them.”
“I am glad you can joke about it, Gerald.”
“I don’t feel much like joking, I assure you.”
About twelve o’clock Gerald turned his steps
in the direction of home, though, since his
father’s death, it no longer seemed to him like
home. Dinner would be on the table at half-past
twelve, and he always aimed to be punctual.
Mrs. Lane took her place at the table, stiff
and rigid as usual. She had not forgotten the
savings bank deposit of Gerald, and had made
up her mind to get it under her control.
Mrs. Lane did not immediately introduce the
subject, but when the dessert came on she said:
“I saw you coming out of the savings bank this
morning.”
“Now for it!” thought Gerald.
“Yes,” he said, in brief assent.
“How long have you had an account there?”
“About two years.”
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“Did you withdraw any money this morning?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“You must excuse me, Mrs. Lane, but that is
my own private business.”
“You are quite mistaken. You are my stepson,
and you are under my guardianship.”
“I suppose, then, you have charge of my
property. Let me know how much it is.”
Mrs. Lane winced.
“You have no property,” she said, coldly,
“except what money you may have in the savings
bank.”
“Then I am to understand that none of the
property belonging to my father comes to me.”
“You will receive a certain advantage from it.
Your home is in this house, and the dinner you
are eating is provided with your father’s money.”
“Yet you want me to pay you half the
money I am to receive for work!”
“Yes; but if you are guided by my wishes,
I shall lay it aside for you, to be given to you
hereafter.”
“I am not prepared to say that I shall be
guided by your wishes.”
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“Do you positively refuse to tell me how
much money you have in the savings bank?”
“I do.”
“I require you to give me your bank-book. It
is proper that I should keep it.”
Gerald expected this.
“Mrs. Lane, ever since I had any money in
the bank, the book has been in my possession.
My father desired me to keep it.”
“Your father was foolishly indulgent.”
“I don’t think you are likely to be. Perhaps
you will tell me what you want of the book?”
“I want to prevent your withdrawing any
more money.”
“So I supposed, and that is the reason why I
decline to give you the book.”
“Very well; we will drop the subject for the
present. I trust that with time for reflection
you will take a different view of your duty.”
Gerald was surprised at his stepmother’s
change of front.
“She wants to put me off my guard,” he
decided. “She will search my room for the
book.”
As there was but a dollar to his credit now,
this didn’t disturb him particularly, nor did it
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prevent his going to his chamber and putting
the book into his trunk.
“I should like to be here when she finds it,”
he said to himself.
Gerald had promised to go out on the pond
in his boat, and John had agreed to go with
him. He stopped at his friend’s house on the
way, and John joined him.
Meanwhile Mrs. Lane waited till Gerald was
safely distant, and then with a look of expectation,
ascended the staircase to his room. She
had noticed that her stepson went up-stairs, and
thought it probable that he had put the book
away.
Gerald’s trunk was in one corner of the room.
It was locked, but this did not interpose any
obstacle. Mrs. Lane kneeled down in front of
it and took from her pocket a bunch of keys.
She did not immediately find one that fitted the
lock, but presently the right key turned up.
“Ha!” she said, triumphantly, as the key
turned in the lock and the lid was raised.
“Now, Master Gerald, we will see how much
money you have to your credit.”
The bank-book was just below the tray, and
no time was wasted in finding it.
.bn 032.png
She opened the book eagerly, and scanned
the entries. But her first elation was succeeded
by a look of anger and disappointment. Fifty
dollars was entered to Gerald’s credit, but his
drafts amounted to forty-nine. There was only
one dollar left.
“Two drafts this morning!” said Mrs. Lane,
angrily. “What has he done with the money?”
She searched the trunk carefully, hoping to
find somewhere a roll of bills, but as we know,
she was doomed to disappointment.
“He is sly,” she muttered; “but I will trap
him yet.”
She left the book in the tray, whereas it had
been placed underneath. When Gerald opened
his trunk, he discovered the change, and knew
that his trunk had been opened and examined
by his stepmother.
.bn 033.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
CHAPTER IV || THE LOST LETTER
.sp 2
Mrs. Lane’s early life had been embittered
by poverty, both before and after her first marriage.
It was for this reason she married Mr.
Lane, and for this reason also that she rejoiced
in the possession of his property. She meant
to make up for past privations by living liberally.
Already she contemplated a series of
journeys with her own son. As for Gerald, she
had always disliked him, having an instinctive
feeling that he distrusted and disliked her.
Mr. Lane’s property was, except the home
property, invested in stocks, bonds and bank
deposits, and the task of an executor was therefore
easy. She had lost no time, after her husband’s
death, in making an estimate of the value
of the estate. Almost daily she opened the tin
box of securities and looked them over. It was
a feast for her eyes.
After her failure with Gerald’s trunk she
.bn 034.png
gave a few minutes to this congenial task.
When it was over a look of pleasure lighted
up her face.
“Fifty thousand dollars!” she said to herself.
“That is, indeed, a windfall for one who,
till two years since, was compelled to subsist on
an income of less than twelve dollars a week.
The arrangements I have made for Gerald will
prevent his being much expense to me, and my
husband’s fortune will be under my own control.
Within a few hours my son—my dear
Abel—will be here, and there will be no further
need of concealing his existence. Had Mr.
Lane known that I had a son as old as his own
it is doubtful if he would have married me.
Well, it is all over now! And I shall have
Abel with me hereafter.”
From the bottom of the tin box she drew out
a folded paper. It was in Mr. Lane’s handwriting,
and was addressed “To the Executor.” It
ran thus: “There is a possible claim against
my estate, of which it is imperatively necessary
that I should speak. Five years since my old
friend and school-fellow, John Graves, on the
eve of his departure for Australia, placed in
my hands, for safekeeping, his entire fortune
.bn 035.png
amounting to thirty thousand dollars. His wife
had died; he had no heirs, and he had made up
his mind to take a long journey to occupy his
mind, and if possible assuage his grief. 'I may
never come back,’ he said, 'and in that case, old
friend, the money I leave with you becomes
yours. I could not leave it better than to my old
schoolmate and friend.’ I was touched by this
proof of his confidence in me and assumed the
trust. From time to time I heard of him, but
for two years no tidings have come of the
wanderer. Whether he is still living I cannot
tell. If dead, the property is mine. It will
more than double any estate I may leave; but
I cannot be certain. I sincerely hope that John
is still alive. Though two years have passed,
he is liable to return at any time and reclaim
the sum he placed in my hands. Should this
claim be made after my death, it will be the
sacred duty of my executor to give him back
his own. Even if he has lost the acknowledgment
I gave him, this property must be given
up on his proving his identity. There will still
be left of my own property a sum sufficient to
support those whom I leave behind me in modest
style.”
.bn 036.png
This was the paper, signed by Ernest Lane,
which Mrs. Lane read with frowning brow. It
was the one drop of bitterness in her cup.
“Thirty thousand dollars!” she reflected.
“Why, that would leave me only twenty thousand.
It would be insufficient to carry out my
plans. Probably this man Graves is dead; but
should he reappear it would be a terrible disappointment.
The money must and shall remain
in my possession! I will deny the claim
if it is ever made. But should this paper be
found—should it remain in evidence—this
would be impossible. Better destroy it. It
is the only safe way.”
She locked the box of papers and put it in
the safe. The important paper she was about
to take and dispose of when there was a cry of
terror in the kitchen. Laying the paper on the
table temporarily, she ran down-stairs to find
that a fierce dog had made his way into the
kitchen to the great alarm of the cook. Mrs.
Lane was no coward. She seized a broom, and
with well-directed blows drove the animal out.
Then she went up-stairs to destroy the message
from Mr. Lane.
It was gone!
.bn 037.png
In much perturbation, Mrs. Lane looked for
it. The window was open, and it might have
been blown out. With this idea in mind she
went out on the lawn and searched carefully,
but in vain; the missing paper was nowhere to
be found.
Mrs. Lane sank into a chair in dismay.
“What a fool I was not to take it with me!”
she said to herself. “I would have destroyed
it and no one would have been the wiser. Now,
should it fall into the hands of some third person
it may be used to my detriment.”
Again she hunted about the room, and
searched the lawn. It certainly was very mysterious.
She had been gone less than five minutes,
yet the paper had disappeared and there
was no trace of it.
“If some child found it he would probably
tear it up, and this would answer my purpose,”
she thought, “and all would be safe.”
She looked about, hoping to see some child
near at hand, but none was visible.
Toiling along the road at a little distance
was a man, whose outward appearance and
shabby habiliments proclaimed him a tramp.
Mrs. Lane’s glance fell upon him, but did not
.bn 038.png
connect him with the lost document. Yet it
could have been found in one of his inside
pockets, where he had carefully placed it.
This is the way it happened:
When Mrs. Lane left the room two windows
were open, making a draught through the room.
In a line between the windows was the table
on which she had placed the letter. Scarcely
had Mrs. Lane gone down-stairs when the wind,
in a frolicsome mood, lifted the paper and
wafted it through the front window on the
lawn outside. James Skerrett, the tramp, spied
it from the road, and it occurred to him that it
might be of some value. He entered the gate
and a few steps brought him to the paper. He
picked it up and put it in his pocket, not as yet
knowing what it was. It might, however, be
worth something, and it was on the chance of
this that he took it. He did not stop to examine
it lest he should be observed. Time
enough for that later. Indeed, he did not venture
upon this till he was a quarter of a mile
away.
Though a tramp, James Skerrett had received
a fair education, and was a man of some
intelligence. He was qualified to earn a good
.bn 039.png
living in some respectable position, but drink
was his enemy and was likely to be through
his life.
When he read the letter, he guessed correctly
that it was of importance.
“Will the woman give me anything for it if
I return it?” he asked himself.
It hardly seemed likely. It would be better
for her, perhaps, if it were destroyed. Besides,
he had seen her through the open window, and
her face had impressed him as that of a very
mean woman.
“She would be more likely to charge me
with stealing and threaten me with arrest,” he
thought. “What shall I do? Shall I keep it?
That would not pay me, as I may never come
this way again. If I could get some one to
take it and allow me even a dollar for it, it
would be better to get it off my hands at
once.”
This thought was strengthened by the knowledge
that his whole available stock of money
amounted to but seven cents. Lifting his eyes
casually, his glance rested on a sign over a
small office building on the opposite side of the
street.
.bn 040.png
This was the sign:
.fs 85%
.nf c
Enoch Perkins,
Attorney-at-Law
.nf-
.fs 100%
As a rule, the tramp avoided any person who
had any connection with the law, but he was
about to pose as a virtuous man returning lost
property. Again, a lawyer would know the
worth of the paper. At any rate he decided
to call upon him and open negotiations.
Mr. Perkins was sitting at his desk making
out a conveyance, when he heard a furtive step
at the door of his office.
Lifting his eyes, he noticed James Skerrett
opening the door, with an apologetic look upon
his face. Now, a client was always welcome,
for Mr. Perkins was a young man, and his business
was as yet limited. But the visitor did
not look like a client.
“What do you want, my man?” he asked,
rather gruffly.
“Are you a lawyer?”
“Yes; do you want me to make your will?”
asked Perkins, smiling.
“Well, no; not at present. I expect to live
a little longer.”
.bn 041.png
“Just so. Still, life is uncertain, and if you
should die suddenly your property might go
into the wrong hands.”
“That’s so, squire; but I guess there’s no
hurry about my will. I wanted to ask your
advice.”
“Exactly. I am ready to give it for a consideration.”
“Oh, you’re a sharp one!” said the tramp.
“But I’ll come to the point. I was walkin’ along
the street five minutes since, when I saw a folded
paper on the sidewalk. I picked it up and I’ll
show it to you, for I think the party that lost
it might be willin’ to pay me somethin’ for it.”
Enoch Perkins took the paper from his strange
client. As he unfolded and read it, he looked
surprised.
“Where did you pick this up?” he asked,
abruptly.
“A little way down the road.”
“Near a house with two elm trees in front?”
“Yes,” replied Skerrett, eagerly.
“I think I know the party that lost it. I will
take charge of it and return it to her.”
“All right, squire; but there may be a reward.”
.bn 042.png
“Exactly. Well, you ought to have some
thing for picking it up. Here’s a dollar.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Skerrett, taking the
bill with avidity.
“I suppose you are only passing through the
town?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t mention finding the paper; it might
annoy the lady who lost it.”
“Yes, sir; I’ll remember, sir.”
He left the office, and the lawyer said to himself:
“I will keep this letter. It may be worth a
good deal to me some time.”
.bn 043.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V || ABEL ARRIVES IN PORTVILLE
.sp 2
The train which reached Portville at four
o’clock was full, and half a dozen persons were
standing up. One seat, however, was not taken.
At a window sat a boy of sixteen—a sallow-complexioned
boy, with a face that was neither
good-looking nor amiable. On the seat beside
him was a valise.
“Is this seat taken?” asked a pale, tired-looking
woman, who had made her way up from the
other end of the car.
“Yes,” answered Abel, gruffly, for this was
the son of Mrs. Lane, now on his way to his
mother’s home.
The woman sighed, for she was in poor health
and very tired.
A man sitting just behind said, indignantly:
“No, madam, it is not taken. Remove your
valise, boy, and let the lady sit down.”
.bn 044.png
“I am expecting a friend to get in at the next
station,” said Abel, crossly.
“That makes no difference. This lady is here,
and is better entitled to a seat than a passenger
in the next town.”
“I don’t see what business it is of yours,”
said Abel, irritably.
He made no offer to remove the valise.
“Then I will show you.”
The gentleman took Abel’s bag and set it
down in the aisle.
“Now sit down, madam,” he said.
“Thank you, sir, but I don’t want to incommode
the young gentleman.”
“He has no right to feel incommoded. Take
the seat. It is your right.”
She sank into the seat with a sigh of
relief.
Abel felt and looked very indignant. He
was a boy who had always been accustomed to
consult his own comfort and convenience, and
he was vexed that he had been compelled to
yield in the present instance.
The woman coughed. She evidently had a
severe cold. Abel had opened the window, and
a strong east wind entered. It would have been
.bn 045.png
uncomfortable even to a person perfectly well,
but to one having a cough it was very trying.
“Would you mind putting down the window?”
she asked, timidly. “I have a terrible
cold.”
“I prefer it open,” said Abel, rudely.
The passenger behind was cognizant of all
that passed.
“Madam,” he said, “will you exchange seats
with me?”
She rose and took the rear seat while the gentleman
seated himself beside Abel. He was a
stout man, and filled more than half the seat.
Abel looked disgusted.
“Now, young man, close that window!” said
the stout man, in a tone of command.
Abel obeyed, but it was with great unwillingness.
He did not dare to do otherwise.
“It is very close,” he grumbled. “I like a
little air.”
“There is no other open window on this
side the car. If the others can stand it, you
can.”
“I wish people would mind their own business,”
grumbled Abel, peevishly.
“Look here, young man, if you give me any
.bn 046.png
more of your impudence I will give you a
thrashing!” said the stout man, sternly.
He looked quite capable of carrying out his
threat, and Abel, thoroughly cowed, relapsed
into silence.
At length they reached Portville, and Abel,
picking up his valise, stepped out of the car.
He looked about him on the platform, thinking
he might see his mother, but she was not
quite sure as to the train by which Abel would
come, and had not come to meet him.
Abel looked about and espied a boy rather
younger than himself. It was John Holman.
“Boy,” he said, “can you tell me where Mrs.
Lane lives?”
“The widow Lane?”
“Yes, she is a widow.”
“About half a mile away. You go up this
road and take two turns.”
“Oh, bother, why didn’t she come to meet
me? How can I find the way?”
“Come along with me. I am going that
way.”
“All right! Won’t you take my valise, too?
That’s a good fellow. I will pay you five
cents.”
.bn 047.png
“I will take it to oblige you. I won’t charge
you anything.”
“You’d better take the nickel. You look
like a poor boy.”
“I am not in any special need of five cents,”
said John, not pleased with the patronizing tone
of his new companion.
Abel was pleased, however, with the idea
of not having to pay for the service.
“Do you know Mrs. Lane?” asked Abel.
“Yes. Gerald Lane is my intimate friend.”
“Gerald? Oh, yes! that is Mr. Lane’s son.
What sort of a boy is he?”
“He is a tip-top boy. Everybody likes
him.”
“Humph! isn’t he rather independent?”
“Why shouldn’t he be? His family was one
of the most prominent in the village.”
“Ah, just so!” said Abel, complacently, for
he felt that this made his mother’s position the
stronger.
“I suppose you wonder who I am,” said
Abel, after a pause.
“I suppose you are a friend of the family.”
“I should say I was. I am Mrs. Lane’s son.”
This surprised John, for Gerald had neglected
.bn 048.png
to tell him the information he had only just obtained
himself.
“I never heard Gerald speak of you,” he said,
half incredulous.
“Gerald knew nothing about me.”
“How is that?”
“Mother and Mr. Lane thought it best not to
tell him.”
“But, of course, he will know now.”
“Certainly. I am going to live here.”
John made no comments, but he thought it
rather a strange state of things. However, they
had by this time reached the Lane residence,
and John, indicating it, gave the valise to
Abel.
From the window Mrs. Lane saw the arrival
of her son and opened the door for him. “Oh,
my darling boy!” she exclaimed, throwing her
arms about his neck. “So you have come home
at last!”
“Don’t choke me, mother,” said Abel, impatiently.
“It doesn’t look well to hug a fellow
in public.”
“I can’t help it, Abel. I am so delighted to
see you. Come right in and sit down. Are
you tired?”
.bn 049.png
“Rather. I say, mother, you are pretty well
fixed here.”
“Yes, Abel; you like the house, don’t you?”
“Yes; it is ever so much better than that
old, tumble-down house we lived in before you
came to Portville.”
“Hush! Don’t let any one hear you refer to
that.”
“Who is there to hear?”
“The servant might overhear you some day.
Besides, there is Gerald.”
“Where is he?”
“Out somewhere. He will be home to supper.”
“Did he get any of the property?”
“No, Abel; it is all mine.”
“Good. You played your cards pretty well.”
“Don’t express yourself in that coarse
way.”
“It’s true, though. Isn’t it rather strange
old Lane shut out his own son?”
“Don’t call him old Lane. It doesn’t sound
well.”
“I say, mother, how much does the property
amount to?”
“About fifty thousand dollars, Abel.”
.bn 050.png
“Well, mother, you have been smart. I suppose
you’ll settle half of it on me.”
“There is no occasion to talk of that. Of
course, when I die I shall leave all to you.”
“And none to Gerald?”
“Well, perhaps a little, just for appearance’
sake.”
“You needn’t leave him over a hundred dollars.
But I say, mother, you’ll give me a good
allowance, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will think of that.”
“Have you got a nice room for me?”
“Come up, and I will show you.”
On the second floor at the rear were two rooms—a
large square room and a hall bedroom beside
it.
“You will sleep in the small room to-night,
Abel.”
“But who has the large room?”
“It is occupied by Gerald.”
“That’s not fair. Why shouldn’t I have
it?”
“You shall have it after awhile. Gerald
has always occupied it, and he may make a
fuss.”
.bn 051.png
“Suppose he does. You ain’t afraid of him,
are you?”
“What a question! As if I should be
afraid of a boy who is wholly under my control.”
“I hope you will give me the room to-morrow.”
“I will see what can be done.”
“I was thinking what Mr. Lane would say if
he should see me here. He didn’t know you
had a son, did he?”
“No; I deemed it best to keep it from
him.”
“Perhaps if you had told him he might have
left me some of his money.”
“He left it to me, which amounts to the
same thing.”
“Not quite, unless you give me a large slice
right off. Have you told Gerald about me?”
“I told him this morning.”
“How did he take it?”
“He seemed surprised.”
“Did he think it strange he had not heard
of me?”
“Probably he did. I told him Mr. Lane
knew about you.”
.bn 052.png
“That’s all right.”
At this moment Mrs. Lane heard the front
door open.
“That’s Gerald,” she said. “Come down-stairs,
and I will introduce you.”
.bn 053.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI || THE SON AND HEIR
.sp 2
Gerald looked up as his stepmother appeared,
followed by Abel. He understood, of
course, that this was the son of whom Mrs.
Lane had spoken.
“Gerald,” said his stepmother, “this is my
son, Abel.”
“I am glad to see you, Abel,” said Gerald,
politely, holding out his hand.
Abel seemed undecided whether to take it or
not, but finally held out his own. He surveyed
Gerald disapprovingly. He could not help noticing,
with a feeling of envy, that Gerald was
superior to him in refinement and personal appearance.
“Have you ever been in Portville before?”
asked Gerald.
“No,” was Abel’s brief reply.
“I shall be glad to go about with you whenever
you like, and show you the village.”
.bn 054.png
“Abel is too tired to-day,” said Mrs. Lane, in
her usual cold tone of voice.
“No,” said Abel, unexpectedly; “I’ll go
along with you.”
“Be back in half an hour,” said Mrs. Lane.
“We shall have supper early this evening.”
“All right,” said Gerald.
“I believe you have been at boarding-school,”
said Gerald, as they left the house.
“Yes; it’s a beastly place.”
“Indeed? I never was in such a school, and
I don’t understand what it is like. What were
your objections to it?”
“The living was very poor.”
“Did you learn much? Did you have good
teachers?”
“Oh, I don’t care much about studying. It’s
all very well for poor boys. But I sha’n’t have
to earn my living—mother’ll take care of me.”
Gerald winced. He understood very well
that the money upon which Abel depended was,
or should have been, his own.
“I suppose you had sports?”
“Yes; the boys played baseball and other
things.”
“Do you like baseball?”
.bn 055.png
“Not much. I wanted to be captain of the
club, but the boys wouldn’t let me.”
“I hope you will like Portville. We have an
academy here. Perhaps you will attend.”
“Not just yet. I am tired of studying.”
“Do you like boating?”
“Yes, have you got a pond?”
“Yes, and I have a dory. I will take you out
on Monday, if you like.”
“You have a dory? Did my mother give it
to you?”
“No; it was given me by my father.”
“I shall ask mother to give me a sail-boat.”
“I would like one myself,” said Gerald.
“I don’t think she will give you one, but I
will let you go out with me sometimes,” said
Abel, in a patronizing tone, which Gerald did
not like.
“How did you find your way to the house?
Of course you didn’t know where it was, as you
never were in town before.”
“I got a poor boy to walk up with me and
carry my valise. I wonder my mother didn’t
send you down to meet me.”
“I would have gone with pleasure,” said
Gerald, politely.
.bn 056.png
“Are you going to school, or are you working?”
“I have been attending school.”
“What did you study?”
“Latin and French, besides English studies.”
Abel was surprised. He was a very ordinary
scholar, and had never studied any language
except his own.
“I shouldn’t think such studies would do
any good to a boy who has to work for a living.”
“Then I suppose you have not studied
them?”
“No.”
“My father intended me to enter college.”
“But you won’t go now?”
“I suppose not,” said Gerald, shortly.
Here they came upon two boys, who were
jumping in competition with each other.
One was John Holman, the other Munroe
Hill.
“Boys,” said Gerald, “this is Abel Tyler,
the son of Mrs. Lane.”
“Glad to see you,” said Munroe.
“I believe we have met before,” said John,
smiling.
.bn 057.png
“Yes; you took my valise to the house for
me.”
“Will you jump, Gerald?” asked Munroe.
“If you’ll promise not to outdo me,” said
Gerald.
“I shall try to do it,” said Munroe. “Will
you join?”
This question was addressed to Abel.
“Yes,” answered Abel.
He had legs unusually long for his size, and
thought he could outdo the others. Arrangements
were made, and John Holman started off.
He jumped seven feet on a standing jump. Abel
followed and beat his distance by three inches.
“How’s that?” he asked, complacently.
“Very fair,” said Gerald. “Now I will
try.”
His jump was seven feet four inches. Abel
frowned and looked displeased, and was even
more dissatisfied when Munroe jumped seven
feet six inches.
“You boys are fresh,” he said. “I am tired.
I have jumped seven feet nine inches when I
was in good condition.”
None of the three boys believed him, but
Munroe said, politely:
.bn 058.png
“We will try again some day when you can
do yourself justice. None of us can jump as
far as that.”
“Are you going to stay in Portville some
time?” he asked.
“Yes; I guess so. My mother says it will
take her some time to settle the estate.”
Gerald looked grave, remembering that it was
his father’s estate, and that his father’s death
appeared likely to make a great difference in
his position and prospects.
“After the estate is settled mother and I
may go to Europe,” continued Abel, complacently.
None of the boys made any comments, and
they soon separated.
“Who is this Munroe Hill?” asked Abel,
when he was left alone with Gerald.
“His father is a lawyer.”
“Is he well off?”
“I presume so. He lives in a nice house.”
“And John Holman?”
“He works in a shoe shop. His father is
dead, and he has to help support the family.”
“I thought he was poor. Did you notice
that his pants were patched?”
.bn 059.png
“Yes,” said Gerald, gravely; “the poor fellow
hasn’t much money to spend on clothing.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“Yes,” replied Gerald, warmly; “he is a capital
fellow.”
“Humph! I sha’n’t care to associate with
him. Mother likes to have me particular.”
“Do you think he is any the worse for his
poor clothes?”
“Of course he isn’t a gentleman.”
“You and I have a different idea as to what
constitutes a gentleman.”
The time was when Abel had not been able
to dress much better than John Holman; but,
as this was unknown to Gerald, he posed as one
who was “born in the purple.”
“I shall try to get better acquainted with
Munroe,” proceeded Abel. “He seems like a
gentleman.”
“Everybody likes him; but he is also a friend
of John Holman.”
“It seems to me that society is rather mixed
here.”
“We don’t judge each other by clothes or a
good bank account,” said Gerald, manfully.
.bn 060.png
“I do. I prefer to associate with those who
are in my own social position.”
“Abel appears to be a snob,” thought Gerald.
“I am sure I sha’n’t like him.”
On their way through the village they passed
a drug-store.
“I suppose no soda water is to be had in a
town like this,” said Abel, with a quiet smile.
“Yes; we can get some in the drug-store.
If you will come in I shall be glad to offer you
some.”
“I don’t mind,” replied Abel, who seldom
declined a treat.
They entered the store and were speedily
supplied. Gerald drew a dollar bill from his
vest-pocket and paid the bill.
“I wonder how much money he carries round
with him?” thought Abel. “I must ask
mother.”
“Now I guess we’ll go home. I feel tired
after my journey.”
“Very well.”
“Where did you go?” asked Mrs. Lane,
when they re-entered the house.
“I took Abel round the village, Mrs.
Lane.”
.bn 061.png
“And what do you think of it, Abel?” asked
his mother.
“Oh, it’ll do; but I’d rather live in the city.”
“The city would naturally be more attractive
to a young person. You prefer it to Fulton, I
hope?”
“Yes; I hope I shall never go back there. I
hate boarding-school.”
“I hope you don’t hate study. At your age
you can hardly have a sufficient education.
There is a good academy here. I should like
to have you attend next term.”
“Perhaps I will,” said Abel, vaguely; “but
I want to rest a while.”
When Gerald left the room he said:
“Gerald treated me to some soda water.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, and he took out a dollar bill to pay
for it. Do you allow him much money?”
“No; he won’t have as much as you.”
“I should hope not. He’s only your stepson.”
“I am quite aware of that, and so is he.”
“Does he attend the academy?”
“He has been doing so; but I have decided
to withdraw him and put him to work.”
.bn 062.png
“Where? In a shoe shop?”
“No. Mr. Tubbs, a grocer in the village, has
agreed to take him.”
“That’s a good arrangement. He hasn’t any
money, and ought to work for a living like that
Holman boy I met.”
“Did you meet John Holman?”
“Yes. Who is he?”
“His mother is one of my tenants; but if she
doesn’t pay a month’s rent on Monday I shall
turn her out.”
“That’s right, mother. Business is business.
I wish I were going to sleep in that large room
to-night.”
“You shall go into it to-morrow.”
“I expect Gerald will make a fuss,” chuckled
Abel.
“No doubt he will.”
“But you won’t give in to him, will you,
mother? You won’t forget that I am to have
the best of everything?”
“Yes, my darling; I will see that you are
well provided for,” said Mrs. Lane, fondly.
.bn 063.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII || A PLEBEIAN RELATIVE
.sp 2
On Sunday the family attended church.
Many curious glances were fixed on the Lane’s
pew, and there was a general wonder who the
new boy was. Abel was not at all troubled by
this scrutiny, but held up his head and assumed
airs of importance.
“Who is that new boy, Gerald?” asked
Harry Lovell.
“It is Abel Tyler—Mrs. Lane’s son.”
“I never knew she had a son.”
“Nor did I till lately.”
“Is he going to live here?”
“I suppose so.”
“I don’t think I shall like him.”
“Why not?” Gerald asked.
“He looks disagreeable. Do you like him?”
“I haven’t made up my mind. He only came
yesterday. We must give him a chance.”
.bn 064.png
Toward evening Mrs. Lane said:
“Gerald, I am going to transfer you to the
small room, and give your present room to
Abel.”
Gerald had a good temper ordinarily, but his
eyes flashed with indignation.
“Why is this, Mrs. Lane?” he demanded.
“I don’t acknowledge your right to question
or criticise my arrangements,” said his stepmother,
coldly.
“Mrs. Lane, that room has always been mine.
My father gave it to me when I was eight years
old, and I have occupied it ever since. Abel is
a stranger in the house. Why should my room
be given to him?”
“When your father was alive he made such
arrangements as he chose for you. He is dead,
and his authority has descended to me.”
“There is no justice in this change,” said Gerald,
bitterly, for he was attached to his chamber,
and it was endeared to him by many associations.
“I don’t want to hear any more on the subject,”
said Mrs. Lane, decisively. “I have
made the change for good and sufficient reasons
and nothing that you can say will alter my plan.”
.bn 065.png
“That’s right, ma,” put in Abel. “Of course
it is for you to say. I wouldn’t stand any impudence.”
“Nor will I,” retorted Gerald, and he looked
so fierce and determined that Abel shrank back
in momentary fear of an attack.
“Enough of this,” said Mrs. Lane, coldly.
“Gerald, you will find that your trunk and
clothing have been carried into the small room.
You will get used to it in time.”
“If this injustice continues,” Gerald said to
himself, “I may decide to leave my old home
and strike out for myself.”
He resolved, however, not to act hastily, but
for the present to accommodate himself to the
new arrangements. It was hard to bear Abel’s
triumphant glance as he walked into the larger
room, which had so long been his own.
During the week following Gerald did not
attend school. If, as seemed likely, a long
season of hard work lay before him, he would
have a preliminary vacation. A good deal of
his time he spent in his dory, as he was very
fond of the water and was a skilful oarsman.
Two or three times Abel accompanied him and
showed an ambition to use the oars; but, not
.bn 066.png
being accustomed to rowing, he one day upset
the boat, and might have been drowned but for
the timely assistance rendered by Gerald. This
seemed to disgust him with the water, and he
gave up the idea of asking his mother for a sail-boat.
Gerald was not sorry to lose his company,
especially as his place was frequently
taken by John Holman, who was now back
again in the shoe shop, but only working on
half-time.
One afternoon, after leaving the boat, Gerald
was on his way home when he was accosted
by a stranger—a stout, muscular man, roughly
dressed, who looked like a laboring man.
“Are you acquainted hereabout, young
man?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I have a sister living here somewhere, but
as I have never been in Portville before I don’t
know where to find her.”
“Perhaps I can direct you,” said Gerald,
politely. “What is her name?”
“Her first husband was a Tyler, but I hear
she married a rich man in this town—his name
was Lane, I’m told.”
Gerald was amazed. Was it possible that
.bn 067.png
this rough-looking man was the brother of his
stepmother and the uncle of Abel? It must
be so, for Abel’s last name, as he recalled, was
Tyler.
“You have come to the right person for information,”
he said. “Your sister married my
father.”
“You don’t say! Well, that beats all. Is it
true that my sister is again a widder?”
“Yes; my father is dead,” said Gerald,
gravely.
“And did he leave Melindy well fixed?”
asked the stranger, vaguely.
“Yes.”
Gerald did not feel like going into particulars.
He felt too bitterly the injustice of his
father’s will to speak of its provisions before a
stranger.
“Well, I’m glad on’t. Melindy’s first husband
was a no-account sort of a man, and it’s
my belief he didn’t leave her a hundred dollars.
He was shif’less; and, besides, he drank.”
So that was the man upon whom Abel must
look as a father. Gerald felt glad to think that
his father was a man of whom he had no reason
to be ashamed.
.bn 068.png
“Have you seen your sister since—since
her last marriage?” he asked, with some curiosity.
“No; I’ve never had an invitation to call
upon her. I guess she was too much set up by
her marriage to a rich man to notice a workin’-man.
You see, I ain’t one of your 'ristocrats—I’m
only a blacksmith, and have to work hard
for a living,”
“You are none the worse for that, Mr.——”
here Gerald hesitated, for he had not yet learned
the name of his new acquaintance.
“Crane—Alonzo Crane—that’s my name,
young man. I’m glad you don’t put on no airs,
even if your father was a rich man. Do you
know anything of my sister’s son, Abel?”
“Yes, sir; he is in Portville, living with his
mother.”
“How do you like him?” Then, seeing that
Gerald hesitated, he added: “You needn’t mind
telling me, for I ain’t much stuck on the boy
myself, even if he is my nephew.”
“I don’t like him much, Mr. Crane.”
“I don’t know anybody that does, except his
mother. He and Melindy—that’s his mother—have
seen some pretty hard times. More’n once
.bn 069.png
his mother has sent him to me for a little help
when they hadn’t a penny in the house.”
This was news to Gerald, of course, but did
not necessarily prejudice him against his stepmother
and her son, but it made their present
pretensions and airs rather ridiculous.
“Why haven’t you been to call on your sister
before?” he asked.
“Because she never invited me and I thought
she wouldn’t like to have her new husband see
me.”
“My father would have received you kindly,
Mr. Crane.”
“I am sure he would if you are like him.
You ain’t no kin to me, but I like you better
already than Abel.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crane.”
“You needn’t do that. It ain’t sayin’ much,
for Abel, to my mind, is a disagreeable cub.”
Gerald began to think that Mr. Crane, despite
his relationship to Mrs. Lane and Abel, was a
man of excellent sense.
“I wonder what sort of a welcome he will
get,” he thought.
He had considerable doubt whether it would
be very cordial.
.bn 070.png
By this time they had reached a point in the
road from which the Lane mansion was visible.
“That is where your sister lives,” he said,
pointing to it.
“You don’t say! Well, it is a nice place.
Melindy has feathered her nest pretty well.”
“That is true enough,” said Gerald to himself.
“It’s lucky I fell in with you, young man.
You didn’t tell me your name.”
“Gerald—I am Gerald Lane.”
“I wish you was my nephew instead of Abel.
How long has Abel been here?”
“Only since my father died.”
“Melindy was sly. Like as not she never
told your father she had a son.”
“She said he knew it; but I never heard of
Abel till a few days ago.”
“It’s likely she didn’t tell him. Of course
she wouldn’t own it up to you.”
“Do you live far away, Mr. Crane?”
“I live in the town of Gladwin, most sixty
miles from here. I’m fifty years old, but I was
never so far away from home before. I shouldn’t
have come now, only I’ve been unlucky. My
shop burned down last week, and there warn’t
.bn 071.png
no insurance on it. Thinks I, Melindy is rich,
and now is just the time when I need help.
Don’t you think she ought to help me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m her only brother, and there’s only two
of us anyway. I’ve got a wife and two children
at home, and they’ll be pinched if I don’t get
help somewhere. Many’s the time I’ve helped
Melindy and Abel.”
“Then you certainly have a claim upon Mrs.
Lane.”
They turned into the yard, and Gerald was
about ushering his new acquaintance into the
house, when Abel appeared at the door.
“Who are you bringing into the house, Gerald?”
demanded Abel, sharply.
“Don’t you know me, Abe?” asked Alonzo
Crane, with an ingratiating smile.
“How should I?” asked Abel; but his face
changed, for he did recognize his plebeian relative.
“This is your uncle,” said Gerald, gravely.
“Is your mother at home?”
.bn 072.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII || A COLD RECEPTION
.sp 2
“I don’t think she is,” said Abel, reddening
with mortification.
Just then Mrs. Lane’s voice was heard from
the head of the stairs.
“Who are you talking with, Abel?”
“It’s me, Melindy—your brother Alonzo,”
said Mr. Crane.
Mrs. Lane descended the stairs slowly, looking
very much annoyed. She was ashamed of her
plebeian brother, and very much disturbed that
Gerald should have seen him. It occurred to
her to deny the relationship, but this seemed
impracticable. So she said with an ill grace,
not even offering her hand:
“What brought you here, Alonzo?”
“I reckon the cars brought me here, Melindy.
It does me good to see you well fixed. You
have feathered your nest well, I must say.”
.bn 073.png
Mrs. Lane bit her lips.
“You can come in and sit down,” she said.
“I shall be glad if you will talk more like a
gentleman.”
“But I’m not a gentleman, Melindy. I am
an honest, hard-working blacksmith. Carrie
and the children send their love.”
“I am obliged to them,” said Mrs. Lane,
stiffly. “I wonder you could get away from
your work for a visit.”
“Well, the truth is, Melindy, I’m in hard
luck. My shop burned down day before yesterday,
and I need money to build it up again.”
“Wasn’t it insured?” asked his sister, coldly.
“The insurance ran out a month ago. So I
naturally thought of my only sister who is a
rich woman, and I’ve come to ask a loan of two
hundred dollars. That, I calculate, will set me
on my feet again.”
“The estate is not yet settled, and even if it
were I should not feel at liberty to take Mr.
Lane’s money for such a purpose.”
“I reckon you’ll spend it on yourself and
Abel, Melindy.”
“My husband left a son.”
“I know that, and he’s a gentleman, too,”
.bn 074.png
said Mr. Crane, with a kindly glance at Gerald.
“If he had money I am sure he would help
me.”
“Yes, Mr. Crane; I would,” said Gerald.
“We won’t discuss that matter now, Alonzo.
As you are here, you can stay for the balance
of the day.”
“I shall have to stay till to-morrow, as there
is no train from Portville till then. I hope you
won’t forget the help I gave you and Abel when
you were first left a widder.”
“It isn’t very becoming to twit me with any
little favors I may have accepted from you in
the past,” said Mrs. Lane. “If you want me to
receive you in a friendly way, you must behave
and talk differently.”
As Mr. Crane went into the house, following
his not over-cordial relative, Gerald walked
away. He felt that he had no place in the
family conclave, and was only sorry that it was
not likely to prove very satisfactory to his new
acquaintance.
He walked away, and, having nothing else to
occupy his time, went to the lake and got into
his rowboat. He rowed about lazily for half an
hour when he heard a voice from the bank.
.bn 075.png
Looking up, he saw Alonzo Crane standing
on the blink of the pond.
“Hello, Gerald!” he called out, “won’t you
give me a ride in your boat?”
“Certainly, Mr. Crane,” and he rowed up to
a little pier near where his new acquaintance
was standing.
Alonzo Crane stepped into the boat and took
a seat near the stern.
“This is a nice dory of yours,” he said. “I
always liked a rowboat, but I’ve been too busy
in my business to use one. I don’t think I’ve
been in a boat for five years. Did my sister
give it to you?”
“No,” answered Gerald, hastily; “it was a
gift from my father.”
“I suppose, from what Melindy says, he left
you most of his property?”
“She doesn’t say that to me. She says it is
all hers, and that I am entirely dependent upon
her.”
“Whew! Well, that beats all. Wasn’t your
father friendly to you?”
“I always found him the best of fathers, and
that makes me wonder at his leaving me dependent
upon Mrs. Lane.”
.bn 076.png
Alonzo Crane looked thoughtful.
“You don’t suspect nothing?” he said, interrogatively.
“What should I suspect?” asked Gerald.
“Well,” said Alonzo, slowly, “Melindy always
was tricky. She was always set on gettin’
money, and I don’t think she’d be over
scrupulous. There might be such a thing as
forgin’ a will, though I don’t know as I ought
to say that considerin’ that Melindy is my
sister.”
“Thank you for suggesting it, at any rate,
Mr. Crane. The time may come when I shall
look into the matter. At present I am only a
boy——”
“And a boy ain’t no match for a woman like
Melindy. Oh, she’s cunning! What do you
think she said to get rid of lendin’ me any
money?”
“I can’t guess.”
“She said that she must provide for you.”
Gerald smiled, bitterly.
“Because it would serve her purpose,” he
responded. “She has given Abel my place in
the house. She has taken from me the large
room I have for years occupied—given it to
.bn 077.png
Abel—and put me in a small hall bedroom adjoining.”
“That’s too bad! Abel is a mean, conceited
little upstart, who don’t treat me half decent,
though he would more than once have gone
without a meal but for the help I gave his
mother.”
“Has Mrs. Lane refused to loan you money
to rebuild your shop?”
“Yes; she won’t think of it. She says I
must have been careless, or the fire wouldn’t
have happened. It hasn’t done much good to
come to Portville. The only pleasure I’ve got
out of it is meeting you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crane. I wish your sister
were more like you.”
“I’m a rough man, Gerald. There ain’t
much polish about me, but nobody can charge
me with being mean and ungrateful. Some
time I hope you’ll come and see me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crane. It may come about
some day. Is there no one in your town who
will lend you money to rebuild your shop?”
“No; there ain’t much money in Hillsdale.
It’s just a common country town, and the people
are mostly farmers. I don’t know what to do.”
.bn 078.png
And a look of sadness overspread his rugged
countenance.
“You are no worse off than I am, Mr. Crane.
I have lost an indulgent father, and am left dependent
upon a woman I cannot like or respect.”
“It does seem hard.”
“But I have faith that some time things will
come out for the best.”
Gerald spoke gravely and calmly. He had
been brought up to trust in God, and to have
faith in His goodness. His words, young as he
was, seemed to have a cheering effect on Mr.
Crane.
“You’re right, Gerald,” he said, “and I’ll try
to believe things are comin’ out right, though I
can’t see how.”
“Why did you leave the house so soon, Mr.
Crane? I thought you would have a long conversation
with your sister and Abel.”
“I thought so, too, but Melindy didn’t seem
to hanker much after my company. About
fifteen minutes after you went out, she said: 'I
shall have to leave you, as I have an errand in
the village. Perhaps Abel will stay with
you?’”
.bn 079.png
“'No, I can’t,’ said Abel. 'I’m going to play
ball with some of the boys.’”
Gerald smiled.
“None of the boys have invited Abel to play
ball. They don’t like him.”
“Well, it don’t make no difference. He
wouldn’t have been any company to me. It’s
strange that you seem a good deal nearer to me
than my own kin.”
“I am very glad of that. I wish I were in a
position to help you.”
“Perhaps you will be some day. If there’s
anything crooked about that will of your pa’s,
it’ll come out right some time. Well, when
Melindy and Abel had left me I thought I’d go
out and take a walk. I strayed down to the
lake and saw you rowing. I made bold to call
to you. Would you mind my trying the oars
to see if I’ve forgot how to row?”
“Take them and welcome.”
Mr. Crane took the oars, and, though he was
at first awkward, he soon showed that he had
not altogether forgotten his old skill.
“Well, I can row a little,” he said, complacently.
“Yes, Mr. Crane, you can row better than
.bn 080.png
Abel. He went out with me a day or two
ago, and upset the boat.”
“Did he tumble out?” asked Mr. Crane,
laughing.
“Yes; and as he can’t swim, he might have
drowned if I hadn’t got hold of him.”
“Did he thank you for saving his life?”
“No.”
“And he never will. It isn’t in his nature.”
“So far from that, he tried to make out that
I upset the boat by moving about in it. That’s
what he told his mother to account for his wet
clothes.”
“Just like him. I’m ashamed to have such
a nephew. It would have served him right if
you had left him to his fate.”
“You wouldn’t have advised that, I am sure,
Mr. Crane.”
“No, I don’t know as I would; though it
makes me mad to see a boy so mean and ungrateful.”
For half an hour they remained in the boat
talking about various subjects. Alonzo Crane
evidently enjoyed the trip.
“I’m glad I came to Portville after all,” he
said.
.bn 081.png
But there was a sudden and startling interruption.
From a large house a hundred feet
from the lake a sheet of flame became visible.
Gerald saw it first.
“Mr. Nugent’s house is on fire!” he exclaimed.
“Let us land and see if we can give
any assistance.”
.bn 082.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX || A LUCKY RESCUE
.sp 2
There was no time lost in reaching shore.
Gerald and Mr. Crane jumped from the boat
and ran to the house. It was a large, handsome
house, and presumably the home of a rich man.
Most of the houses in Portville were of two
stories, but this consisted of three. Alonzo
opened the front door, followed closely by
Gerald.
In the hall was a maid-servant, who was
wringing her hands.
“Where is the fire?” asked Gerald.
“On the third floor. Poor Mr. Nugent——”
“Well, where is he?”
“In the room where the fire broke out.
He is in a faint. He will be suffocated!”
Alonzo Crane was captain of the fire company
in Hillsdale, and had all his wits about him.
“Follow me, Gerald,” he said, as he dashed
up-stairs.
.bn 083.png
He attempted to open the door of the room
from the windows of which he had seen the
smoke pouring, but Mr. Nugent’s body was
lying on the floor in such a position as to prevent
the door being opened. But the two, by
pushing forcibly, succeeded in getting it open.
The muslin curtains of the front windows were
in a blaze, and the flames had spread to the
neighboring woodwork.
“Tear down the curtains, Gerald,” said Mr.
Crane. “You will soon have help. I hear the
engine outside. I will attend to the old gentleman.”
With the strength which might naturally be
expected from a blacksmith, he took up the old
man in his arms, and carried him down-stairs.
It was none too soon. Mr. Nugent was in a faint,
and was half-suffocated by the smoke. On his
way Alonzo met some of the Portville firemen,
whom he directed to the room. Taking
the old gentleman down-stairs he laid him on
a couch in the sitting-room and summoned the
servant.
“Bring me a sponge and some cold water,”
he said.
They were brought.
.bn 084.png
He bathed the face of the old man, who presently
opened his eyes and said, feebly: “Where
am I?”
“You’re in the land of the living, squire,”
answered Crane; “but you wouldn’t have
been long if I hadn’t taken you out of the
burning room. Do you know how the fire
started?”
“It was my fault,” said Mr. Nugent, feebly.
“I was lighting my pipe, when I began to feel
sick. The match must have ignited the curtains.
I staggered to the door, but could go no
farther. I sank to the floor, and I remember no
more. Is the fire still burning?” he asked,
anxiously.
“The firemen are here, and it will soon be
out. Here is some one who will tell us.”
At this point Gerald entered the room.
“Is the fire out?” asked Alonzo.
“It soon will be. The firemen are busy in
the room.”
“I—I wish there were a doctor here. I feel
overcome!”
“I will call one immediately,” said Gerald.
He left the room quickly, and soon returned
with Dr. Barlow, the village physician.
.bn 085.png
“Well, Nugent,” he said, “have you been
trying to burn yourself up?”
“Not trying, but I nearly succeeded.”
The doctor by a few simple remedies soon relieved
his patient. Then he asked: “Who discovered
the fire?”
“Mr. Crane and I saw it from the lake?” answered
Gerald. “We got here as quickly as possible,
and found Mr. Nugent lying helpless on
the floor of his room.”
“He must have been nearly suffocated. In
all probability had you been less prompt he
would have died.”
“To whom am I indebted for my rescue?”
asked the old gentleman. “The boy I know—it
is Gerald Lane—but this gentleman is a
stranger to me.”
“He is the brother of my stepmother,” said
Gerald.
“I am deeply indebted to you both. I am
not able to make proper acknowledgment now,
but will you both come over this evening, when
I shall be better?”
“I shall be glad to come, squire,” said the
blacksmith; “Gerald will come too.”
.bn 086.png
“Who is this Mr. Nugent?” asked Mr. Crane,
when they reached the street.
“He has lived in Portville for some years, but
not much is known of him, except that he has
the reputation of being very rich.”
“Did your father know him?”
“As well as any one in the village. I think
he consulted father about his affairs occasionally.”
“Well, the old gentleman came near passing
in his checks this afternoon. He don’t look
very rugged. How old is he?”
“Sixty or more, I should think.”
“How does he pass his time?”
“He has a large library and is very fond
of reading. He takes many magazines and
papers.”
“That’s easier than bein’ a blacksmith, Gerald.”
“Would you be willing to pass your time in
the same way, Mr. Crane?”
“I reckon not. I ain’t very fond of readin’.
It makes me sleepy.”
“Probably he would not care to be a blacksmith.”
Alonzo Crane laughed at the idea.
.bn 087.png
“I wouldn’t give him twenty-five cents a day
for his work,” he said.
When they reached the house they found
that Abel and his mother had returned. In
half an hour supper was served.
“How did you pass the time, Alonzo?” asked
his sister.
“I went out rowing with Gerald. Then I
took a hand at puttin’ out a fire.”
“Where was it?”
“It was John Nugent’s house,” said Gerald.
“How did it catch fire? Was much damage
done?”
These questions were answered partly by
Gerald, partly by the blacksmith.
“I don’t know Mr. Nugent,” said Mrs. Lane.
“He doesn’t go anywhere. Mr. Lane visited
him occasionally. He has very few visitors.”
“He will have two this evening.”
Mrs. Lane looked an inquiry.
“He has invited Gerald and me to call upon
him?” explained the blacksmith.
Mrs. Lane looked surprised.
“That is something unusual,” she said.
“Mr. Crane probably saved his life,” said
Gerald.
.bn 088.png
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Alonzo, modestly.
“You see I am used to bein’ at fires. I am captain
of the Hillsdale fire company,” he added,
with an intonation of pride.
“I wouldn’t want to be a fireman,” said
Abel.
“Why not?”
“Firemen are low.”
“You won’t think so if you are ever in a
burning house, Abel.”
“They are a very useful class of people,” said
Mrs. Lane.
“You wouldn’t want me to be a fireman, ma,
would you?”
“No, perhaps not.”
“You might be something a great deal worse,
nephew,” said the blacksmith.
“Has Mr. Nugent no family?” asked Mr.
Crane.
“He has a grandson about my age, but he is
at a boarding-school somewhere,” answered
Gerald.
About half-past seven Gerald rang the bell at
Mr. Nugent’s residence.
The door was opened by the servant-maid
whom they had seen in the afternoon.
.bn 089.png
“Come in,” she said, without waiting for
them to speak. “The master is up-stairs in the
library.”
“I haven’t got any library in my house, Gerald,”
said the blacksmith, jocosely. “I hope he
won’t tackle me on books.”
They found Mr. Nugent sitting in a large
easy-chair beside the library table.
“I am glad to see you both,” he said, cordially,
offering his hand. “Our acquaintance
has been formed under circumstances very favorable
to myself. I am very much indebted to
you, Mr. Crane.”
“Oh, it ain’t worth talkin’ about, squire,”
said the blacksmith.
“You seem to set a small value on my
life, Mr. Crane,” said the old gentleman,
smiling.
“Oh, I don’t mean that.”
“I understand. You are only showing your
modesty. Now let me tell you why I have invited
you here. You have placed me under a
great obligation. Now can I do anything for
you?”
Alonzo’s face lighted up with a sudden idea.
But he did not quite like to express it.
.bn 090.png
“I wouldn’t like to trouble you, Mr. Nugent,”
he said.
“Then there is something. Let me know
what it is?”
“Well, the fact is, squire, I came to Portville
to ask my sister—that’s Mrs. Lane—if she would
lend me two hundred dollars to rebuild my shop
that was badly injured by fire last week, but
she says she can’t do it.”
“How much money do you require, Mr.
Crane?”
“I think I could manage on two hundred
dollars.”
“What is your given name?” asked Mr. Nugent,
drawing a check-book from a desk on the
table.
“Alonzo Crane is what people call me in our
village.”
John Nugent took the pen and filled out a
check, which he passed over to the blacksmith.
“Three hundred dollars!” ejaculated Alonzo
in amazement.
“Yes; if that isn’t enough, let me know.”
“It’ll set me on my feet,” said Mr. Crane, his
plain face shining with delight. “I’ll pay it
back as soon as I can, squire.”
.bn 091.png
“Quite unnecessary, Mr. Crane,” said the old
gentleman, with a pleasant smile. “I consider
your service quite worth three hundred dollars.”
The blacksmith tried to thank Mr. Nugent,
but the old gentleman prevented him by
turning to Gerald.
“How soon are you going to college, Gerald?”
he asked.
.bn 092.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch10
CHAPTER X || GERALD FINDS A SYMPATHIZING FRIEND
.sp 2
“There is very little chance of my going to
college, Mr. Nugent,” answered Gerald.
“Why not?” asked the old gentleman, in
evident surprise. “Your father always intended
that you should go. He has told me so more
than once.”
“Did he tell you so within a short time of
his death?” asked Gerald, earnestly.
“Yes; he referred to it as a settled thing.”
“He left all his property to Mrs. Lane, and I
am dependent upon her.”
“That is strange. But surely she, knowing
your father’s intentions—”
“She has decided that I am to enter the employment
of Mr. Tubbs, the grocer,” said Gerald,
bitterly.
“But this is positively shameful!” said the
old gentleman, warmly.
.bn 093.png
“I say so, too, squire,” put in Alonzo. “Melindy’s
my sister, but that don’t hinder me from
sayin’ that she is treatin’ Gerald meanly. She
has put her own boy in his place, though he’s
no kith nor kin of the man from whom her
money comes.”
“Is there another boy, then? I have never
seen him.”
“She didn’t send for him till after Mr. Lane’s
death. Like as not he never knew that she had
a son. Melindy’s sly, and always was.”
“I am not sure that I ever spoke to Mrs. Lane,
though her husband was one of my few friends,”
said John Nugent. “As you yourself criticise
her, I will not hesitate to condemn her conduct.
What I cannot understand is the manner in
which Gerald has been left out of the will.”
“It does look cur’ous, squire.”
“I suppose it will be very disagreeable for you
to enter Mr. Tubbs’s store, Gerald?”
“Yes, sir. I am not afraid of work, but that
is about the last position which I should have
selected for myself.”
“No doubt. Mr. Tubbs is an ignorant and
illiterate man, and your education will be thrown
away in his store. I have a great mind to call
.bn 094.png
on your stepmother and protest against her
treatment of you.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Nugent; but I
don’t think it would do any good. I have sometimes
thought I would leave Portville and try to
make my own way in the world.”
“Shall I offer you some advice, my young
friend?”
“I wish you would, sir. I am too young to
decide what I ought to do.”
“Then enter Mr. Tubbs’ store for a time, even
if it is disagreeable to you. Try the experiment,
and see how your stepmother treats you. I
shall be glad if you will call on me after a time
and report. I was your father’s friend, and I
have reason to be yours. You have done me a
great service to-day which I am not likely to
forget.”
The old gentleman spoke warmly. Gerald
was surprised, for until to-day he had scarcely
spoken a word to Mr. Nugent, who had made
himself a recluse, and was, perhaps, less known
to his neighbors than any man in the village.
Now it seemed that he had a good heart and
warm sympathies for others.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Nugent,” said
.bn 095.png
Gerald. “It’s a comfort to me to think I have
one friend who was also a friend of my father.”
“You can rely upon my friendship, Gerald,”
said the old man, kindly.
“I shall remember your kindness, Mr. Nugent,
and I will call upon you soon. I am expected
to go to work for Mr. Tubbs on Monday.”
Soon afterward Mr. Crane and Gerald left the
house and returned home. They found Abel
and his mother sitting at the table in the sitting-room.
They looked up with some curiosity as
the two entered.
“How did you enjoy your call, Alonzo?”
asked his sister.
“I had good reason to enjoy it,” said the blacksmith.
“Did he give you anything for putting out
the fire?”
“Yes.”
“As much as five dollars?”
“The squire is a liberal man. He gave me
enough to rebuild my shop.”
“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Lane in incredulous
amazement.
“I’ve got in my pocket a check for three hundred
dollars, Melindy.”
.bn 096.png
“And won’t you have to pay it back?” asked
Abel.
“No; it’s a free gift. It was a lucky day when
I decided to come to Portville, even if my own
sister did go back on me.”
“It was out of my power to help you, Alonzo,
but I am glad you have been so fortunate.”
“How much did he give you?” asked Abel,
turning to Gerald.
“He did not offer me anything. It was your
uncle who saved his life.”
“He might have given you a dollar or two,”
said Abel; but in his heart he was glad that
Gerald was not remembered.
“I would not have accepted it.”
“I would. I wouldn’t be such an idiot as to
refuse money when it was offered to me.”
“You spoke the truth that time, Abel,” said
Alonzo, with a meaning smile. “I never knew
you to refuse anything.”
When it was half-past nine Mrs. Lane said:
“We go to bed early here, Alonzo. I suppose
you will want to take an early start in the
morning?”
“Yes, Melindy; I didn’t come here to make
you a long visit.”
.bn 097.png
Even if he had, it was clear that this would
not have been agreeable to Mrs. Lane.
“Abel,” she said, “will you show your uncle
up to the small chamber in the attic, next to
Ann’s room?”
Ann was the servant.
Gerald was a little surprised, as there was a
larger room on the second floor. Mrs. Lane
clearly did not intend to treat her brother as
company.
“I don’t want to go, ma,” grumbled Abel.
“I will show Mr. Crane the way to his room,”
said Gerald, quickly.
“Very well.”
A small kerosene lamp was lighted and
Gerald led the way up the two flights of
stairs.
There were two rooms adjoining at one end
of the attic. They were small and had dormer
windows. In each was a cot bed about two feet
wide.
“Is this the spare room, Gerald?” asked Mr.
Crane, with a smile.
“Your sister doesn’t treat you with much
ceremony, Mr. Crane.”
“No, that ain’t Melindy’s way. Howsomever
.bn 098.png
.bn 099.png
.bn 100.png
I reckon I can sleep pretty sound in this little
bed, if I don’t tumble out.”
“I hope you are not sorry for your visit”
“Sorry? I reckon not, when I carry back
money enough to rebuild my shop—no thanks
to Melindy, though.”
“Well, I will bid you good night, and wish
you a sound sleep.”
“Thank you, Gerald. The same to you, my
boy!”
Gerald went down-stairs and found Mrs. Lane
and Abel preparing to go to bed. He took
a lamp and went up-stairs. From the force
of habit he was about to go into the room which
had always been his, but remembered himself
in time and turned into the little bedroom. He
heard Abel moving about in his old room, and
his thoughts were bitter.
“My place is taken by a stranger,” he said.
“How long shall I be able to stand it? Once I
had a home, but now all is changed!”
Gerald may be pardoned for feeling melancholy.
The death of his father had made a great
change for him. But the most bitter thought
was that all this had happened with the concurrence
of his father. He might easily have been
.bn 101.png
provided for and made independent of his stepmother,
but this had not been done. Now, as
he looked forward, his prospects seemed far from
bright. Though his father had died rich, he was
penniless and had his own way to make. However,
Gerald had a healthy nature and he did
not allow sad thoughts long to hold sway over
him.
He was soon sound asleep.
How long he slept he did not know, but suddenly
he became wide awake. His hearing was
keen and he seemed to hear something moving
in the next room.
“Is Abel up, I wonder?” he said to himself.
.if h
.il fn=p096.jpg w=500px
.ca A DARK FIGURE WAS BENDING OVER THE BED
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: A DARK FIGURE WAS BENDING OVER THE BED]
.if-
Just then he heard a scream, and, bounding
out of bed, he dashed into the next room.
There in the faint light—for there was a moon—he
saw a dark figure bending over the bed.
The intruder looked like a tramp, and was grasping
Abel by the throat.
“Shut up, you viper!” he exclaimed. “If
you don’t I’ll choke you!”
Gerald comprehended the situation. The intruder
was a burglar, who had been interrupted
in his work by Abel’s outcry, and was trying to
stifle his screams.
.bn 102.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
CHAPTER XI || THE BURGLAR’S DEFEAT
.sp 2
Gerald did not pause to notice that the intruder
was a man much larger than himself.
He had plenty of courage, and lost sight of prudence.
He sprang forward and seized the burglar.
The latter, turning at this unexpected attack,
threw him off. He was alarmed at first, but
when he saw that his assailant was only a boy
he laughed harshly.
“Why, you little bantam!” he exclaimed,
“how dare you interfere with me?”
“You had better leave the room at once,”
said Gerald, undaunted. “If you don’t——”
“Well, if I don’t!” repeated the intruder,
mockingly. “You’ll make me, perhaps? Clear
out of my way! Have you got a watch or
money about your clothes?”
This last was addressed to Abel.
.bn 103.png
“Don’t kill me, Mr. Burglar!” wailed Abel,
ready to cry. “I’ll give you all I have.”
“Then be quick about it! Where are your
clothes?”
“In the closet.”
“Then get them, and don’t waste any time
about it.”
“Don’t do anything of the sort, Abel!” said
Gerald. “This man shall not rob you!”
“Why, you impudent young rascal!” exclaimed
the intruder, fiercely. “I have a great
mind to wring your neck!”
“I tell you once more to leave the house!”
This was too much for the irascible burglar.
He seized Gerald, and, throwing him down,
pressed his knee on his breast. Gerald struggled
as well as he could, but he was only a boy, and
his assailant was a strong man. What harm
would have been done to him cannot be known.
Abel, so far from helping him, stood by, trembling.
Finally, in a paroxysm of fear, he ran
from the room and locked himself in the small
room which had been occupied by Gerald.
“Now what shall I do to you?” demanded
the burglar between his closed teeth, glaring at
his prostrate victim.
.bn 104.png
Gerald was not called upon to reply, for there
was help at hand.
A tall, muscular figure, arrayed in night-costume,
suddenly dashed into the room, seized
the triumphant burglar, and, pulling him back
with irresistible strength, threw him upon the
floor with such force that he thought his back
was broken.
“What——!” ejaculated the ruffian, in
mingled surprise and dismay.
Looking up he saw the blacksmith bending
over him.
“What are you doing, you scoundrel?”
he cried, apparently preparing for a second
attack.
“Who are you?” growled the intruder.
“I’m not a boy, and I’m more than a match
for you!”
“Let me go!” said the other, beginning to
find a retreat advisable.
“Not till I see who you are. Gerald, light
the lamp; I want to take a look at this man’s
face.”
The burglar struggled to rise, but he was as
helpless in the grasp of the stalwart blacksmith
as Gerald had been in his.
.bn 105.png
Gerald lighted the lamp and held it near the
ill-favored countenance of the visitor.
“Aha, I know you!” said Alonzo Crane.
“You are the man who broke into a store in
Hillsdale last week. You got away from us
then, but now I mean to have a settlement with
you.”
“Let me go this time and I won’t take anything.”
“I don’t think you will. As long as I am
round you’d find it a hard job to rob this house.
You thought you had only boys to deal with,
but I’m too large a boy for you to handle.”
“If you don’t let me go I’ll fix you some
day.”
“That’ll be day after to-morrow, I reckon.
Gerald, do you know where there is a clothes-line?”
“Yes, Mr. Crane.”
“Then get it, and I’ll bind this man so that
he can’t do any more harm.”
Gerald took the lamp, went down-stairs, and
soon returned with the clothes-line.
“Now, if you’ll help me, I’ll tie this fellow so
he can’t do any mischief.”
Despite his desperate struggles the intruder
.bn 106.png
was bound hand and foot. He almost foamed
at the mouth in his ungovernable anger, but it
did no good.
“Now,” said the blacksmith, “I am going to
put him in the closet and lock the door. If you
don’t mind, Gerald, I’ll exchange rooms with
you. I will sleep here, and you can go up to
my room in the attic. I think, my friend, you’ll
be safe till morning.”
“This is Abel’s room, Mr. Crane.”
“And where is Abel?”
“I don’t know. I think he went into the
next room.”
“Let him stay there! He is about as brave
as a mouse. And hark you, Gerald, bring down
my clothes. I have a revolver in my pocket that
I may have occasion to use.”
The ruffian was thoroughly cowed, and made
no outcry when he was thrust into the closet.
It was remarkable that Mrs. Lane should have
slept through all this disturbance without awaking,
but she was a sound sleeper. In the morning
Gerald went out to summon assistance, and
the burglar was conveyed to the lock-up, from
which he was in the afternoon transferred to the
county jail.
.bn 107.png
It appears that he had gained admittance to
the house by climbing the lightning-rod to a balcony
just outside the window of the large room
occupied by Abel. The latter was so thoroughly
frightened by the events of the night
that he voluntarily proposed to return to the
small bedroom, and Gerald was able again to
occupy his own room. Mrs. Lane protested
against the change, but Abel declared with
emphasis that he would not again sleep in the
large room.
“I wouldn’t do it for a dollar a night!” he
declared.
Gerald acquiesced in the new arrangement,
and felt grateful to the burglar for having been
the means of restoring to him his own room.
A little later than he anticipated Mr. Crane
left Portville.
“Good-by, Melindy,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed
my visit, and the burglar made it more lively
than I anticipated. When are you coming to
Hillsdale to see us?”
“It is hard for me to get away, Alonzo. I
have two boys to look after and I cannot well
be spared.”
“Come whenever it is convenient, then. I
.bn 108.png
can’t promise to make your visit as lively as
mine has been, unless my friend the burglar
manages to escape from jail.”
“I will go with you to the cars, Mr. Crane,”
said Gerald.
“I wish you would,” said the blacksmith,
warmly. “If you ever find it in your way to
come to Hillsdale, I will give you the best room
in the house.”
“Shall I bring Abel with me?” asked Gerald,
smiling.
“I’m not at all particular about seein’ him.
You seem a good deal nearer to me than he
does, even if he is a blood relation. When do
you go to work?”
“On Monday.”
“You won’t stay in the grocery long—I’ll
predict that. If you ever have a notion of becomin’
a blacksmith, I’ll take you into my employ,
and be glad to do it.”
“I’ll bear it in mind, Mr. Crane.”
When the train had started and his new
friend was fairly on his way home, Gerald could
not help thinking soberly of his own unpromising
future. If Mrs. Lane had been more like
her brother, rough and uneducated as he was,
.bn 109.png
he felt that he could like her better. He at
least had a good heart.
On his way home he met Mr. Nugent.
“Good morning, Gerald,” said the old gentleman,
in a friendly tone. “Have you had any
more exciting experiences?”
“Yes, sir. Last night our house was entered
by a burglar.”
“Indeed! That is something new for Portville.
Did he take anything?”
“No; he was taken himself.”
“Surely you were not a match for him?”
“No, sir; but Mr. Crane captured him, and
he is now in the lock-up.”
“Ah, yes; our good friend the blacksmith.
He is a muscular man.”
“He is going home happy with the check that
you gave him.”
“I was glad to be of service to him, as he in
all probability saved my life. But I have not
done anything for you. You must apply to me
whenever you need assistance. Do you go into
Mr. Tubbs’s store on Monday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come round next Saturday evening and
tell me how you like it. I was your father’s
.bn 110.png
friend; I shall be glad if you will consider me
yours.”
“I shall be very glad to do so, Mr. Nugent,”
said Gerald, earnestly.
“Who was that you were talking with?”
asked Abel, whom he met a minute later.
“Mr. Nugent.”
“The rich man? Why didn’t you introduce
me?”
“I will some time if I have the opportunity.”
“You are going to work Monday, ma tells
me.”
“Yes.”
“She says a grocery store will be a good place
for you.”
“Would you like it?”
“No. I’m going to be a lawyer or a civil engineer—I
haven’t decided which.”
Gerald smiled. He had very little faith in
Abel’s ever being either.
.bn 111.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII || A GROCER’S CLERK
.sp 2
Early Monday morning Gerald went over to
Mr. Tubbs’s grocery store and reported for duty.
The grocer gave him some instructions as to the
prices of leading commodities, and he took his
place behind the counter. There was a young
man of twenty-one in the grocer’s employ—a
cousin of Mrs. Tubbs’s, named Charles Brandon.
He was rather an unattractive-looking young
man, with a pimply face, and small eyes with a
shifting expression. Gerald already knew him
slightly, but did not like him. Twice he had
seen him under the influence of liquor and
knew that he frequented a billiard-room in the
village patronized by a low class of young men.
“So we are going to be fellow-clerks, eh?”
said Brandon, with a disagreeable smile.
“I suppose so.”
.bn 112.png
“I always looked upon you as one of the tip-tops!
I never thought you would be willing to
become a boy in a grocery!”
“I am not willing.”
“Then why did you come?”
“I am not my own master. Mrs. Lane, my
stepmother, made the arrangement with Mr.
Tubbs.”
“I expect you feel above it?”
“I don’t say that, but it’s not to my
taste.”
“How much will you get?”
Gerald had no objection to tell, and answered,
quietly: “Three dollars a week.”
“That ain’t much. I get six and my board.
You know, I board with Mr. Tubbs. I’m a
cousin of Mrs. Tubbs.”
“Do you like it?”
“No; I have too much looking after. When
a man is my age, he doesn’t want to be interfered
with.”
“No one likes to be interfered with.”
“Just so. I see you and I will get along
first-rate.”
As the morning advanced Gerald found himself
quite busy. It was awkward at first to
.bn 113.png
weigh butter and sugar and other articles that
were called for, but he was quick, and soon “got
the hang” of his new duties.
Early in the afternoon he was introduced to
the books of the concern, and found them in a
mixed-up state, as neither Mr. Tubbs nor his
chief salesman knew anything about book-keeping.
He suggested to the grocer to buy a new
set of books, which he agreed to do.
About supper time his friend John Holman
came into the store, and Gerald weighed out for
him two pounds of sugar.
“It seems odd to see you behind the counter,
Gerald,” he said.
“It seems so to me.”
“How do you like it?”
“I don’t like it very well, but I have hardly
been here long enough to judge.”
“It’s a shame that you should fill such a position
with all your book learning.”
Gerald smiled.
“I shan’t have much use for my French and
Latin here,” he said. “Suppose I make them
over to you!”
“They wouldn’t help me in pegging shoes,
Gerald. But never mind; the time will come
.bn 114.png
when you will find them useful. You won’t
stay here all your life.”
“I certainly hope not.”
Just then Abel entered the store.
He looked about him till he saw Gerald and
a smile lighted up his face.
“Ma wants you to bring home four pounds
of butter when you come to supper,” he said.
“Here’s a tin pail to put it in.”
“Why don’t you take it yourself?” asked John.
“Because I don’t choose to,” answered Abel,
superciliously.
“I will take it,” said Gerald, quietly.
At this moment the grocer came round to
where he was standing.
“You can go to supper, Gerald,” he said.
Gerald put up the butter, and went out with
John Holman.
“How can you stand Abel’s insolence?”
asked John, hotly.
“Because I despise him. He is only acting
according to his nature. He is what the English
call a cad.”
“He thinks himself superior to you.”
“He is probably alone in that opinion, and
I don’t mind what he thinks.”
.bn 115.png
In the evening, when the store closed, Brandon
said to him:
“Come round to the billiard-room and play a
game with me, Gerald.”
“Thank you, but I don’t play billiards.”
“I will teach you. You will learn easily.”
“How much does it cost?”
“Twenty-five cents a game.”
“My salary is so small that I can’t afford
it.”
“Well, come in at any rate and see the playing.”
To this Gerald assented. He had never entered
the room and had some curiosity to see
it. Accordingly he went in and found a collection
of village roughs. Brandon entered a
game then being played, and Gerald sat down
and looked on.
At one end of the room was a bar, to which
the players adjourned at intervals.
“Won’t you have something, Gerald?” asked
Brandon, whose turn came to treat at the end
of the first game.
“No, thank you.”
“I won’t tell your ma,” said his fellow-clerk,
with a smile.
.bn 116.png
“I am not sure that she would care, but I
would rather not drink.”
“I see you haven’t graduated from Sunday
school,” said Brandon, with a little sneer.
Gerald did not answer, nor did he heed the
sneer.
He observed that when Brandon paid for
the drinks and the game in which he was a
loser, he handed the bartender a five-dollar bill
and thrust the change carelessly into his vest-pocket
with the air of a millionaire. Considering
the moderate pay he received, Gerald was
surprised at the freedom with which he spent
his money.
At the end of half an hour he left the billiard-room
and went home.
Mrs. Lane and Abel were still up.
“Here comes the young grocer!” said Abel,
with a malicious smile.
“Are you just out of the store?” asked Mrs.
Lane.
“No. I walked awhile with Mr. Brandon,
the head clerk.”
“How do you like it as far as you’ve got?”
asked Abel.
“I don’t like it.”
.bn 117.png
“I suppose you would rather be at school.”
“I certainly should.”
“Yes; it would be easier.”
“That is not my reason.”
“What is your reason?”
“I think I am wasting my time in a grocery
store.”
“You get paid for it, don’t you?”
“Yes; I shall be paid a small sum.”
“Abel,” said his mother, “I don’t care to
have you talk with Gerald on this subject. As
he goes on he will get contented and will see
that I have planned for the best. Now, as it is
near ten o’clock, we may as well go to bed.”
The next morning Gerald rose earlier than
the rest of the family and breakfasted by himself.
It was a comfort to him to occupy his own
bedchamber. Abel had been so thoroughly
frightened by the visit of the burglar that he
absolutely refused to occupy the large room,
though urged to do so by his mother, who did
not like to think that he was less luxuriously
provided for than Gerald.
.hr 20%
“Well, how did you make out, Mr. Brandon?”
asked Gerald, of his fellow-clerk.
.bn 118.png
“I had bad luck. I spent over two dollars
last evening.”
“It wouldn’t do for me to spend so much. I
only receive three dollars a week.”
“I couldn’t get along without the billiard-room.
After standing all day in this dull store
I need a little recreation.”
Gerald could not understand how Brandon
could afford to spend so much money in the
evening, or how he could have anything left
for clothing and necessary expenses.
During the day he overheard a conversation
between Mr. Tubbs and a neighbor.
“How is business, Tubbs?” asked the latter.
“I seem to do a good business,” answered the
grocer, “yet, I don’t know how it is, I find it
very hard to meet my bills as they come due.”
“You are looked upon as a driving man.”
“I ought to be, but it is as I told you. I
can’t understand it. There have been times
when I did less business and made more money.”
“Perhaps you don’t make as large profits?”
“Yes, I do. I sell at the same prices, and I
don’t pay any more for goods.”
Gerald thought over this problem, and it puzzled
him too. It set him to examining the books
.bn 119.png
which were under his charge. The result was
very favorable to the business. From the books,
it should have paid well.
But the next day a startling light was thrown
upon the mystery.
Gerald saw Brandon go to the money-drawer
to deposit fifty cents, which he had received in
payment for some groceries. He did deposit
it, but at the same time he slyly drew out a bill
which he carried away with him.
“That explains it!” thought Gerald, drawing
a deep breath. “What ought I to do?”
.bn 120.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII || AN ARTFUL TRICK
.sp 2
It was a difficult matter to decide. Gerald
had a natural dislike to become an informer or
expose his fellow-clerk, though he felt that Mr.
Tubbs ought to know how he was being robbed.
So he let the day pass without speaking of what
he had seen. He was no longer surprised that
Brandon could spend so much money on billiards,
since it did not come out of his salary, but out
of his employer’s till.
In the evening he called upon Mr. Nugent
and asked his advice.
“Have you told Mr. Tubbs what you discovered?”
asked the old gentleman.
“No, sir.”
“You should do so.”
“I don’t like to expose Brandon.”
“I can understand your objection, but nevertheless
it is your duty to do so.”
.bn 121.png
“I wish he would discover it in some other
way.”
“He is not likely to do so.”
“He may not believe me.”
“At any rate you will have done your
duty.”
“I will think it over, Mr. Nugent. In the
meantime I am obliged to you for your advice.”
“I shall always be glad to advise you,” said
Mr. Nugent, kindly. “You are a straightforward
and honorable boy, and I have all confidence
in you.”
“Thank you, sir. I am glad to have you say
that. Suppose Brandon denies it?”
“You can suggest to Mr. Tubbs to put a
marked bill in the drawer, and then try to trace
it in case it is taken.”
“I will do so.”
But Gerald did not have an opportunity to
make use of Mr. Nugent’s advice. During the
day he had shown a degree of perturbation
occasioned by his discovery of Brandon’s treachery
that had excited the notice of his fellow-clerk.
Guilt is always suspicious, and Brandon,
knowing his own dishonesty, was constantly on
the watch for the detection which he dreaded.
.bn 122.png
“The kid suspects me,” he said to himself.
“I must forestall him.”
Accordingly, when the store closed, he did
not offer to go out with Gerald, but said: “I
am not quite ready to go yet.”
This suited Gerald, who had intended to call
on Mr. Nugent to ask his advice. He therefore
said “Good night!” and walked away.
Brandon watched him go up the road, and
then reentering the store just as his employer
was ready to leave, said:
“Can you stop a minute, Mr. Tubbs?”
“Certainly. What is it?”
“I have something to say to you—something
important.”
“Indeed!” said the grocer, surprised.
“Have you—missed any money within a few
days?”
“I can’t say. Why do you ask?”
“Because I saw something to-day that startled
me. Do you think Gerald is honest?”
“Bless my soul, of course! He comes of a
good family. His father was highly respected.”
“That may be; but there are plenty of boys
and men belonging to respectable families who
cannot be relied upon.”
.bn 123.png
“What did you see? What makes you suspect
the boy?”
“I saw him take a bill from the drawer this
afternoon. Suppose you examine it, and see if
you miss anything.”
The grocer opened the drawer hastily.
“I can’t tell,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t
keep track of the bills in the drawer.”
“I did. There was a five-dollar bill paid by
Mr. Bacon for a barrel of flour.”
“So there was, Brandon—so there was.”
“See if you can find the five-dollar bill in the
drawer.”
“No, I can’t,” returned Mr. Tubbs, after a
brief examination.
“Then that was the bill the boy took.”
“I can’t believe it; so young, too, and so
honest-looking!”
“He is evidently very artful,” said Brandon.
“I am sorry, Mr. Tubbs, I am really sorry to be
obliged to inform against him, but I felt it to
be my duty.”
“You are a good fellow, Brandon,” said the
grocer, grasping his hand. “You have done
what you ought to do. I feel that you are a
true friend.”
.bn 124.png
“I try to be, sir; but I will own that I had
a selfish motive.”
“What is it?”
“I thought if you missed the bill you might
suspect me.”
“No, Brandon; I could hardly do that, after
the long time you have been with me.”
“Yes, sir, I have been in your employ five
years, and I humbly hope that you have found
me faithful, sir.”
“Yes, Brandon,” said the deceived grocer, “I
have always found you faithful.”
Brandon laughed in his sleeve. He found his
task easier than he had supposed it would be.
Mr. Tubbs was a ready dupe.
“It seems terrible,” said the grocer. “What
would his poor father have said if he had lived
to know of the boy’s dishonesty?”
“Perhaps if his father had lived he would not
have stolen.”
“What do you think I ought to do, Brandon?
Would you advise me to have him arrested?”
“No, sir. Ask him to return the bill he took
from the drawer. If he denies having taken it,
you will know what to think.”
“True; your advice is good. I will speak to
.bn 125.png
him to-morrow morning. Thank you, for telling
me what you saw.”
The store was closed, and the two went in
different directions—Mr. Tubbs towards his
home, Brandon to the billiard-room.
The latter smiled as he pushed on his way.
“What would the old man have thought,” he
said to himself, “if he knew that I had the parson’s
bill in my own pocket? My friend Gerald,
I have spiked your guns, as you will find if you
undertake to make trouble for me. You are
altogether too innocent. You are too good to
play billiards, but you will find yourself in something
worse."
The next morning Gerald came to the store
earlier than usual, for he wanted an opportunity
of speaking to Mr. Tubbs. The grocer, unlike
most men in business for themselves, generally
was first on the ground and opened the store
himself. It was a habit he had formed when a
subordinate. He always rose early and had an
early breakfast, so that this involved no self-denial
on his part.
Brandon, to give Mr. Tubbs an opportunity
of speaking to Gerald, didn’t come round till
twenty minutes after his usual time.
.bn 126.png
Gerald noticed that the grocer looked unusually
grave, but was quite unprepared for what
was to come.
“Good morning, Mr. Tubbs,” he said, in a
pleasant tone.
The grocer did not return his greeting, but
said:
“Gerald, there is something I wish to speak to
you about.”
“Yes, sir. I wished also to speak to you.”
“I wonder whether he is going to confess,”
thought Mr. Tubbs.
“What have you to say to me?”
“I think a bank bill was taken from your
money-drawer yesterday.”
Mr. Tubbs was amazed. What did it mean?
Was it possible that the boy was going to make
a clean breast of his dishonesty?
“A bank bill was taken from the drawer yesterday,”
he said—“a five-dollar note.”
“I didn’t know that it was a five,” said Gerald.
“I didn’t suppose you had discovered
it.”
“I am glad, however, that you have confessed
the theft to me. Return the bill, and I will
overlook your fault.”
.bn 127.png
“What on earth do you mean, Mr. Tubbs?”
ejaculated Gerald. “You surely do not think
that I took the money?”
“Certainly I do.”
“Then, sir, you are very much mistaken,”
said Gerald, indignantly. “I was never dishonest
in all my life.”
“Some one must have taken the money.”
“Some one did.”
“Who, may I ask?”
“Brandon! I saw him take it from the drawer
when he was putting in a smaller sum, which
he had been paid for groceries.”
“This is shameful, Gerald Lane,” said Mr.
Tubbs, angrily. “It is not enough that you
take my money, but you seek to place the
crime upon an innocent man.”
“You are very much mistaken, Mr. Tubbs,”
said Gerald, pale but resolute. “I saw Brandon
take the money with my own eyes, but I
did not know that it was a five-dollar bill.
How did you discover your loss?”
“It was called to my attention last evening
by Brandon himself.”
“He told you the drawer had been robbed!”
exclaimed Gerald, in amazement.
.bn 128.png
“Yes.”
“Then he must have done it to divert suspicion
from himself. Probably he had the note
in his pocket when he was speaking to you.”
.bn 129.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV || A CRISIS
.sp 2
At this moment Brandon entered the store.
He took in at a glance what was going on. He
noticed Gerald’s flushed face and he smiled inwardly.
“I reckon the kid finds himself in hot water,”
he said to himself.
“Come here, Mr. Brandon,” said the grocer.
“Yes, sir,” returned Brandon, innocently.
“Do you remember telling me that you saw
Gerald take money from the drawer?”
“Yes, sir; I thought it my duty to tell you.
At the same time, as it is probably a first offence,
I hope you will forgive him.”
“You see how considerate Brandon is,” said
Mr. Tubbs, turning to Gerald. “What do you
think the boy says?”
This was, of course, addressed to Brandon.
“I don’t know, sir. Does he deny taking the
money?”
.bn 130.png
“Yes. He says he saw you take it!”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Brandon. “I
hope you don’t believe the charge, Mr. Tubbs.”
“Certainly not.”
“You may search me if you like.”
“Perhaps it will be well to search you both,
though, of course, the note may have been
spent.”
“I am at your command, Mr. Tubbs. Stay, I
will turn my pockets inside out!”
He proceeded to do so, but only a few silver
coins were found. The fact was that the note
had been paid away in the billiard-room the previous
evening.
“Now, Gerald, it is your turn.”
Gerald looked embarrassed. Though he was
perfectly innocent, he knew that there was a
five-dollar bill in his pocketbook—part of the
money drawn from the savings bank. Mr.
Barton had handed it to him only two days
previous.
Brandon had no knowledge of this. His only
idea was to subject Gerald to humiliation. But
when he saw the boy’s confusion, he began to
think that things were turning out unexpectedly
in his favor.
.bn 131.png
“I don’t think he wants to be searched, Mr.
Tubbs,” he said, pointedly.
“I am willing to follow the example of Mr.
Brandon,” said Gerald.
He took out his pocketbook and handed it to
the grocer.
The latter opened it, and drew out a five-dollar
bill.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, in excitement, as he
held it up to view. “This tells the story,
Gerald Lane! You are a thief!”
“That’s false, Mr. Tubbs!” said Gerald,
hotly. “That bill is mine.”
“That’s a likely story. Of course a boy that
will steal will lie.”
“It is true,” said Gerald, firmly.
“Then where did you get this money?” demanded
the grocer, sternly.
“From Mr. Barton, in the savings bank.”
“Gerald Lane, you may think I am an idiot,
but you are mistaken. I will keep this bill.”
“Then it is you who are the thief. You can
ask Mr. Barton if I do not tell the truth.”
Brandon smiled gleefully. He was very much
surprised to learn that Gerald had a five-dollar
bill in his possession. He knew, of course, that
.bn 132.png
it was not the bill taken from the drawer; but
the grocer did not know, and he saw that it
would clear him from suspicion.
“What do you think of this boy, Brandon?”
asked Mr. Tubbs.
“I think he yielded to temptation, and that
he won’t do it again. Will you do me a favor,
Mr. Tubbs, and overlook his offense?”
“You are very kind to him, Brandon, especially
when he has charged you with robbing the
money-drawer; but I cannot retain a thief in
my employ.”
“I don’t wish you to keep me at Mr. Brandon’s
request,” said Gerald, with spirit. “I do
not take back my charge against him.”
“Then, Mr. Tubbs,” said Brandon, “I have
no more to say,” and he moved to another part
of the store.
Things certainly looked dark for Gerald. The
circumstantial evidence against him was of a serious
and convincing character. But there was
an unexpected witness in his favor just entering
the store.
It was Mr. Barton.
Gerald’s face lighted up when he saw the entrance
of his friend. So did that of Mr. Tubbs.
.bn 133.png
“Now I shall be able to show that you were
lying,” said the grocer, triumphantly.
“What is the matter?” asked the bank teller,
turning from one to the other.
“Mr. Barton,” said the grocer, “you come just
in good time; This boy has robbed me of a five-dollar
bill.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the bank teller.
“Gerald Lane is an honest boy.”
“So I thought myself; but you are liable to
be deceived in boys. Mr. Brandon saw him take
the bill from the drawer, and told me. I have
searched him and found the bill in his possession.
Now he has the assurance to say that he got the
bill from you.”
“Probably he did.”
“What!” ejaculated the grocer, starting back
in amazement.
“It is true. I gave Gerald a five-dollar bill.”
“That is just what I told you, Mr. Tubbs,”
said Gerald, triumphantly.
“But,” said the grocer, “Brandon says he
saw him take a bill from the drawer, and I miss
a five-dollar note.”
“Then all I can say is that Mr. Brandon has
probably told you what is not true.”
.bn 134.png
“Sir!” exclaimed Brandon, nervously.
“I mean what I say,” said Mr. Barton,
sternly.
“I know Gerald Lane, and I would trust him
implicitly.”
“But a bill has been taken from my drawer,”
said the grocer.
“I am sure Gerald did not take it.”
“Mr. Tubbs, I will thank you to give me
back my money,” said Gerald.
“I don’t know that I ought to do it, after
what I have heard about you,” said Mr. Tubbs,
hesitating. “The bill could not have gone away
by itself.”
“That is true enough, but I am not the only
one employed in the store.”
The grocer was badly confused. He had decided
beyond a doubt that Gerald was a thief;
but then Mr. Barton vouched for him, and Mr.
Barton was a man of consideration.
He gave back the bill to Gerald, but with
reluctance.
“It seems, then,” he said, “that I am to bear
the loss.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Barton, “unless you discover
who took your money.”
.bn 135.png
“I shall feel uncomfortable to think I have a
thief in the store.”
“So far as I am concerned,” Gerald said,
proudly, “you will have no trouble. I resign
my position.”
“I guess you’d better stay till the end of the
week,” said Mr. Tubbs. “I can’t fill your
place right off.”
“I will do so to oblige you. If another such
charge is brought against me I shall leave you at
once.”
Here Mr. Barton made his purchase. As he
left the store he said:
“Call and see me, Gerald; we can talk this
matter over.”
When the bank officer had left the store Mr.
Tubbs said:
“There seems to be a great mystery about this
robbery.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Brandon.
“Mr. Barton seems to vouch for Gerald.”
“He is a good man, but not very sharp. He
is surely taken in.”
That evening when Gerald went home he
said to his stepmother:
“Mrs. Lane, I have something to tell you.”
.bn 136.png
“Well?” she responded, coldly.
“I am going to leave the grocery store,”
Gerald announced quietly.
“What? without my permission?” she demanded,
in displeasure.
“Yes, Mrs. Lane.”
“What’s your reason? Are you getting lazy?
Are you tired of work?”
“No.”
“Then let me know the cause of your determination.
Not that I shall consent to it.”
“Mr. Tubbs charged me with taking money
from the drawer.”
“Oh-o!” said Abel. “So that’s what you
have been up to. I suppose he has bounced
you!”
“Of course no one will believe it that knows
me,” returned Gerald, contemptuously.
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“If your mother were not here I would give
you a thrashing!” said Gerald, hotly.
“Ma wouldn’t let you.”
“All this is very discreditable, Gerald,” said
his stepmother. “I certainly did not think that
you would descend to theft. Mr. Tubbs might
have had you arrested.”
.bn 137.png
“I found a friend to speak up for me—Mr.
Barton.”
“Has Mr. Tubbs discharged you, or is he
willing to keep you?”
“I presume he is.”
“Then you will go back,” said Mrs. Lane,
decisively.
“I shall remain till the end of the week to
oblige Mr. Tubbs, but I will stay no longer.”
“We will see about that. Now it is time to
go to bed.”
.bn 138.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV || A STRANGE PROPOSAL
.sp 2
Gerald had learned to look upon Mr. Nugent
as a friend upon whose advice and assistance
he could rely. On Friday evening he called at
the house of his old friend and was cordially
received.
“Let me know how you are getting on,” said
the old gentleman.
Gerald briefly recounted what had passed.
“So your stepmother wishes you to remain
with Mr. Tubbs?” said Mr. Nugent.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you object?”
“I don’t care to remain with a man who
doubts my honesty.”
John Nugent smiled.
“Would you prefer me as an employer to
Mr. Tubbs?” he asked, after a pause.
“Very much,” answered Gerald, brightening
up.
.bn 139.png
He wondered, however, what Mr. Nugent
could have for him to do. There seemed no
chance in his establishment for a boy like himself
unless Mr. Nugent needed some one to work
for him. Gerald was willing to do this, though
he would have preferred some out-of-door
employment.
“Perhaps you wish me to do some writing?”
he suggested, in a tone of inquiry.
“No, I may wish to send you on a journey.
Would you object to that?”
“No, sir; I should be delighted to have the
chance to travel.”
“So I supposed,” said Mr. Nugent, with a benevolent
smile. “Most young people enjoy that.”
“Am I to go with you, sir?”
“No. I am not a good traveler. A cold,
which I should be very apt to contract, would
be likely to bring on my old enemy, rheumatism.
At my age a man prefers to linger by
his own fireside. You are not afraid of rheumatism?”
he added, in a jocular tone.
“No, sir.”
After a pause Mr. Nugent resumed:
“Two days ago I received a letter from
Montana, from a man I supposed to be dead.
.bn 140.png
“The contents took me very much by surprise.
I will read you the letter, and this will prepare
the way for the proposal I will make you.”
The old gentleman drew from his desk a
letter written on coarse paper, and addressed in
a hand made tremulous by age or infirmity.
It was post-marked at Campville, Montana.
The letter was passed to Gerald, who read as
follows:
.fs 85%
.in 4
“Mr. John Nugent—If you turn to the signature
of this letter you will recognize the name of
a man who once did you a great wrong. Twenty
years ago I was in the employ of the firm of
which you were a senior member. I had access
to the safe, and one day I appropriated twenty
thousand dollars in negotiable securities and
fled. You notified the police but I succeeded
in getting away with my ill-gotten gains. I
visited different parts of the great West, but
finally settled down in an out-of-the-way place
in Montana. I have been here ever since.
Part of the money I deposited in a Chicago
bank, part I brought with me. At that time,
as now, mining was the chief business in Montana.
I engaged in it with varying success.
.bn 141.png
"Upon the whole I have greatly prospered. Probably
I have in my possession at least twenty-five
thousand dollars.
“But I have not been happy. I have lived
the life of a recluse, cut off by my own act from
friends and society, and my wealth has done me
no good. My business has occupied my mind,
and afforded me in that way my only relief from
remorse. Latterly my health has been poor,
and I have felt myself breaking down. I am
probably about your own age, but I feel sure
that I shall not live long. I have some distant
relatives at the East, but I feel that what property
I have should be left, in the way of atonement,
to the man I have wronged.
“I am not able to go East. Would it be
possible for you to come here and receive the
money and property I possess, merely leaving
me enough to see me through the short time I
have yet to live? If not—if you, too, are unable
to travel—will you send me some trusted
friend who will act in your behalf? If possible,
send me some one who will remain with me to
the end. There are rough people hereabouts
who might rob me. Fortunately, partly from
my poor way of living, I am not supposed to
.bn 142.png
have much money. Probably no one supposes
me to be worth over three to four thousand
dollars. I dread the time when I shall be quite
helpless, as then I should be at the mercy of
designing and unscrupulous parties.
“You may be surprised that I have learned
your address. Lately I fell in with a stranger
from the East, who spoke of you and gave
me the information I desired. I trust this
letter will be received and that you will feel
like acting upon it. I shall die easy if I am
able, even at this late day, to make some atonement
for my wrong-doing.
.in 8
”Yours respectfully,
.in 16
“Thomas Nixon.”
.in 0
.fs 100%
Gerald read this letter with interest, but could
not understand how it could bear any relation
to him.
“What do you think of it, Gerald?” asked
Mr. Nugent.
“The man seems truly penitent,” answered
Gerald.
“You think, then, that it seems sincere and
truthful? You would be likely to put confidence
in it?”
.bn 143.png
“Yes, sir.”
“I remember this man Nixon; he was a
trusted clerk in our bank when I was a merchant
in New York. We all felt amazed when he
turned out a thief; he had no bad habits or extravagant
tastes so far as any of us knew.”
“Did you put the police on his track?”
“The matter was reported, of course; but
we found that a considerable expenditure was
required to excite interest and spur on the police
detectives to active efforts. Finally the search
was given up and the matter was well-nigh
forgotten.”
“Then the sum taken did not embarrass the
firm?”
“Only slightly and temporarily. Twenty
years have passed, as the letter says, and I had
well-nigh forgotten Nixon and his crime till this
letter reached me.”
The old gentleman paused, and Gerald felt
like asking, “What are you going to do about
it?” but Mr. Nugent anticipated him.
“I have been thinking over this letter, and
the writer’s request, and it embarrasses me. Of
course it is out of the question for me to go out
to Montana, in my state of health.”
.bn 144.png
“So I suppose, sir. You might send some one.”
“True, but whom shall I send? Ten years
ago, when I was more in touch with the world,
I might have thought of some one. But, partly
on account of my health, I have withdrawn
from society and from business, and actually
I cannot think of any one whom I should wish
to trust with such a weighty responsibility.”
Gerald quite entered into his feelings and
views, but was unable to offer a suggestion.
Of what Mr. Nugent had in his mind he had
not the remotest conception.
“You will want to do something?” he said.
“Such a sum of money is worth securing.”
“So most people would say. In my case,
having abundant means, I am less likely to be
influenced by this consideration. My chief object,
if I comply with the writer’s request, is to
bring relief to his mind by enabling him to
make atonement for his offence. It was only
this afternoon that I thought of one whom I
could send out to Montana as my agent.”
“Is it any one I know?” asked Gerald.
Mr. Nugent smiled.
“Probably you know him better than any one
else in the world. I mean yourself!”
.bn 145.png
Gerald started in amazement.
“You really mean it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But I am only a boy.”
“True, but you are a good, sensible, reliable
boy. How old are you?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
“So I supposed. The qualities I mentioned
are not a matter of age. Sometimes a boy is
more reliable than a man.”
“I thank you very much for your good opinion
of me,” said Gerald; “I am afraid you think
too well of me.”
“It may be so, but I have a good deal of confidence
in you.”
“I am very young for such a responsible
commission.”
“That’s true. I wish you were older, but
that is a matter that cannot be hastened. The
sum of it all is, that failing you I know of no
one whom I would care to trust. It must be
either you or none. Are you willing to undertake
the task?”
“Yes, sir, if you think me competent. I
am not only willing, but shall be very glad
to.”
.bn 146.png
“You are quite sure that you will like it as
well as staying with Mr. Tubbs?”
Mr. Nugent said this with a smile.
“I should not be willing to stay with Mr.
Tubbs at any rate.”
“When do you leave him?”
“To-morrow evening.”
“Very well. I will get you ready to start
for Montana on Monday.”
When Gerald reached home it was five minutes
past ten o’clock. Abel met him at the
door.
“Ma says she won’t have you comin’ home so
late,” he said. “She’ll give it to you!”
.bn 147.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI || MRS. LANE’S SURPRISE
.sp 2
Considering his new and brilliant prospects,
Gerald was not particularly disturbed by Abel’s
words. He didn’t take the trouble to reply, but
went at once into the sitting-room, where, with
a frowning face, Mrs. Lane awaited him.
“This is a fine time to come home,” she said,
abruptly.
“It is rather late, Mrs. Lane,” said Gerald,
calmly, “but I could not very well reach home
earlier.”
“Did you come from the store as soon as it
closed?”
“No, madam.”
“I suppose you went to the billiard-room; I
understand that you frequent that disreputable
place.”
“Then you are misinformed. I went there
one evening with Mr. Brandon, Mr. Tubbs’
clerk.”
.bn 148.png
“Where, then, did you go?”
“To Mr. Nugent’s.”
“You seem to have struck up quite an intimacy
with Mr. Nugent,” said his stepmother,
with a sneer.
“I hope you don’t consider him a disreputable
person, Mrs. Lane.”
“You are impertinent. You have no right
to annoy him by late visits.”
“I don’t. He is always glad to see me; to-night,
particularly, he had some business which
he wished to talk over with me.”
Abel laughed.
“Hear him talk, ma!” he said. “Just as if
Mr. Nugent would talk over business with
Gerald!”
Gerald did not think it necessary to
answer this malicious remark.
“I have been over to see Mr. Tubbs to-day,”
said Mrs. Lane.
Gerald looked at her inquiringly.
“And he has agreed to keep you. He still
thinks that you robbed the money-drawer, but
is inclined to think you will not repeat the
theft.”
“I am very much obliged to him, I am sure.”
.bn 149.png
“You have reason to be. It is not many employers
who would overlook such an offence.
You could not, of course, get another position
without his recommendation.”
Gerald did not reply. He waited to see
what more Mrs. Lane had to say.
“Therefore you will continue to work in the
grocery store.”
“You must excuse me for saying, Mrs. Lane,
that I shall not do so.”
“You dare to say that?” exclaimed his stepmother,
flushing with indignation.
“Yes, madam.”
“Do you expect me to support you without
work? If so, you will find yourself disappointed.
I shall not provide you with a home if
you dare to oppose my will.”
“It will not be necessary, Mrs. Lane. I have
obtained another situation.”
“What?” exclaimed his stepmother, in genuine
surprise.
“Who are you going to work for?” asked
Abel, his curiosity aroused.
“For Mr. Nugent.”
“How much is he goin’ to pay you?”
“I don’t know.”
.bn 150.png
“Nor any one else, I reckon. What can he
have for you to do?”
“I am not at liberty to tell just yet.”
“It strikes me, Gerald Lane, that I have some
voice in the matter. I shall not allow you to
give up a place unless you are to get one equally
good.”
“While I don’t know how much I am to get,
I have no doubt it will be considerably more
than Mr. Tubbs pays me.”
Gerald could not have said anything better
calculated to remove his stepmother’s objections
to his new plan.
“Very well,” she said, calming down, “if
that’s the case I don’t know that I shall object.
Have you no idea what you are to do?”
“Yes, I have some idea.”
“Tell me, then, all about it.”
“I am not at liberty to do so. You might
call on Mr. Nugent and ask him.”
“I will do so.”
Gerald smiled to himself. He knew that
Mrs. Lane would get very little information out
of the old gentleman.
Having no more to say Mrs. Lane suggested
that it was high time they all went to bed.
.bn 151.png
Gerald was quite ready to avail himself of the
opportunity, for he was tired. Besides, he
wanted a chance to think over the new and
brilliant prospect before him.
The next day Mr. Nugent was surprised by a
call from Mrs. Lane.
He lifted his eyes a little as she was shown
into his presence. He knew her by sight, but
had never spoken to her, beyond exchanging
formal greetings.
“I must apologize for intruding upon you,
Mr. Nugent,” she said, “but I am led to do so
by some information which Gerald, my stepson,
has given me.”
Mr. Nugent bowed, and waited to hear more.
“Gerald informed me last evening that you
had offered him employment. I did not know
whether to put confidence in his statement.”
“Why not?” asked the old gentleman,
curtly.
“Because I thought it might be only an excuse
for leaving Mr. Tubbs.”
“Gerald is incapable of falsehood.”
“I am glad you have so good an opinion of
him. Then do I understand that you have offered
him employment?”
.bn 152.png
“I have.”
“Of what nature?”
“Pardon me, but the business is of a confidential
nature.”
“Surely, as the boy’s stepmother, I have a
right to information on that point.”
“You have no right to pry into my private
affairs, Mrs. Lane.”
His visitor bit her lips from irritation.
“Gerald didn’t even know how much pay he
was to receive.”
“No, he does not know.”
“He is receiving three dollars a week from
Mr. Tubbs.”
“And you don’t care to have him work for
less?” said Mr. Nugent, with a smile.
“Precisely.”
“You may set your mind at rest, then.
While I don’t myself know how much I shall
pay him, it will be more than that.”
“That is satisfactory, of course. I presume
you know what charge Mr. Tubbs has made
against Gerald?”
“I do; but no one who knows the boy will
for a moment think of crediting it.”
“I supposed you thought so, or you would
.bn 153.png
not offer him employment. Do you intend to
employ him about your house?”
“No.”
“Then I can’t see what you can have for him
to do.”
“I may tell you as much as this, Mrs. Lane:
I shall send Gerald to a point at some distance
to transact some business for me, being unable,
from age and infirmity to make the journey
myself.”
Mrs. Lane was greatly surprised. She could
see that the commission was a desirable one,
and would like to have secured it for her own
son.
“I don’t know whether you have made a
wise selection of a messenger, Mr. Nugent. My
son Abel is as old as Gerald.”
“That may be, but I haven’t the pleasure of
knowing your son. Gerald and his father have
been for some time friends of mine.”
“When did you wish Gerald to start?”
“On Monday.”
“That is short notice. I don’t know that I
can have his clothes ready.”
“Never mind about that. I don’t want to
put you to any trouble in the matter. He can
.bn 154.png
take what is ready, and buy others if he has
need.”
“Will he be likely to be gone long?”
“For some time,” answered Mr. Nugent, indefinitely.
“Well, I trust he will satisfy you,” said Mrs.
Lane, as she rose to go.
“I have great confidence that he will.”
Meanwhile Mr. Tubbs took occasion to speak
to Gerald about staying.
“Your mother was in here yesterday to see
me, Gerald,” he commenced.
“My stepmother,” corrected Gerald.
“Oh, well, it’s all the same.”
“I don’t think so.”
“She’s a very sensible woman. I agreed
with her to keep you. There are some that
wouldn’t after what happened this week; but
I don’t want to be too hard upon you, considerin’
you are so young, and I said I would keep
you, trustin’ that all will be satisfactory here
after.”
“Mr. Tubbs, I have something to say to that.
I shall leave you to-night.”
“But your mother won’t allow it. You are
only a boy, and——”
.bn 155.png
“I am going to work for Mr. Nugent on Monday,
Mr. Tubbs.”
“What can he have for you to do?” asked
the grocer in surprise.
“I am to go on a journey for him, and attend
to some business.”
“That’s cu’rus. What can a boy like you
do?”
“You must ask him.”
“Can’t you put him off for a week? I haven’t
got nobody to fill your place.”
“You might get Richard Childs, but you
would have to pay him more. He is a good,
strong boy.”
“Yes, he might do; but I should like to keep
you a week longer.”
“It will be impossible, Mr. Tubbs.”
When Gerald left the grocery in the evening
with three dollars in his pocket, he felt glad
to bid farewell to a place that he had found so
disagreeable.
.bn 156.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch17
CHAPTER XVII || GERALD LEAVES PORTVILLE
.sp 2
On his way to church the next day Gerald
fell in with Richard Childs, a stout, manly boy
of sixteen.
“I want to speak to you, Gerald,” said Richard.
“Mr. Tubbs has offered me a place in his
store. I don’t want to accept it till I learn
whether I am depriving you of employment.”
“No, Dick. I have given Mr. Tubbs notice
that I must leave him.”
“Are you going back to school?”
“No; I am offered employment by Mr. Nugent.”
Richard looked puzzled.
“What does he want with a boy?”
“I am going to travel for him on business.
You mustn’t ask particulars, for the business is
private.”
“All right. Then I will accept; but I have
told Mr. Tubbs he must pay me four dollars.”
.bn 157.png
“What did he say?”
“He talked for an hour, but my father backed
me up, and he will have to pay it.”
Mrs. Lane and Abel made various attempts
to draw from Gerald the name of the place to
which he was going, but he steadfastly refused
to tell.
“I don’t know but I shall refuse my consent
to your going,” said his stepmother.
“In that case you will have me at home doing
nothing.”
“I might send you back to Mr. Tubbs.”
“He has already engaged Richard Childs in
my place.”
“I wish I were going with you,” said Abel.
“It is awfully stupid in Portville.”
“I will bring you home a present, Abel,”
said Gerald.
Abel brightened up. He was naturally an
avaricious boy, and was ready to accept whatever
came his way.
“Then I hope you’ll come back soon,” he
said.
“Thank you!”
The train on which Gerald was to be a passenger
was to leave Portville at ten o’clock.
.bn 158.png
Gerald had an invitation to breakfast at Mr.
Nugent’s in order to receive final instructions
and to be provided with money.
“I have but fifty dollars here, Gerald,” said
the old gentleman, “but I will give you a check
on the Park National Bank of New York for a
hundred and fifty. Probably that will be sufficient
for you till you reach your destination.”
“It seems to me a good deal of money, Mr.
Nugent.”
“Traveling is expensive, and it is not necessary
for you to be economical. I want you to
be comfortable. It will be best for you to carry
your money in different places, not all in your
pocketbook. Have you an inside pocket in your
vest?”
“Yes, sir, but I never made any use of it.”
“I will get my housekeeper to attach a button
and make a button-hole, for better security.
You can wear one of my vests while she is doing
it.”
“Shall I have any difficulty in drawing the
money from the bank?”
“No; I will indorse the check and make it
payable to you.”
He drew a check for one hundred and fifty
.bn 159.png
dollars, and indorsed it in this way. On the
back he wrote: “Correct. John Nugent.”
“You will have no trouble now,” he said.
“You will reach New York before twelve
o’clock, and may as well cash the check and buy
your ticket to Chicago. For the balance of the
day you can go about wherever you please. I
advise you to be careful and prudent, as you
will have a considerable amount of money in
your possession.”
When Gerald reached the railroad station he
found Abel on the platform. Abel followed
him to the ticket office and listened while he
called for a ticket to New York.
“So you’re going to New York?” he said.
“Yes,” answered Gerald.
“I wish ma would let me go with you. I
s’pose you’ll be back before the end of the
week?”
“I don’t know how long it will take to attend
to Mr. Nugent’s business.”
“When you get through that you’ll be out of
work,” said Abel, with pleased anticipation.
“I won’t count so far ahead as that. Well,
there is the train. Good-by!”
“So long! Write to me, if you get a chance.”
.bn 160.png
“I can’t promise.”
The train started, and Abel watched it till it
was out of sight.
“I wish I knew where Gerald is going, and
what he is going to do. I wonder if there is
work enough for two? I’ve a great mind to
call on old Nugent, and ask him.”
Mr. Nugent was considerably surprised when
the servant came up and told him a boy was
below who wished to see him.
“It can’t be Gerald Lane come back!” he
said to himself.
When Abel entered the room Mr. Nugent
was glad to find that this suspicion was unfounded.
“Good morning, young man,” he said. “Do
you wish to see me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t think I know you.”
“I am Abel Tyler, stepbrother of Gerald
Lane.”
“Oh, yes! I think I saw you yesterday in Mrs.
Lane’s pew.”
“I just saw Gerald off for New York.”
“And came to tell me of it? You are very
kind.”
.bn 161.png
“Yes, sir. I suppose Gerald is goin’ to
attend to some business for you in New
York?”
“Yes,” replied the old gentleman, quietly.
“I thought perhaps there might be business
enough for two persons. In that case I should
be very glad to join him, and help.”
“You are very considerate. Should that be
the case I can send for you.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Abel, eagerly.
“I suppose your mother would not object to
your undertaking it?”
“No, sir. I know New York better than
Gerald. He has never been there more than
two or three times.”
“I will bear that in mind.”
John Nugent resumed reading the morning
paper, and Abel felt that he was dismissed.
He rose, and, bidding Mr. Nugent good-by in
an airy manner, left the house.
“That may lead to something,” he said to
himself, complacently. “The old man seemed
rather struck by my appearance.”
It is just as well that Abel did not know how
Mr. Nugent had really been impressed. On the
way home he stepped into the grocery.
.bn 162.png
“Well, Mr. Tubbs, I’ve just seen Gerald off,”
he said.
“Where has he gone?” asked the grocer, not
without curiosity.
“He has gone to New York to attend to some
business for Mr. Nugent.”
“Business! A boy like that! The old
man must be crazy.”
“I think so myself. However, it’s a good
thing for Gerald.”
“I don’t know about that. It won’t take
more’n a week likely.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“And then he’ll be out of work. He’d better
have remained with me.”
“That’s what ma thought, but Gerald is very
obstinate.”
“He’ll be comin’ and ask me to take him
back,” said Mr. Tubbs, “but I don’t know as I
can. I’ve got a boy. Richard, you may take a
bushel of potatoes over to Mrs. Scott’s. There
may be some other articles to take out. You
can ask Mr. Brandon.”
“Are you going to ride?” asked Abel.
“Yes; I shall go in the wagon.”
“May I go with you?”
.bn 163.png
“If you want to,” answered Richard, with no
great alacrity.
Meanwhile Gerald kept on his way to the
great city. He enjoyed the trip, and his spirits
rose as he sped rapidly on. At length he reached
the Grand Central depot, and left the train along
with the rest of the passengers.
Just outside he fell in with a bootblack,
a lively specimen of the New York gamin.
“Have a shine, country?” he asked.
Gerald smiled.
“I blacked my boots before I came away.”
“Do you call that a shine?” said the boy, disdainfully.
“You don’t understand the business.”
“Can you do better?”
“I’ll shine ’em up so you can see your face
in ’em.”
“Go ahead, then.”
The boy started in, and was as good as his
word.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“It’s the best shine I ever had. What do you
charge?”
“Generally I get five cents, but I’ve got a
note to meet at the bank, and I’d like ten.”
.bn 164.png
“All right; you shall have it. Now, can you
tell me where to find the Park National Bank?”
“That’s the bank my note’s in. Take them
cars, and they’ll carry you there.”
He pointed to a car which was just then passing,
and Gerald boarded it.
In less than half an hour he entered the
Park Bank and made his way to the paying
teller.
.bn 165.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch18
CHAPTER XVIII || A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
.sp 2
“How will you have it?” asked the teller.
“In fives and tens.”
In a short time a thick roll of bills was handed
to Gerald which he put in his inside vest-pocket.
A man just behind him was waiting his turn,
and Gerald turned away and left the bank. He
would have felt less tranquil had he known that
he was being watched by a tall, thin man who
was hovering near the door. When Gerald left
the bank this man followed him at a distance.
Gerald paused at a street stand, where there was
a display of knives at low prices. He bought
one with three blades for fifty cents, and turning
into Ann Street, then as now occupied by pedlers
displaying their stock in trade in wagons,
he walked along slowly, curiously interested in
the goods on exhibition.
He was looking at some wallets when the tall
.bn 166.png
man, who had arranged his campaign, tapped
him on the shoulder.
Gerald turned in surprise.
“How are you, Jack? When did you come
to the city?” asked the man, heartily.
“You have made a mistake,” said Gerald.
“My name is not Jack.”
“Are’n’t you Jack Mortimer of New Rochelle?”
said the other in apparent surprise.
“No; my name is Gerald Lane.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Lane, but you are
the exact picture of Jack. Jack is a fine looking
boy of sixteen and my very good friend.”
Gerald was human, and this adroit flattery
impressed him favorably.
“Then I am sorry I am not Jack,” he said,
smiling.
“You don’t need to wish yourself any one
else,” said the man, significantly. “Then you
don’t come from New Rochelle?”
“No; I am from Portville.”
“Portville?” repeated the other, musing. “I
don’t think I know any one in Portville. I suppose
you are in the city for the day?”
“I may stay longer.”
“I wish you could spare time to call at my
.bn 167.png
house. I should like to have my wife see you.
She knows Jack Mortimer well, and I am curious
to see whether she would be deceived by the
resemblance as I was. By the way, let me introduce
myself. My name is Brand—William
Brand.”
“I am glad to have met you, Mr. Brand.”
“Don’t you think you could go up to my
house and take lunch?”
“Where do you live?” asked Gerald.
It occurred to him that he really had nothing
to occupy his time, and might find it agreeable
to accept Mr. Brand’s invitation.
“On West Twelfth Street, near Sixth Avenue.
We could go up on the Sixth Avenue cars. If
you are not familiar with New York, I might,
perhaps, point out some landmarks on the way.
But it is rather early. Isn’t there anything I
could show you down here?”
“I have always wanted to cross the Brooklyn
Bridge.”
“It is close at hand. Come with me and we
will cross it.”
“I shouldn’t like to take up your time, Mr.
Brand.”
“Don’t mention it. I am having a vacation
.bn 168.png
this week, at any rate, so that it will be no inconvenience
to me.”
“Then I will accept your kind invitation.”
The man turned and led the way up Nassau
Street, and then by the World building till he
reached the entrance to the bridge. Gerald surveyed
it with great interest.
“There is one thing I remember in connection
with the bridge,” said Brand. “I was the
first man to cross it on the day it was thrown
open to the public.”
“Is that really so?”
“Fact, I assure you. I was nearly crushed in
the crowd, but I was determined that I would
do it and I succeeded.”
They went up the stairs and Brand bought
two train-tickets, insisting on paying for both.
“If we had time we should find it agreeable
to walk,” he said, “but it would take a good
while, and I want to take you up-town.”
Gerald felt that he was in luck to have met
so pleasant and obliging a companion. He did
not examine Brand critically, or he might not
have formed so favorable an opinion of him. He
had a long, thin face, very dark, and with his
eyes very near together. But Gerald was not
.bn 169.png
skilled in physiognomy, and it never occurred
to him to doubt the sincerity and good faith of
Mr. William Brand.
As they rode over the bridge Brand pointed
out different objects and buildings, and called
Gerald’s attention with a laugh to the enormous
chair which, in those days, was near the Brooklyn
terminus of the bridge.
“That is the mayor’s chair,” he said.
“He must be an unusually large man,” said
Gerald, “if he requires so large a chair.”
When they reached Brooklyn they walked a
short distance on Fulton Street, and then Brand
proposed to return.
“Brooklyn is a large city,” he said, “and we
can’t undertake to see it in a few minutes.
We will take the cars back, and then go to my
house up-town.”
“Very well, Mr. Brand,” replied Gerald.
They boarded a return car, Brand paying the
fare again.
“I don’t want you to pay for me, Mr. Brand,”
said Gerald.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Brand, carelessly.
“You may pay on the Sixth Avenue cars on the
other side.”
.bn 170.png
“You are certainly very kind to me.”
“Don’t mention it. You don’t seem like a
stranger; you seem so much like Bill Mortimer.”
“I thought you said his name was Jack Mortimer.”
“So it is. I am very shaky on names. Perhaps
it is because I am getting old.”
This seemed a plausible explanation of his slip
of the tongue, and Gerald accepted it.
They left the bridge and crossed the City Hall
Park. While crossing it Brand was accosted by
an ill-looking man with a cast in his eye.
“Friend of yours?” he asked, staring at
Gerald.
“Yes.”
“Introduce me, won’t you?”
“Some other time,” muttered Brand, not
seeming very well pleased.
“I see. You want him all to yourself,” and
he winked in a disagreeable way.
Brand hastily bade him good-day, and hurried
Gerald across the park.
“Is that a friend of yours?” asked Gerald,
curiously.
“No, or, rather, he was once. He was an old
school-fellow of mine, and though he has not
.bn 171.png
turned out very well, I can’t give him the cold
shake.”
This was a new expression to Gerald, but he
had no difficulty in understanding it.
“I am sorry to say he is a victim of intemperance,”
proceeded Brand. “I hope you don’t
drink?”
“No, certainly not,” answered Gerald.
“Nor I. I drank some as a young man, but
I soon saw the folly of it, and broke it off.”
Mr. Brand’s appearance hardly bore him out
in this statement. His nose was decidedly red,
and his complexion mottled. Still Gerald never
doubted his assurance. He began to think
Brand a man of exemplary habits.
They took the Sixth Avenue cars near the
Astor House, and started up-town. Brand signaled
the conductor to stop at Twelfth Street,
and then turned toward Seventh Avenue. He
stopped at a brick house half way down the
block, and opened the door with a pass-key.
The hall into which he led the way was rather
dingy, and the interior suggested a tenement-house.
“I am not very well satisfied with this house,”
said Brand, “and I shall probably soon make a
.bn 172.png
change. I came here to oblige the landlady,
who is an old friend of mine, and was finding
it difficult to pay the rent. I wish I could live
in the country. Everything is so much neater
there. I was born in the country, but my business
requires me to live in New York.”
“I don’t think I should like to live in the
city,” said Gerald.
“Of course it is a better place for a business
man. You may come to live here in time.”
“Perhaps so.”
By this time they had reached a room on the
third floor. Brand opened the door and led the
way in. It was a long, narrow room, with
one window at the end, and was very plainly
furnished. The bed did not appear to have
been made, and there was a dirty towel hanging
over the back of a chair. Gerald was certainly
surprised. He supposed that Brand had
a comfortable home. In fact, he thought he
occupied a whole house, as was the case with
those whom he knew in Portville.
“Isn’t your wife at home?” he asked, for he
saw no signs of a woman’s occupation.
“My wife?” asked Brand, looking surprised.
“Yes; you said you wanted your wife to see
.bn 173.png
me, on account of my resemblance to Jack
Mortimer.”
“Oh, yes; of course. It didn’t occur to me
that my wife had gone over to Brooklyn to
spend the day.”
There was something in his tone and in the
surroundings that excited Gerald’s suspicion for
the first time.
“I think if that is the case, Mr. Brand, I will
not stay,” he said.
Brand did not reply, but deliberately locked
the door and put the key in his pocket.
.bn 174.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch19
CHAPTER XIX || A BOLD ROBBERY
.sp 2
“What does this mean, Mr. Brand?” demanded
Gerald, with quick suspicion.
Brand sat down on the bed, and answered,
with a smile:
“It means that I want your money, young
man.”
“How do you know that I have any?”
“I was in the Park National Bank when you
drew money this morning. I want it.”
“So you are a thief?” returned Gerald, hotly,
“You would rob a boy?”
“I would rob any one that had money. The
fact is, I am hard up and must get money somewhere.”
“And this was your object in making my acquaintance
and taking me about the city.”
“Yes; you have guessed it.”
“The money that I have does not belong to
.bn 175.png
me. If I had any money of my own I would
give it to you.”
“I don’t care whether the money is yours or
the mayor’s. A dollar is a dollar, no matter
to whom it belongs. So fork over, young man,
and don’t keep me waiting.”
“Is it possible such crimes are committed in
a great city with hundreds near at hand?”
“That’s a conundrum. However, I can answer
in the affirmative. Now, how much money
have you got?”
The money Gerald had drawn from the bank
he had put in his inside vest-pocket. That
amounted, as the reader is aware, to one hundred
and fifty dollars. The money he had
brought from Portville he had in his wallet,
and this amounted to only fifty. The loss of
this would not inconvenience him. He decided
to give this up if necessary. The question in
Gerald’s mind was whether Brand had seen him
put away the Park Bank money.
“I have fifty dollars,” he answered. “I will
give you ten dollars if you will let me go.”
“Ten dollars!” repeated Brand, scornfully.
“You must think me an idiot.”
“But I can’t get along without money.”
.bn 176.png
.if h
.il fn=p172.jpg w=500px
.ca “WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?”
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: “WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?”]
.if-
.bn 177.png
.bn 178.png
“Neither can I. So hand over your money.”
It looked as if Brand were deceived, and that
Gerald might save the more considerable sum
in his vest-pocket. But to part with it too
easily might excite suspicion.
“Mr. Brand,” said Gerald, “I appeal to you
once more. Let me go free; or, at any rate,
don’t take all my money.”
“All your money is very little. I thought
you had more. Fifty dollars will hardly pay
me for the trouble I have taken.”
“I didn’t ask you to take any trouble. You
would have done better to select some other
victim.”
“I thought you would be the easiest to deal
with,” returned Brand, coolly. “But we are
wasting time. Produce your money.”
Gerald drew out his wallet. Fortunately
for him the contents were in bills of small
denominations, so that, though only representing
a small sum, they made quite a goodly
show.
“Ah!” said Brand, in a tone of satisfaction,
as he held out his hand, “that is something
like. It is like the sight of water to a thirsty
traveler.”
.bn 179.png
As he spoke he deliberately put the wallet
in his pocket.
“But,” said Gerald, in apparent alarm, “if
you take all my money how am I to get
home?”
Brand shrugged his shoulders.
“You are young and strong; it won’t hurt
you to walk,” he replied.
“Then I shall have to stay in the city.”
“It will be safer for me to get him out of the
city,” thought Brand.
“How much will it cost you to get home?”
he asked.
“A dollar.”
Brand drew a dollar bill from the wallet and
threw it out on the bed.
“There,” he said, “you can’t say I have
treated you meanly. Have you any change?”
“No.”
“Here is half a dollar besides. It was all
the money I had before I struck luck in meeting
you.”
“It is not very good luck for me,” said Gerald,
with a long face.
“Oh, you’ll get over it. And now, Mr. Lane,
I will bid you a good morning.”
.bn 180.png
He rose to his feet, and walking to the door,
unlocked it. Gerald followed him.
Brand waved him back.
“You are not going out,” he said. “You
will have to wait here a little longer.”
“Why won’t you release me, Mr. Brand?
You have got my money; what more do you
want?”
“Because, my young friend, we might meet a
policeman outside, and you might introduce me
to him. Do you see?”
“Yes,” answered Gerald, smiling.
“I must therefore bid you good-by in haste.
I suppose we are not likely to meet again?”
“I hope not.”
“I quite agree with you.”
He opened the door and went out into the
entry. Gerald heard the key turned in the
lock, and sat down to consider the situation.
He had no idea how long he should be compelled
to remain in the room, but as might be
expected, he was impatient to have his captivity
ended. Reflecting over the events of the morning,
he felt mortified to think that he had fallen
such an easy victim to an unscrupulous adventurer.
.bn 181.png
The door was locked, but there was a window.
Could he escape that way? He walked
to the window and looked out. There was a
small yard below, but, as the room was on the
third floor, the distance was too great for him
to jump or let himself down. Besides, should
he do so, he might be taken for a burglar or
unauthorized intruder, and stand in danger of
being arrested.
Possibly there might be some person in the
adjoining room—some one whose attention he
might attract. He judged that the partition
was thin, and that any noise he made would be
heard. He began to pound on the wall, gradually
increasing the vigor of his efforts.
“If there is anybody there he can’t help hearing,”
he reflected.
He was soon assured that he was right.
In a minute he heard a voice outside his door.
It was the sharp, shrill voice of a woman.
“What are you doin’ there, you spalpeen?”
were the words he heard. “Do you want to
batter down the wall?”
“No,” answered Gerald, “I want to get out.”
“Why don’t you get out, then? What’s to
hinder?”
.bn 182.png
“I am locked in!”
“Shure, that’s quare! Who locked you in?”
“Mr. Brand.”
“I don’t know any such man.”
It had not occurred to Gerald that his acquaintance
of the morning might have given
him a false name.
“It’s the man that lives here, then. He said
his name was Brand.”
“Mr. Turner occupies the room.”
“Is he a tall, dark man?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s the one that lured me here,
robbed me of my money, and then left after
locking me in.”
“Oh, my gracious! I didn’t think he was
such a man!”
“Can you open the door? Have you a key?”
“Yes, but it is the key of my own room. I
don’t think it will fit.”
“Try it, won’t you?” asked Gerald, anxiously.
The key was thrust into the lock, but it
would not open it.
“No, it won’t fit,” said the woman.
This was discouraging.
.bn 183.png
“Won’t you ask the landlady to open the
door?” asked the young prisoner. “Probably
she has a key that will open it.”
There was a step heard on the stairs.
“Oh, Mr. Brown,” said the woman, “will
your key open the door of this room?”
“I will try it. What’s up?” asked the new
arrival, who seemed to be a young man.
Gerald waited in anxious suspense while the
key was thrust into the lock. It fitted, and the
door was opened.
“How were you locked in?” asked the young
man looking puzzled. “You don’t lodge here,
do you?”
“No; I was lured here by the man who occupies
the room. He robbed me of my wallet,
and then went away, locking me in.”
“Whew!” exclaimed the young man. “That
will make an item for my paper.”
“Are you an editor?” asked Gerald.
“I am a reporter on an evening paper,” he
replied. “Miss Sloan, this is Mr. Turner’s
room, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mr. Brown. Do you think he is a
burglar? If so, I sha’n’t dare to live in the
house.”
.bn 184.png
“He won’t try to rob you, and I feel safe.
Editors and reporters are not attractive game
for gentlemen of his profession.” Then turning
to Gerald, he asked: “Did he relieve you of
much money?”
“Fifty dollars.”
“Oh, my gracious!” exclaimed Miss Sloan,
throwing up her hands. “Poor boy, did he
take all you had?”
“No, ma’am, I have a little left. What ought
I to do?”
“Report the matter to the police. I’ll go
with you. The fellow ought to be arrested.”
.bn 185.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch20
CHAPTER XX || A LETTER FROM PORTVILLE
.sp 2
Gerald followed the reporter to the nearest
station-house, and gave an account of the robbery.
Notes were taken and he was asked,
“If we arrest this man will you appear against
him?”
“I want to leave town to-morrow, if possible.”
“You will have to stay longer than that.
However, we will hurry up the trial.”
By this time Gerald was hungry.
“Is there a restaurant near by?” he said.
“Yes. I am going out to lunch myself; you
can accompany me.”
The reporter led the way to Fourteenth Street,
where Gerald found a neat and satisfactory restaurant.
The robbery had not spoiled his appetite,
and he did justice to a generous meal.
When they left the restaurant the reporter
asked: “Where are you going now?”
“I don’t know. I have no particular plans.”
.bn 186.png
“Then come with me. There has been a fire
on Third Avenue, and I am commissioned to
inquire particulars of the losses and insurance.
It will give you an insight into city life.”
“I shall be glad to go with you.”
They visited the scene of the fire, and half an
hour was consumed by the reporter in gathering
the needed information. Then they walked
down the avenue toward Fourteenth Street.
All at once Gerald clutched his companion’s
arm.
“Look, Mr. Brown,” he said; “there is the
man that robbed me!”
A few rods in advance, walking with his
usual sauntering gait, was Turner, known to
Gerald as William Brand.
“You are right. That’s the man.”
“What shall I do?”
“Keep him in sight till you see a policeman.
Then ask to have him arrested.”
Usually it is said that a policeman is never
in sight when he is wanted; but in this case
there was an exception. One of the bluecoats
turned into Third Avenue from a side street.
Gerald darted forward and touched him on the
arm.
.bn 187.png
“What’s wanted, sonny?” asked the officer.
“I have been robbed of fifty dollars, and
there’s the man that robbed me.”
“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to
make a mistake.”
By this time the reporter came up.
“It’s all right, officer,” he said. “I know the
man.”
“And who are you, sir?”
“A reporter on the Evening——”
The policeman regarded him with respect.
He felt that it was well for him to keep in with
reporters on the daily papers.
“All right, sir,” he answered. “You will accompany
me to the station-house?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll make the arrest. Keep close at
hand.”
Increasing his pace, the officer caught up with
Brand and tapped him on the shoulder. He
turned quickly, and when he recognized who it
was that had touched him, his face underwent
a quick change. But he put on a bold front.
“How are you, captain?” he said, with assumed
nonchalance. “You are Officer Benson,
are you not?”
.bn 188.png
“No.”
“I thought you were. Benson is a fine fellow,
and an old-time friend of mine.”
“That’s all very well, but I have business
with you. You are charged with the robbery
of a wallet containing fifty dollars.”
“This must be a joke!” said Brand, in assumed
surprise. “Who makes the charge?”
The officer pointed out Gerald.
“Never saw him before in my life!” he exclaimed.
“Perhaps you never saw me, Mr. Turner?”
struck in the reporter.
“Yes; you live in the same house with me.”
“Exactly. You lured this boy to your room,
and, after robbing him, locked him in. I released
him.”
“Was this the story he told you?”
“Yes.”
“All I can say is, that if he got into my room
it was for the purpose of robbery.”
Gerald was about to make an indignant denial,
when the officer said: “You’ll have to go
with me, Mr. Brandon Turner, or whatever
your name is. I am not running a police court.
You can defend yourself in the court-room.”
.bn 189.png
“But this is an outrage!” blustered Brand.
“To be arrested on a false charge made by a
young rascal!”
“Come along! I didn’t recognize you at
first, but I believe you are Jim Hayden, whose
picture is in the Rogues’ Gallery, in Mulberry
Street.”
In spite of further remonstrance, Brand was
taken to the police station, and, at Gerald’s request,
was searched. The missing wallet was
found in his pocket, and proved to contain the
lost money with the exception of five dollars,
which had probably been spent.
He was tried the next day, and sentenced to
three years in State’s prison. Altogether Gerald
was delayed three days. Then, with his restored
money in his pocket, he started for Chicago.
His new friend the reporter accompanied him
to the depot of the Pennsylvania Railroad at
Jersey City.
“I wish you good luck, Gerald,” he said.
“If you triumph over obstacles as you have
done here, there is little doubt that you will
come out successful in the end. I shall be glad
if you will write me a line occasionally.”
“I will do so, Mr. Brown. You have done
.bn 190.png
me a great service, which I shall not readily
forget.”
Gerald remained two days in Chicago. By
Mr. Nugent’s advice he put up at the Palmer
House, and devoted a part of his time to looking
about the city. He was very much impressed
by the bustling activity and energy of
the Chicago people. He felt that life there and
in New York was very different from the hum-drum
existence of Portville. Yet there was no
lack of attachment for his native village; and
when, on the second day, the clerk handed him
a letter with the familiar postmark, he opened
it eagerly. The letter, as he surmised, was from
Richard Childs, to whom alone he had said anything
of his destination.
This was the letter:
.fs 85%
.in 4
.ti +2
“Dear Gerald—It seems odd for me to sit
down to write you a letter in Chicago. I cannot
realize that you are so far away. What a
lot you must have seen already! I only wish
I were with you, instead of standing behind the
counter in Mr. Tubbs’ grocery store.
“You will ask how I like it. Well, I don’t
like it. It is hard work and long hours, and I
.bn 191.png
don’t find much interest in selling butter, sugar
and other groceries over the counter. Still, we
have had a share of excitement. You will be
surprised to hear that your old friend Brandon
has been discharged, and a new clerk hired from
Dana. You remember the trouble you had,
and the charge of stealing which was brought
against you. I believe that up to the time of
your going away Mr. Tubbs still believed you
to be a thief. You can’t wonder at it so much,
for Brandon was constantly talking against
you. But you were not without friends. Mr.
Barton, from the savings bank, had an interview
with Mr. Tubbs, and persuaded him to
lay a trap for Brandon. Two marked bills—fives—were
placed in the drawer, and presently
one disappeared. I don’t know whether Tubbs
thought that I had taken it or not, but a day
or two later Mr. Sullivan, who keeps the livery-stable,
handed one in payment of his grocery
bill.
“'Where did you get this five-dollar note?’
asked Tubbs.
“'Why, isn’t it good?’ asked Sullivan.
“'Yes; but I have a reason for asking. I
hope you haven’t forgotten who gave it to you?’
.bn 192.png
“'No; I don’t have so many fives handed in
that I can’t remember. That bill was given me
by your clerk Brandon. He hired a team to go
to Sherborn last Sunday and paid me with this
bill.’
“'You could swear to that?’
“'Yes; certainly.’
“Of course this was convincing, and Brandon
was summoned. When confronted with the
charge he turned pale, and tried to brazen it
out, saying that Sullivan was mistaken. But
the livery man persisted in his assertion, saying
that he noticed a cross in red ink on the bill
when he took it. Upon that Brandon was discharged,
and I understand his father has agreed
to pay Mr. Tubbs fifty dollars to save him from
arrest and prosecution. His successor, Mr.
Toner, is a great improvement on him, and is
much more satisfactory to me.
“I see your dear stepbrother Abel now and
then. He asked me if I had heard from you,
knowing our intimacy; but I answered 'No.’
He was wondering whether you were still in
New York. I could have told him, but I didn’t.
He isn’t very popular in the village. He tries
to boss the other boys, but doesn’t succeed very
.bn 193.png
well. The boys are getting up a baseball club.
He wanted to be captain, but only received one
vote—his own. The captain chosen is my honorable
self. What do you think of Captain
Childs? Sounds great, doesn’t it? Write as
soon as you can, and let me know what has
happened to you.
.in 8
”Your true friend,
.in 10
“Richard Childs.”
.in 0
.fs 100%
.bn 194.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch21
CHAPTER XXI || A MINING SETTLEMENT IN MONTANA
.sp 2
Campville was a small mining settlement
in Montana.
All the buildings were of a temporary character—generally
of one story. There was a
long street, after the fashion of most western-pioneer
settlements, but the houses on it were
not many. The largest was a general store for
the sale of such articles as miners need. It was
kept by one Joe Loche. He came from Maine
to Montana, mined for a while with indifferent
success, and then opened a store. This was a
business he knew something about, and he succeeded
almost immediately. His store was a
general rendezvous of miners in the intervals
of work.
One morning, when four or five persons were
in Loche’s store, sitting around on kegs, a young
man of about thirty entered. He had a long,
.bn 195.png
thin face and roving eyes, and looked like one
whom a prudent man would not care to meet
on a dark night.
He entered the store and looked about him
curiously. He was a stranger in the settlement,
and his glances were returned with interest.
“Mornin’ stranger!” said Loche, who always
had an eye for a possible customer. “What
can I do for you? What did you say your
name was?”
“I didn’t say.”
This curt answer produced an unfavorable
impression.
“I reckon you’ve got a name, ain’t yer?”
said Joe, coldly.
“Yes. My name is Ralph Nixon.”
The statement was received with surprise.
“Any relation to old Tom Nixon, who lives
on the hill?”
This question, asked by Joe Loche, voiced the
question which all wished to ask.
“He is my uncle. Can you tell me about
him?”
“The old man is pretty sick,” said Joe.
“Like to die?” asked Ralph, eagerly.
“Oh, well, I don’t know. Men that are always
.bn 196.png
dying live for years sometimes. Haven’t
you seen him lately?”
“No; I never saw him.”
“How is that?”
“He came West when I was a baby.”
“Have you come out to see him?”
“Yes. I thought the old man might need
some one to look after him. Has he got any
money—enough to live on?”
“I reckon so. He’s interested in some
mines at Eldorado, but he stays in an old
tumble-down cabin, and it doesn’t cost him anything
to live.”
“Where does he live?”
“Come out and I’ll show you. About a quarter
of a mile back of the settlement.”
Ralph followed Joe Loche out of the store,
and received directions.
“So he owns some mines, does he?” asked
the young man, with a covetous gleam in his
small, bead-like eyes.
“Yes.”
“They ought to be worth something,” he said,
meditatively.
“Yes, the old man may be worth near five
thousand dollars.”
.bn 197.png
“Does he live alone?”
“Yes, quite alone.”
“I suppose he was never married?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No; he has never written East since he left
us. It was only lately that we learned where
he was. Then father thought I’d better come
out here and look him up.”
“I reckon he will be glad to see you.”
“He ought to be; but I am a stranger to him.”
“I haven’t seen him round town lately. I
guess he’s under the weather.”
Joe went back into the store, and Ralph
Nixon made his way over the rough ground to
the old cabin which had been pointed out to him.
“I shouldn’t wonder if he were a miser,” he
reflected. “He’s been out here twenty-five
years, more or less, and has lived on next to
nothing. Even if he hasn’t made much he’s
got it all, according to accounts. I’m the only
one of his kith and kin that he is likely to see,
and he can’t do any better than to leave me
what he’s got. If he doesn’t, I’ll stay out here
and try my own luck at mining. There’s no
chance for me in the East, even if I hadn’t got
into trouble.”
.bn 198.png
He reached the cabin, and paused for a short
time on the outside. It was a tumble-down
affair, and looked by no means like the residence
of a rich man. This might have dampened
Ralph’s courage, but that he had made up
his mind that his uncle was a miser.
Finally he edged round to the side of the
cabin and looked in at the window.
What he saw was this: in a wooden chair,
evidently of home manufacture, sat a decrepit
old man. His face was thin, his cheeks hollow,
and his hair, perfectly white, scarcely covered
his head. His limbs were attenuated, his chest
was hollow, and he looked like a very old and
infirm man, though he numbered but sixty-five
years.
“What a skeleton he is!” thought Ralph.
“He is just on the verge of the grave, ready to
tumble in. It’s a lucky thing I came here, for
if he had died those roughs at the store would
have taken his money and his relations would
never have been the wiser. Well, I’ll go in and
scrape acquaintance with the old effigy.”
He walked round to the door, and without
the ceremony of knocking, opened it and made
his way into the cabin.
.bn 199.png
Thomas Nixon looked up, and seemed alarmed
when he saw the intruder.
“Who are you?” he asked, in a thin, quavering
voice.
It was natural that he should be alarmed, for
a western mining settlement has generally its
share of rough and unscrupulous men, social
outlaws, who have made their way thither in
search of gain or booty.
“Don’t be alarmed, Uncle Thomas,” said
Ralph, in a reassuring tone. “I am your nephew
Ralph, come from the East to look after you.”
“I know of no Ralph. Whose son are you?”
“My father is Gideon Nixon.”
“My oldest brother?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know where I lived?”
“A man came to Stamford who had been
here. Learning my name, he told us he knew a
man named Nixon out here. He said you were
old and feeble, and father thought I had better
come out and look you up.”
“It wasn’t worth while. I am a poor old
man, and I can do you no good.”
“Are you poor?” asked Ralph, his tone betraying
his disappointment.
.bn 200.png
“Look around you and judge for yourself,”
returned the old man, eying his nephew with a
glance of mingled curiosity and shrewdness.
“I was told in the village that you were interested
in some mines.”
“My affairs are known only to myself. If you
have come out to help me and supply my old
age with comfort, it is a kind and charitable
object.”
Ralph was much disturbed by these words.
He was very much afraid that his uncle was
nearly as poor as he claimed. In that case his
errand would be bootless. But, looking about
him with a feeling of discontent, his eye fell on
a tin box such as may be found in grocery stores
filled with crackers.
“I’ll find out what there is in that box,” he
decided.
Without answering the old man, he rose, and
moving toward the box, lifted the lid.
“What are you doing?” asked Mr. Nixon,
in alarm.
Ralph did not answer. He had something
else to think of. The box was a third full of
glittering gold pieces, upon which he gazed as if
fascinated.
.bn 201.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch22
CHAPTER XXII || THE TABLES ARE TURNED
.sp 2
Ralph Nixon burst into a laugh.
“I see you are very poor, uncle,” he said.
“It is a feast for sore eyes to see these piles
of yellow darlings.” And he took out a handful
and eyed them lovingly.
“Let them alone! Shut the box!” cried the
old man, in agitation and alarm.
“How many may I take, uncle?” asked Ralph.
“None, you thief!”
“Don’t call me hard names, dear Uncle
Thomas,” said the young man, mockingly.
“Don’t forget that I am your nephew.”
“I don’t know whether you are or not. Shut
up the box, I say.”
“You are an old man. You can’t live long.
This money won’t do you any good. You won’t
live to enjoy it. Give me half.” And as he
spoke he deposited in his pocket the handful
of coins he had already taken.
.bn 202.png
This was too much for the old man. With an
effort he rose to his feet and staggered to where
the intruder was kneeling.
“Go away; go away at once!” he cried out,
in agitation. “You are a thief. I don’t believe
you are a Nixon at all.”
He tried to seize Ralph by the shoulder, but
only fell over him.
The young man laughed, and put another
handful of coins into his pocket.
“You—you scoundrel! Old as I am, I’ll
live to see you hanged!”
By this time the visitor had become angry.
He gave the old man a push which laid him on
his back, for he had little or no strength.
Thomas Nixon began to cry out, “Help!
Murder! Thieves!” so that his nephew became
alarmed.
“If you don’t stop your yelping I’ll choke
you!” he exclaimed.
But the old man continued crying out.
Finally Ralph lost patience, and grasped the
old man by the throat, nearly choking him.
“Will no one help me?” he cried, feebly, as
soon as the grasp was somewhat relaxed.
“No; there is no one within hearing!” said
.bn 203.png
Ralph. “Give me half of these gold pieces and
I will go away and never trouble you again.”
“No, no!” screamed the old man. “I won’t
give you one!”
“Then I shall have to help myself,” said
Ralph, coolly, and this he proceeded to do.
The old man, who was lying on his back on
the floor, tried to get up, but he was too weak,
and his unfeeling nephew laughed at his efforts.
“Will no one help me?” he again asked, in
piteous accents.
“I guess not,” said Ralph; but as he spoke
the outer door opened, and Gerald Lane appeared.
Scarcely noticing who it was, but knowing
that some one had entered the room, the old
man again called for assistance.
Ralph Nixon was at first alarmed when he
heard the door open, but on seeing Gerald his
boldness returned.
“It’s only a kid?” he exclaimed, contemptuously.
“What are you doing there?” demanded
Gerald, with spirit.
“None of your business, boy. You’d better
clear out!”
.bn 204.png
“He is robbing me!” complained the old
man.
“I am his nephew. Part of the gold is
mine.”
“I never saw him till this morning. He is a
thief! Help me if you can!”
“I’ll try,” said Gerald.
Looking about him for some offensive weapon
he espied a broom. Seizing it, he flourished it
above his head, and ordered the ruffian to put
back the gold he had taken.
These words were greeted by a derisive
laugh.
“I take no orders from a kid!” said the thief.
“Then take that!”
Carried away by his indignation, Gerald struck
Ralph a smart blow on the head with the broom-handle.
The ruffian was immediately on his
feet, his face blazing with wrath.
“I’ll give you a lesson!” he exclaimed, between
his set teeth.
Gerald began to realize that he was in a tight
place, but he was a brave boy, and he had no
intention of surrendering. He dodged quickly
to one side, and dealt the intruder another blow
on his head. This added to his fury, and he
.bn 205.png
made a mad dash after Gerald. He finally
seized him by the shoulder, and, with a violent
push, threw him on the floor. Of course a boy’s
strength was no match for that of a robust man.
Struggle as he might, Gerald was overpowered.
The ruffian, with a cruel gleam in his eyes, seized
the boy by the throat and tried to strangle
him.
Though the old man didn’t know Gerald, he
appreciated the fact that it was in trying to
serve him that he had gotten into trouble. Had
he possessed the requisite strength, or any
strength at all, he would have gone to his assistance.
The hardest thing was to lie helpless
and see his brave young defender in danger of
his life.
He did what he could. He raised his feeble
voice, calling, shrilly: “Help! help!”
There seemed little chance of his cry being
heard, but it is sometimes the unexpected that
happens. When Gerald was very near the
point of strangulation help came. The door
flew open and two roughly dressed miners entered.
“What’s up? What’s all this?” exclaimed
the two miners as they stepped into the room.
.bn 206.png
A glance about the cabin told the story.
“I declare if it isn’t the chap that was
down to Loche’s,” said one of the men.
“He’s been robbing me,” feebly whimpered
the old man. “He’s stolen my gold.”
The faces of the two men became stern. In
a mining settlement robbing is a capital crime,
and a thief has but a short shrift and a speedy
passage to another world.
When the two men entered, Ralph Nixon in
alarm let go his hold on Gerald and rose to his
feet. He saw that the tables were turned and
that he was in danger.
“What were you doing with that boy?” demanded
one of the miners.
“He struck me on the head, and I was teaching
him a lesson.”
“Suppose we hear what he has to say?”
Gerald, thus appealed to, answered:
“I came into the cabin five minutes ago and
found him robbing the old man, and I interfered.”
“So he was robbing the old man? Mr. Nixon,
is this true?”
“Yes,” answered Thomas Nixon, feebly. “He
has some of my gold pieces in his pocket.”
.bn 207.png
“Then he must unload. Seize him, Mike.”
The two miners seized Ralph in a powerful
grasp, and turned his pockets inside out. They
discovered about fifty gold coins.
“What have you to say, you thief?” demanded
one, sternly.
“He gave them to me,” answered Ralph,
alarmed.
“No, no; it isn’t so,” protested Thomas
Nixon. “He took them out of yonder box. I
tried to stop him, but it did no good. Then
that brave boy came in and the rascal tried to
murder him.”
“It’s a clear case, Mike. What shall we do
with him?”
“We’ll call a meeting of the boys, and then
we’ll decide.”
They seized Ralph, and proceeded to drag
him off between them.
“Uncle Thomas!” cried the terrified ruffian,
“save me, save me!”
“Is he your nephew, Mr. Nixon?” asked one
of the miners.
“I don’t know. He says he is.”
“Certainly I am. I am his brother’s son.”
“That doesn’t entitle you to rob him.”
.bn 208.png
“I only borrowed the gold. I meant to pay
it back.”
“That’s a likely story. Bring him along.”
They left the cabin with Ralph between them,
and proceeded at once to the store kept by Joe
Loche.
In five minutes their numbers were increased
till the original two had swelled to twenty-five or
thirty.
“What has he done?” asked one of the new
members.
“Been stealing gold from old man Nixon.
We caught him in the act.”
“It’s mighty dangerous for a thief round here,
stranger,” said Joe Loche. “What have you
got to say for yourself?”
“He can’t say anything. We found the gold
in his pocket.”
“Boys,” said Chris Nelson, who was generally
looked up to as a leader in the settlement,
“you hear what is said against this man. What
shall be his fate?”
“Hang him!” was the laconic response of
half a dozen.
“No, no!” shrieked the affrighted wretch,
“I only took the gold in joke.”
.bn 209.png
“Then we’ll hang you in joke.”
“Oh, don’t hang me! I ain’t fit to die.”
“I guess that’s right,” said Chris Nelson.
“Get a rope—a good, strong rope, and we’ll
hang him to yonder tree.”
They began to drag him to a tree on a small
knoll two hundred yards away. He shrieked
and howled with fear till all were sickened with
his pusillanimity. Finally, on his promise to
leave the settlement and never return, they commuted
his punishment to a lashing on his bare
back, in which all eagerly took part. When it
was over the repentant rogue crawled away,
bruised and sore. Seldom has retribution been
so swift.
.bn 210.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch23
CHAPTER XXIII || NEW ARRANGEMENTS
.sp 2
Gerald remained after the others left the
cabin. The old man looked at him inquiringly.
“I don’t think I know you,” he said. “Do
you live in the village?”
“No, sir. I was sent here from the East.”
Thomas Nixon looked puzzled.
“Are you going to school?”
“No, sir. I was sent here to see you.”
“To see me? I don’t understand.”
“Do you remember writing a letter to Mr.
John Nugent, of Portville?”
“Yes; but surely——”
“I have a copy of your letter here, which I
will show you. You wished Mr. Nugent to
send a messenger to represent him and assist
you in any way you might desire.”
“But,” exclaimed the old man, in astonishment,
“I didn’t expect him to send a boy.”
.bn 211.png
“This letter will explain to you why he sent
me.”
“Read it to me. I cannot see without my
glasses.”
Gerald drew the letter from the envelope,
and read as follows:
.fs 85%
.in 4
“Mr. Nixon,
.ti +2
”I need not say that I was surprised to receive@
your letter. I supposed you dead long
ago. I am glad to hear that you are alive,
and are in such a creditable state of mind.
When you appropriated our funds, you injured
yourself more than you did us. I am sure you
have regretted it many times.
.ti +2
“I cannot go out to see you as I would if I
were younger and stronger, for I am getting
to be an old man, and I am feeble, besides
being a victim of rheumatism. As to sending
a messenger, I was at first greatly in doubt
whom I could select. Finally I fixed upon
Gerald Lane, whose late father I knew well.
He is only a boy, but he possesses as much
good judgment as many men ten years older.
Besides, he is thoroughly honest and reliable.
I place him at your service, with full power to
.bn 212.png
act for me, and I will pay his expenses. When
you know him as well as I do, you will learn
to trust him as much as I do.
.ti +2
”I remain, with sincere good wishes,@
.in +4
“Your old friend,
.in +4
”John Nugent.“@
.in 0
.fs 100%
Gerald was gratified in reading the terms
used in speaking of him.@
Mr. Nixon listened intently.
“That is a good letter, and gives me great
pleasure!” he said. “I am glad that John Nugent
forgives me the injury I did him.”
“Yes, he told me that he freely forgave you.”
“But still,” said the old man, “it seems
strange to me that a boy of your age—— How
old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“That a boy of sixteen should be so trusted.”
“I am surprised, too, Mr. Nixon,” said Gerald,
frankly. “I hope I shall be found to deserve
all that Mr. Nugent says of me. He is a
fine man, and has been a good friend to me.”
“He is an excellent man,” said Mr. Nixon,
with emphasis. “I like you, too, and I feel
confident that you deserve what he says of you.”
.bn 213.png
“I hope so, Mr. Nixon, and I want to be of
service to you. Will you let me offer a suggestion?”
“By all means.”
“Then don’t you think it is unwise to keep
your gold so exposed? I wonder you have not
been robbed before.”
“That is true. I have been imprudent. But
I have been so miserably sick, I was unable to
make any other arrangements. Now that you
are here, I will think what I can do.”
“Is there no bank where you could store it?”
“Yes, there is one ten miles away, in Fairfield,
but I am not able to go there.”
“Send me, then. You will want to keep
some of the gold by you for use.”
“I use very little money,” said the old man,
shaking his head.
“I hope you will use more. You are getting
old, and you ought to be more comfortably situated.
As I read the letter you sent to Mr.
Nugent I know that you are abundantly able
to live better than you do.”
“You are right. Heretofore I have had no
ambitions and no object in life, but since I am
assured of John Nugent’s forgiveness I feel that
.bn 214.png
a burden had been lifted from my soul. You
are so young, you won’t get tired of staying
with the old man?”
“No, Mr. Nixon. Not only for Mr. Nugent’s
sake, but for your sake, I will gladly remain
with you and do what I can.”
“Thank you. It puts new life into me to
know that I have a young companion who will
help me, and do for me what I cannot do for
myself. You came at the right time.”
“Yes, I was startled when I opened the cabin
door to see that man in the act of robbing you.
Is he really your nephew?”
“Dear knows, I don’t! I never saw him
before. Whatever he is I don’t care to recognize
him as a relative.”
“I don’t think he will ever trouble you again.
The men who carried him away will give him
a good fright, at any rate. Now, Mr. Nixon,
where do you think it best that I should stay?
I need to be near you to take care of you.”
The old man looked puzzled. He looked
about him at the contracted accommodations of
the cabin, and hesitated.
“I am afraid you would not like staying
here,” he said, after awhile.
.bn 215.png
“Not for any length of time, Mr. Nixon. If
you won’t be offended, I will ask you why you
stay here yourself?”
“I have lived here ever since I came to
Campville,” he answered.
“And how long is that?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Did you build the cabin?”
“No. It had just been vacated by the original
owner and builder.”
“You ought to have a more comfortable
home.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Thomas Nixon;
“but I don’t know where to go.”
“Will you authorize me to find you a place,
Mr. Nixon?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will go out at once and see what I
can find. You should not stay here another
night.”
“Come back soon,” said the old man.
He had already come to value the company
of his young companion, and felt that he should
miss him, even for a short time.
Gerald took his hat and went out. He bent
his steps toward the store of Joe Loche, feeling
.bn 216.png
that he should there be more likely to obtain
the information of which he was in search.
He had already called there, like Ralph Nixon,
to inquire the way to the cabin of the old man.
“Mr. Loche,” he said, proceeding at once to
business, “is there any comfortable house vacant
in the village?”
“Yes,” answered the storekeeper. “There is
a four-room house, which was occupied yesterday
but is vacant to-day.”
“Who owns it?”
“I do. I bought it, furniture and all, from
Jim Morris, who has made his pile, and is going
back to his old home in New Hampshire.”
“Are you willing to sell or let it?”
“Either one. Are you going to get married
and settle down among us?”
“Not quite yet,” answered Gerald, with a
laugh. “I have been sent from the East to
Mr. Nixon, and I shall stay with him for a
while. He has authorized me to look him up
a more suitable home.”
“I am glad to hear it. That old tumble-down
shanty isn’t fit for the old man to live in.”
“Would you mind showing me the house?”
“I shall be glad to do so. Here, Dennis,
.bn 217.png
just look after business, and I will go over to
Jim’s house with this young man.”
Gerald found the house better furnished
than he had anticipated. Jim Morris had a wife
and young family, and had provided them a
comfortable home. The house seemed completely
furnished, even to crockery and kitchen
furniture. Gerald was much pleased.
“I will recommend Mr. Nixon to hire it, and
after a while I hope he will buy it. Can he
move in to-night?”
“Sure.”
“Then I will take it. I am sure Mr. Nixon
will do what I advise.”
“You don’t ask what I shall charge!”
“No, Mr. Loche, because I know you will only
ask a fair price; and, besides, there is no other
house I can get.”
“That is true. Well, it will be all right
about the terms.”
“One thing more. Have you a wagon in
which you can bring Mr. Nixon over? He is
too feeble to walk.”
“I’ll send at once. My assistant, Dennis
Carlyle, will harness up and go back with
you.”
.bn 218.png
“Thank you, Mr. Loche.”
“I say, boy, you seem to be a pretty smart
kid. So you are going to look after the old
man?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s in luck. You have begun well.”
“What was done with the man who tried to
rob him?”
“He got an everlasting thrashing. We made
him run the gauntlet, and he was pretty sore
when he crept away. We thought at first of
hanging him!”
“I am glad you didn’t. I don’t think he
will trouble his uncle again.”
“No, he won’t come within fifty miles of
Campville again as long as he lives.”
.bn 219.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch24
CHAPTER XXIV || A NEW HOME
.sp 2
Gerald jumped from the wagon and entered
the cabin. Thomas Nixon sat in his old, listless
attitude, but his eyes brightened when Gerald
entered the room.
“Well, Mr. Nixon,” said Gerald, “are you
ready to move?”
“I don’t understand. Where am I to move
to?”
“I have hired a house for you—the one till
recently occupied by a man whom they call
Jim Morris. I have hired it completely furnished,
and all you will have to do is to walk in.”
The old man seemed almost bewildered by
the suddenness of the proposition.
“But I can’t walk so far,” he said.
“You won’t have to. I have a wagon at the
door; we will help you into it, and in fifteen
minutes you will find yourself in a more comfortable
home.”
.bn 220.png
“If you think it best,” said the old man, hesitatingly.
“I do; and so will you when you have made
the change.”
“Then I will go.”
“What do you want carried with you?”
“I am used to this chair.”
“Very well, we will take it. Is there anything
else?”
Thomas Nixon pointed to the tin box.
“Oh, yes; we mustn’t forget that. Is there
anything else?”
“No.”
“Then, Mr. Carlyle, will you help get Mr.
Nixon into the wagon?”
Dennis Carlyle, who was a stout, muscular
young man, lent a hand, and the old man soon
found himself in the wagon, sitting in his favorite
chair.
“Sha’n’t we need to carry some dishes?
There’s a few in yonder closet.”
“Not to-day, Mr. Nixon. We shall have all
the dishes and kitchen utensils left by Mr.
Morris.”
It was not long before they found themselves
at the door of the new home. Gerald helped
.bn 221.png
Mr. Nixon out of the wagon, and led the way
into the house. All was neat and comfortable,
and furnished a very favorable contrast to the
dilapidated cabin where Nixon had lived so
many years. There was a woolen carpet on the
floor of the sitting-room, an eight-day clock on
the mantel, three or four pictures on the walls,
and a comfortable couch on one side of the
room. The old man heaved a sigh of satisfaction.
“This is the way I used to live,” he said.
“It is the way you shall live hereafter,” said
Gerald.
“It makes me feel younger already. What
a wonderful boy you are!”
Gerald smiled.
“Oh, no, I am only an ordinary boy,” he
replied.
“I understand now why John Nugent sent
you to me. Are you sure you are only sixteen.”
“Quite sure.”
“And I am sixty-six! What a difference!”
In truth, Thomas Nixon looked ten years
older than he really was. It was partly sickness,
and partly want of nourishing food and
cheerful companionship.
.bn 222.png
“We will have you looking younger soon,”
said Gerald, cheerfully. “And, now, don’t you
think it is almost time for dinner?”
“I—I think I could eat something,” said the
old man, slowly. “It is long since I have had
an appetite, but now I almost feel hungry. You—you
may get a loaf of bread and some butter
at Mr. Loche’s store.”
“Leave that matter in my hands, Mr. Nixon.
I suppose you won’t mind my spending a little
money?”
“No, no. Take a gold piece from the box,
and buy what you like.”
Gerald found a small hotel at which many of
the miners boarded, and engaged two dinners
to be sent over to their new home. When the
food arrived he set out the table and properly
arranged it.
“Now, Mr. Nixon,” he said, cheerfully, “let
me move up your chair and we will have dinner.”
It was long since the old man had sat down
to a regular meal, and it was as much the lack
of nourishing food as any other cause that had
weakened him.
His faded eyes lighted up, and for the first
.bn 223.png
time in many weeks he felt a craving for food.
Gerald took the head of the table.
“Now, Mr. Nixon,” he said, “let me help you
to some roast beef. Now, here is a boiled potato,
and some turnips; and there is bread and butter.”
“It is a feast,” said the old man, gleefully.
“It is long since I tasted roast beef.”
“Then you made a mistake in stinting yourself
when there was no need of it. Hereafter
you must live well.”
“So I will—so I will; that is, if you stay
with me. But I thought I was going to die
soon, and it didn’t make any difference.”
“You don’t want to die till your time comes.
Why, you are not so very old.”
“I am sixty-six.”
“And you may live twenty years yet.”
“I didn’t care to live; but now, since you
have come, things look different.”
Both ate heartily, and when the dinner was
over, the old man moved back his chair and
breathed a sigh of content.
“It is the best meal I have tasted for years,”
he said.
“Your nephew ought to have stayed to dinner,”
said Gerald, smiling.
.bn 224.png
“I hope I shall never see him again; he is a
very bad man.”
“He won’t dare to come back to this settlement.
He had to run the gauntlet, and he was
lucky to escape with his life. Now, let me show
you the other rooms.”
There were two other rooms, each provided
with a comfortable bed. In the smaller one
Gerald put his gripsack, and, unpacking his
clothes, laid them away in the drawers of a
small bureau.
“Where are your clothes, Mr. Nixon?” he
asked.
The old man looked embarrassed.
“I have very few,” he said, “and those are
about worn out.”
“May I buy you some?”
“I wish you would; and you may as well
throw away the old ones. Take whatever
money you need and go to the store.”
“I see you have confidence in me, Mr. Nixon.”
“Yes; I feel that you are a good boy and
I can trust you. You have made a new man of
me already. This morning I thought I was very
near to death. Now I feel ten years younger.”
During the rest of the day Gerald exerted himself
.bn 225.png
to supply any deficiencies in the household,
and provided whatever was needed in the way of
comfort. When evening came on the lamps
were lighted, and the new residence seemed
homelike. With Mr. Nixon’s consent, arrangements
were made to have all their meals sent
over from the hotel.
The box of gold coins had been placed in the
sitting-room.
“I wish your gold was in some safe place, Mr.
Nixon,” said Gerald, as his glance fell on the tin
box.
“You can take it to the bank in Fairfield to-morrow,”
said the old man; “that is, most of it.
We shall need some to spend from day to day.”
“Very well. I will engage a team from Mr.
Loche, and ride over in the morning. Have you
an account there already?”
“Yes. I have five thousand dollars in the
bank.”
“You must give me something to do, Mr.
Nixon. I will attend to any business that requires
attention—that is, provided you think I
am competent.”
“I shall be glad to accept your offer; but if
you are entering my service you must be paid.”
.bn 226.png
“Mr. Nugent will see that I am paid.”
“No, no; I cannot allow it. I am a rich
man. It is right that I should pay you. I will
give you—” he paused for a moment—“sixty
dollars a month and your board. Will that be
sufficient?”
“It is high pay for a boy.”
“You will be doing a man’s work.”
“I am afraid my services will not be worth
that money.”
“Have no fear on that score. I am a rich
man, as I wrote to Mr. Nugent. I may be worth
nearly one hundred thousand dollars.”
“Is your wealth known in the settlement?”
“No. I don’t think any one considers me
worth over five thousand dollars. It is fortunate
for me, or there might have been attempts to
rob me before.”
“How is your property invested, if you don’t
mind telling me?”
“I have some mines over in the next county.
I have been too ill to look after them. I will
send you soon in my place.”
“I will do as well as I can, Mr. Nixon; but I
wish I were older.”
.bn 227.png
“You are a smart boy. I am sure you will
be able to do all that is required.”
The next morning Gerald went over to Joe
Loche’s store. He had already learned that Joe
was the principal business man in the place.
Besides his store team he had an extra
horse and wagon, which he let out to any one
who needed to hire. He readily agreed to let
Gerald have it.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To Fairfield,” answered Gerald. “Is the
way easy to find?”
“Yes; it is a straight road.”
“I want to visit the bank. I shall take over
a thousand dollars in gold belonging to Mr.
Nixon.”
“Aye, it will be better in the bank than in
his house. Are you related to the old man?”
“No; but I am going to help him about his
business. He is too feeble to look after it himself.”
“Take care you don’t get robbed,” said Joe,
with a smile. “It is a lonely road.”
“Yes, I will be careful.”
.bn 228.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch25
CHAPTER XXV || A PERILOUS RIDE
.sp 2
Gerald paid little attention to the caution
that had been given him. He looked upon it
as given more in jest than in earnest. But had
he known that the conversation had been listened
to by a stranger whose outward appearance
suggested the tramp or desperado he would
have felt a degree of apprehension. This man
had been staying in the village for a couple of
days; he had been one of the loungers at the
store, and had listened to all the gossip that
was in circulation. Among other things he had
heard about the attempt at robbery in which
Thomas Nixon came near being a victim, and
had listened with interest to speculations about
the money kept on hand by the old man.
When he heard the conversation between
Gerald and the storekeeper he understood that
the boy was about to carry a large sum in gold
.bn 229.png
coins to the bank in Fairfield. Now, Saul Gridley
was in a penniless condition. He was very
much in want of money, and by no means scrupulous
as to the method of filling his depleted
pocketbook. He had served time in more than
one prison, and had no character to lose. It is
not strange, therefore, that he considered the
present opportunity a good one for placing his
finances in a satisfactory condition. Issuing
bonds—a method recently made popular—was
impracticable. He speedily formed his plans,
and set out at a quick pace en route for Fairfield.
Gerald was detained for half an hour, partly
from the necessity of going back to the Nixon
home to obtain the gold. There, too, he found
something to do for the old man. He lifted the
tin box into the wagon and started away.
When he had gone two miles on the road he
began to think over the caution which had been
given him by Joe Loche. The road, he saw,
was a lonely one. It was uneven, and not
across the level prairie, for Montana, as its name
indicates, is a hilly State.
“It would be quite possible for me to be
robbed if I should meet a highwayman,” he reflected.
.bn 230.png
“I am only a boy, and, hampered as I
am by the care of a team, I should be unable to
make resistance. What shall I do to insure
safety?”
Gerald began to doubt the expedience of carrying
the gold in the tin box, as in the recent
attempt at robbery it had become generally
known that Mr. Nixon used the box as a receptacle
for his treasure. Anyone seeing it in the
wagon would at once conjecture its contents.
However, this matter could be set right with
little trouble.
Montana, unlike most Western States, is rocky,
and there were plenty of rocks and small stones
near at hand. This gave Gerald an idea. He
halted his horse, and began to stuff the gold
coins into his pockets. Then he got out
of the team and collected an equal bulk of
small stones. These he put into the tin box,
and then locked it with a key, with which
Mr. Nixon had supplied him. The stones
rattled as the team made its way over the
rough road.
“I don’t suppose it was necessary,” said Gerald
to himself. “Still, it is well to be on the
safe side.”
.bn 231.png
He drove a mile further. In the three miles
he had met but one team, for the road was an
unfrequented one, as Montana was only sparsely
settled, and the towns were far apart. Gerald
began to think he should not meet any one during
the whole distance. This would, of course
be satisfactory, and would spare him all anxiety.
If he met any one after his errand was completed,
and the money safely stored in the Fairfield,
bank, it would not matter.
It was fortunate that Gerald made the transfer,
for in less than half a mile he was stopped
by the man who had overheard the conversation
between him and Joe Loche.
“Can’t you give a poor fellow a lift, youngster?”
asked the tramp.
Gerald hesitated. He noted the appearance
of the man, and felt that it might not be safe
to refuse outright.
“Where do you want to go?”
“A mile or two,” answered the tramp, with
a leer.
Gerald considered whether it would be safe
to lash the horse and attempt to get away from
his troublesome acquaintance, but it did not
seem to be practicable. Yet to take him as a
.bn 232.png
passenger, with so valuable a treasure on board,
was certainly hazardous. If he had been sure
that the tramp was not armed, he might have
attempted flight; but of this he could not be
sure.
“I will give you a lift for a mile or so,” he
said.
With a smile the tramp clambered in and
took a seat beside him. He stretched out his
legs with a look of satisfaction.
“And where might you be going, youngster?”
he asked Gerald.
“I am going to Fairfield.”
“On business?”
“Well, there is a small matter of business I
have to attend to.”
“Where do you live?”
“I am living at present in Campville.”
“This is Joe Loche’s team, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t live with him, do you?”
“No.”
“With whom, then?”
“With an old man near the store.”
“Old man Nixon?”
“Yes,” answered Gerald, reluctantly.
.bn 233.png
“Humph! that’s the man that came near
getting robbed yesterday?”
“Yes,” answered Gerald, uneasily.
“Lemme see. He kept a lot of gold pieces
in the house.”
“You seem to know all about it.”
“Yes; I heard. He kept them in a tin box—very
much like that,” and the tramp indicated
the box in the wagon.
“Well, suppose he did?” said Gerald, eyeing
his companion closely.
The tramp laughed.
“Only that you’ve got the box in this here
wagon, and the gold, too.”
“Now for it!” thought Gerald. “The crisis
is near at hand!”
“You might be mistaken,” he answered, trying
not to show the excitement he felt.
“And then again I mightn’t. You’re taking
the gold to the bank in Fairfield.”
“Who told you so?”
“Ah, the cat’s out of the bag!” said the
tramp, triumphantly.
“Well,” said Gerald, with apparent frankness,
“as you seem to know I may as well own
up that you are right. I am glad to have you
.bn 234.png
with me, as some one might try to rob me, and
I can rely on your assistance.”
The tramp laughed long and loud.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, “you can depend
on me. I won’t let anyone else have the
money.”
“Thank you! I feel safe now.”
The tramp laughed again. To him it seemed
like a delicious joke.
He did not seem to be in a hurry to possess
himself of the booty, as he felt sure he could
have it at any time. It was a good joke that
Gerald seemed quite unsuspicious of his intentions.
“How much gold might there be in the
box?” he asked.
“Not far from a thousand dollars,” said Gerald,
frankly.
The tramp smacked his lips. He had never
before bagged so much booty. It really seemed
like a big stroke of luck.
“A thousand dollars!” he repeated. “That’s
a big sum!”
“Yes, it is a large sum, as you say.”
“Suppose you and I divide it. That’ll be
five hundred apiece.”
.bn 235.png
“I see you are joking,” said Gerald. “It
isn’t ours. It belongs to Mr. Nixon.”
“He’s an old man. He don’t need it. Besides,
he has plenty more.”
“Has he really?” asked Gerald, innocently.
“To be sure! Everybody knows that the
old man is a miser. Why, I’ve no doubt he is
worth ten thousand dollars.”
“Nor have I any doubt,” said Gerald to himself.
“But, of course, that is none of our business.”
“Look here, youngster; you seem to be as
simple as they make ’em.”
“Why?” asked Gerald, in affected surprise.
“You can’t see that I am a bad man, and
have made up my mind to have that gold.”
“You don’t really mean it? You are trying
to frighten me.”
“No more nonsense! Stop the horse, and
I’ll relieve you of the box.”
“But what will Mr. Nixon say?”
“Tell him it was taken from you.”
“Oh, this is terrible! Won’t you take ten
dollars and let me go?”
“No; I must have the whole. Stop the
horse, I say!”
.bn 236.png
With an appearance of great reluctance Gerald
obeyed directions and halted the horse.
The tramp descended from the wagon.
“Now hand me the box,” he said.
Gerald allowed him to take out the box.
Then he whipped up the horse, leaving the
tramp, as he supposed, master of the situation.
He laughed as he saw Gerald driving off.
“The boy is pretty well scared,” he said to
himself.
.bn 237.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch26
CHAPTER XXVI || SAUL GRIDLEY SEEKS REVENGE
.sp 2
The tramp was only amused by Gerald’s precipitate
flight. There was no object in pursuing
him, as he had obtained what he sought—the
box of gold coins. He was in a hurry to
open it, and realize his good fortune. He felt
that Fortune had been kind to him. When
once the gold was transferred to his pockets,
he would leave the neighborhood, as he knew
very well that by the miners’ code the robbery
would be punished with death.
There was an obstacle, however, to his realizing
the fruits of victory. The tin box was
locked.
“Why didn’t the kid give me the key?” he
complained, in a tone of annoyance.
However, that was not a serious consideration.
He could break open the box with a
large stone, and he at once began to look for
one. He had to go some distance before he
.bn 238.png
found one that would answer his purpose.
Meanwhile, as he carried the box, he heard from
time to time the rattling of the coins as he interpreted
the sound, though, as we know, the
noise was made by the gravel stones with which
Gerald had weighted the box. However, it was
only prolonging his anticipation, and anticipation
is always pleasant. He laughed to himself
as he thought of Gerald arriving at the
bank without the gold. Decidedly it was the
richest joke of the season.
At last he found a stone that suited his purpose,
and began to hammer away at the lock of
the box. There was only slight delay. The
lid flew open, and with a smile of gleeful anticipation
the thief looked into it.
The bitterness of his disappointment can
scarcely be imagined. The cup of success was
dashed from his lips just as he was ready to
taste its contents. The result of his enterprise
was only a heap of gravel stones!
“The boy has made an idiot of me!” he said,
bitterly. “But where is the gold?”
It did not take him long to guess the nature
of the trick that Gerald had played upon him.
He gnashed his teeth with rage when he thought
.bn 239.png
of Gerald riding away with the gold in his
pocket, or elsewhere secreted in the wagon.
“I’d like to choke the kid!” he growled between
his set teeth.
He understood now why Gerald had driven
away so rapidly. If there had been the slightest
chance of overtaking him, he would have set
out in pursuit. But by this time the boy was
nearly a mile away, and it would have been foolish
for him to entertain such a thought.
In his anger he kicked the tin box furiously;
and, not content with that, he picked it up and
flung it as far as he was able. He pictured to
himself Gerald entering the bank and depositing
the gold—his gold, as he regarded it—and
entertaining the bank officials with an account
of the way in which he had evaded the robber.
If only he could be revenged upon Gerald, that
would be a satisfaction though the gold coins
were lost.
Meanwhile Gerald kept on his way till he
reached the bank. He introduced himself to
the receiving teller as representing Mr. Nixon,
and began to draw out the gold coins from his
pocket.
“You seem loaded down with gold,” said the
.bn 240.png
teller. “Why didn’t you bring the money in a
box or bag?”
“I started with it in a box, but put it in my
pockets for security.”
“You thought that more secure?”
“Yes, sir. But for my doing so I should
have been robbed.”
“How is that?”
Gerald explained the encounter with the
tramp.
“I see you are right,” said the teller, approvingly.
“The thief will probably be considerably
disappointed when he opens the box.”
“I should like to have been present and witnessed
his surprise,” said Gerald, laughing.
“Are you not afraid he will waylay you on
your way back, and try to get revenge?”
Gerald looked thoughtful. He realized the
danger.
“What would you advise me to do?” he
asked.
“I’ll tell you. How soon do you start?”
“In an hour.”
“Would you object to a companion?”
“No. I should be glad of company.”
“Then it can be arranged. My brother-in-law
.bn 241.png
wants to go to Campville. He is a strong,
robust man, who is six feet in height, and would
tip the scales at two hundred. If you have him
with you I think your dishonest friend won’t be
in any hurry to attack you.”
Gerald listened to these words with satisfaction.
He knew that the highwayman was more
than a match for him in physical strength, and
might inflict upon him a serious injury. The
plan proposed would insure his safety.
It chanced at this moment that the person
referred to entered the bank.
“Louis,” said the receiving teller, “here is a
young man who offers to give you a ride to
Campville.”
“I shall consider it quite a favor.”
“I ought to warn you that he may be stopped
by a highwayman. If you feel nervous——”
“If there is only one person, I think we can
manage him, Mr.——”
“Lane—Gerald Lane. Mr. Lane, here is my
brother-in-law, Louis Bean.”
Gerald shook hands with his new acquaintance,
and gave a brief account of his encounter
with the tramp on his way over.
“We will give him a warm reception if he
.bn 242.png
undertakes to attack us, Mr. Lane. You played
a neat trick on him. So you represent Mr.
Nixon?”
“Yes, sir. I shall remain with him for a
time.”
“Have you known him long?”
“I was sent out by a friend in the East, to
whom he wrote, explaining his need of help.”
“I suppose the old man is rich?”
“At any rate, he has money enough to support
himself in comfort.”
“He hasn’t enjoyed much of that for some
years. I remember his cabin at Campville. It
wasn’t fit for any one to live in.”
“I induced him to move into the house formerly
occupied by Jim Morris.”
“Was he willing to move? Didn’t he mind
the expense?”
“Mr. Nixon is not a mean man. He lived
poorly because he had not energy enough to
make other arrangements. He lets me spend
whatever I like for him.”
“He is fortunate in having someone to look
after him. When do you want to start?”
“As soon as I have had some dinner. Is there
a restaurant or hotel in the town?”
.bn 243.png
“No, but I will take you round to my
house. Mrs. Bean will be glad to give you a
dinner.”
Half an hour later Gerald and his new friend
set out for Campville.
“If your friend of the morning stops you,”
said Louis Bean, “it will be at a point about
four miles distant. When we approach the
place I will get out and conceal myself, to give
him a chance to show what he intends to do. I
will see that he does no harm. We will have
another joke at his expense!”
This proposal suited Gerald, who had no
objection to a second discomfiture of the ruffian
from whom he had already had one narrow
escape.
At the point indicated by his companion,
Louis Bean got out of the wagon and hid himself
behind a clump of trees.
“Perhaps he may have seen me,” he said.
“If so, we shall have no fun. We shall soon
find out.”
“When matters are near the danger line,”
said Bean, “blow this whistle.”
Gerald drove on slowly, hoping that the ruffian
would appear. He had a sense of humor
.bn 244.png
which would be gratified by the opportunity
to turn the tables on him.
Saul Gridley’s anger had not cooled in the
three hours since he saw Gerald riding off, after
serving him a trick which humiliated him the
more because he felt that he had been worsted
by a mere boy. He resolved to punish him for
the trick, and felt sure that he would have a
chance to do it. There was but one road by
which Gerald could return from Fairfield—the
same road by which he went.
.bn 245.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch27
CHAPTER XXVII || SAUL GRIDLEY’S UNPLEASANT SURPRISE
.sp 2
All at once, five minutes after Bean had left
the wagon, the tall form of Saul Gridley appeared
in the center of the road. He smiled
grimly.
“So you have come back?” he said, as Gerald
pulled up.
“Yes,” answered Gerald, calmly, though his
heart beat rapidly with excitement.
“That was a mean trick you played on me!”
“What do you mean?”
“You know well enough. You thought
yourself very smart, when you rode off with the
gold and left me a box of gravel stones!”
“I didn’t care to give you the gold. You
asked me to give you the tin box, and I did so!”
“Yes; but you knew what I wanted. Didn’t
it occur to you that I would stop you on your
return from the bank?”
“Well, you have done so! What do you propose
to do?”
.bn 246.png
“To flog you within an inch of your life!”
said the tramp savagely. “Just get out of the
wagon, and we will proceed to business!”
As he spoke he seized the bridle, and Gerald
felt that the crisis had come. He drew the
whistle from his pocket, and blew a loud blast
upon it.
Saul Gridley was startled by the whistle.
What did it mean? He decided that it was
only a ruse, intended to frighten him.
“None of your fooling!” he exclaimed, angrily.
“It won’t do any good. Get down from
the wagon immediately!”
“Thank you. I would rather not,” said Gerald,
composedly.
“Then, my boy, I will pull you down!”
He started to carry out his threat, when something
happened that really startled him. A bullet
whizzed by his ear.
“What!” he began, in a startled tone, but
the sentence was not finished, for, darting from
a covert where he had been concealed, Louis
Bean made his appearance on the scene. Saul
Gridley stared at him with dazed countenance.
“What are you about there, you rascal?”
demanded Bean, sternly.
.bn 247.png
Saul Gridley was a man who could act the
bully with one inferior to himself in strength,
but he was a coward in the presence of his physical
superior.
“Why did you fire at me?” he asked, nervously.
“You might have killed me!”
“I don’t think any one would have missed you.
But you have not answered my question. What
were you doing?”
“I—I was just having a little talk with the
boy,” he answered, stammering.
“Oh, that is all, is it?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say to you, Gerald?”
“He ordered me to get out of the wagon, and
threatened to flog me within an inch of my life.”
“That is what you call having a little talk,”
said Bean. “What have you to say to this?”
“The boy must have misunderstood me,”
stammered Gridley.
“I don’t mean that you shall misunderstand
me! You attempted to rob this boy a few
hours ago.”
“I did not rob him. Ask him if I did.”
“No; because he was too sharp for you.
What is your name?”
.bn 248.png
“Saul Gridley,” answered the tramp, reluctantly.
“How long have you been in this neighborhood?”
“Two days.”
“It is not a healthy neighborhood for a man
in your line of business. If your attempt at
robbery should become known in Campville,
you would probably be strung up without delay.
However, don’t let me interfere with your
plans. You want to flog the boy. Well, proceed
with your flogging!”
“That was only a joke,” said Saul Gridley,
beginning to look nervous and apprehensive.
“Then suppose you try to flog me. I offer
myself in the place of the boy.”
“I don’t care to undertake it.”
“That is where you are wise. You would
find it the biggest contract you ever undertook.
Gerald, what——”
“Let me go!” said Saul, nervously.
“I think I had better take you to Campville
in the wagon.”
“No, no—they would kill me!” ejaculated
Saul, livid with fear.
.bn 249.png
“I will leave it to the boy. What shall I do
with this man?”
“Let him go, if he will promise to leave the
neighborhood at once.”
“You hear? Will you agree to that?”
“Yes,” was the eager answer.
“And will you promise never to come back?”
“Yes; I promise solemnly!”
“You had better keep your promise. When
Gerald tells of your attempt to rob him, some
of his friends may start out to hunt you down.”
“Don’t tell till to-morrow,” entreated Saul.
“No, I won’t. I’ll give you time to get away,”
said Gerald.
“You’d better start at once,” added Bean.
Saul Gridley lost no time in following this
advice. When he was a hundred yards away,
Louis Bean fired at him, taking care not to hit
him. It is needless to say that the fugitive increased
his speed and soon was out of sight.
“He is badly scared,” said Bean, laughing.
“I don’t think we shall have any more trouble
with him.”
Arrived at Campville, Bean got out at the
grocery store, where Gerald left the wagon. He
went back at once to the Nixon house.
.bn 250.png
The old man’s eye brightened when Gerald
entered.
“I am glad you have come back,” he said.
“I felt lonely while you were away.”
“I am glad you missed me,” said Gerald,
gently. “I deposited the money in the bank,
and here is the bank-book.”
“Very well. You may put it in my desk.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr.
Nixon? Was your dinner brought over from
the boarding-house?”
“Yes; but I did not have as much appetite
when eating alone.”
“Yet you lived alone for years?”
“It was not living—it was only existing. Now
I feel much better since Mr. Nugent has forgiven
me and allowed me to make atonement.
Have you written to him since you came
here?”
“No. I should like to do so. Have you
paper and ink?”
“You will find writing materials in the desk.”
“If I can do nothing for you, I will write at
once.”
“Do so.”
Gerald wrote briefly, giving an account of his
.bn 251.png
arrival in Campville, and the condition in which
he found the man to whom he was sent.
When he had finished, he asked: “Won’t
you add a few lines, Mr. Nixon?”
“I don’t feel equal to writing, but I will dictate
if you will write for me.”
“I will do so with pleasure.”
Gerald paused with his pen in readiness.
After a short time Thomas Nixon began to
dictate:
.in 4
.ti +2
“Mr. Nugent—Dear Sir: I cannot thank
you sufficiently for your kindness in overlooking
my serious offense, and for sending me Gerald
Lane. I was surprised at first that you
chose so young a messenger, but already I have
seen enough to justify your choice. He has
made a new man of me, and provided me with a
more comfortable home. I very much needed
some one to help me in my business, for I am
too old and feeble to attend to it myself.
.ti +2
”One thing I wish to say, that I do not wish@
you to be at any expense on my account. I will
see that Gerald’s expenses are paid, and that he
has a satisfactory salary. I suppose I am accounted
a miser by people in the village, but it is
.bn 252.png
true that I do not care much for money, though
I think it a duty to take care of what I have, and
with it make what amends I can for my past
transgressions. I will see that all the expenses
which you have already incurred are paid. A
new life is opening before me, thanks to your
kind arrangements, and I hope that the close of
my life may be more creditable than the years
that are passed.
.in 8
“Respectfully and gratefully,
.in 16
”Thomas Nixon.“
.in 0@
Gerald put the two letters in an envelope, and
carried them to the post-office. This was in one
corner of the grocery store, and Joe Loche, who
seemed to be the busiest and most important
man in Campville, was the postmaster.
Looking ahead a few days, we will follow the
letter to Portville.
It gave great satisfaction to Mr. Nugent, as it
confirmed his judgment in selecting so young a
messenger. At times it had occurred to him
that he was perhaps unwise in throwing so much
responsibility on a boy of sixteen, yet it had not
seriously weakened his faith in Gerald.
The letter removed all doubts.
.bn 253.png
Two hours after the letter was received he
was told that a lady wished to see him.
“Who is it?” he asked; but the servant was
a new one, and could not answer.
“Show her up!” he said, briefly.
Directly Mrs. Lane entered his presence.
“Take a seat, Mrs. Lane,” said Mr. Nugent,
courteously. “Is there anything I can do for
you?”
“I wish to know if you have heard from Gerald?”
said Mrs. Lane, abruptly.
“I have just received a letter from him.”
“May I see it?”
“I must decline your request, since the letter
is to a certain extent confidential.”
“You will, at any rate, tell me where the boy
wrote from?”
John Nugent hesitated.
“As he is my stepson, I have a right to
know.”
“I am glad that you show an interest in your
stepson. He writes me from Montana.”
“Montana!” ejaculated Mrs. Lane. “Is not
that a long distance away?”
“Two thousand miles or more.”
“And he is only a boy!”
.bn 254.png
“True, but he has the sense and discretion of
a young man.”
“I am aware that you have an exalted opinion
of Gerald,” said Mrs. Lane, looking annoyed.
“I consider my Abel quite his equal in the
qualities you name.”
“I am not well acquainted with Abel,” said
Mr. Nugent, courteously. “If you are correct,
I think you are to be congratulated.”
“How long will Gerald be away?”
“I cannot tell at present. The gentleman to
whom I sent him is much pleased with him, and
will give him a good salary.”
“Will you give me his address?”
“I do not feel at liberty to do so; but if you
will leave any letter with me, I will forward it.”
“You seem to forget that I am his stepmother.”
“No, I do not. If I hear anything connected
with him which warrants it, I will notify you.”
“I wish Abel had his chance,” thought Mrs.
Lane, as she rose to go. “Mr. Nugent is infatuated
with that boy.”
.bn 255.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch28
CHAPTER XXVIII || A TRIP ON HORSEBACK
.sp 2
Three months passed and found Gerald still
in his new home. There were no striking incidents
during this time, but in a quiet way
Gerald had effected a good deal in the way of
change and improvement. The house was provided
with new comforts, a safe had been sent
from Helena, in which Thomas Nixon kept securities
and valuable papers, a good deal of correspondence
was carried on, Gerald acting as
private secretary. Meals were no longer sent in
from the boarding-house, but a young Swedish
woman was engaged as servant and housekeeper.
In short, Mr. Nixon was beginning to live like
other people.
To Gerald the most important event was the
purchase of a horse for his use. At that time
railroad facilities hardly existed in Campville,
walking was difficult and fatiguing over the
rough hills of Montana; and in traveling about
.bn 256.png
for his employer Gerald found a horse of great
service. He at any rate was in a position to
contradict the statement that Thomas Nixon
was a miser, for the old man repeatedly offered
him money outside of his salary, but thus far
Gerald had declined with thanks.
One day Gerald brought back a letter from
the morning mail, which Mr. Nixon read with
thoughtful interest.
“I may have to send you on a journey, Gerald,”
he said.
“All right, sir.”
“This letter is from the superintendent of a
gold mine in Ransom, seventy-five miles from
here. I own a half interest in the mine. He
writes me that the output for the last six months
has been falling off, and that the value of the
mine has greatly depreciated. He ends by offering
twenty thousand dollars for my share.”
“Why should he want to buy it if the mine
is falling off so largely?”
“That is what occurred to me. He closes by
inviting me to go on and investigate for myself.
He knows that I should not be likely to
accept the invitation as my health is not sufficiently
good.”
.bn 257.png
“Did the superintendent offer to buy for himself?”
“He intimated that there was a man from
New York whom he could induce to buy. I
presume by a misrepresentation of the paying
qualities of the mine.”
“That would be a fraud,” said Gerald.
“Certainly, and I don’t care to defraud anyone.”
“What did you regard as the value of your
half of the mine?”
“At least thirty-five thousand dollars.”
“Whatever I can do for you in this matter,
Mr. Nixon, I shall be glad to do.”
“I will send you to Ransom, not as representing
me, but on a visit of investigation. Look
about you, find out what you can, and report to
me.”
“I hope I shall be able to acquit myself to
your satisfaction.”
“At any rate, I have great confidence in you,
and shall be guided by your report.”
“Is Ransom far from here?”
“About seventy-five miles. The way to it is
across country, and at times the traveling may
be rough.”
.bn 258.png
“Oh, I can rough it,” said Gerald, cheerfully.
“Won’t the superintendent be surprised at your
not answering his letter?”
“I shall answer it. I will write that I will
take his offer into consideration—that in a matter
of such importance I cannot decide at once.
I will also add that it is doubtful whether I can
go to Ransom on account of my health, but he
can write me any further information that he
thinks may interest me. I will also give you
a paper stating that you represent me, but that
is not to be used unless it seems expedient.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. Have you any further
instructions? When do you wish me to
start?”
“As soon as you can get ready. I will make
out a list of places along the route for your guidance.
I would let you ask Mr. Loche for directions
as to the course you are to take, but it
might leak out where you had gone.”
“I shall find the place, sir. I am a Yankee,
and can ask questions.”
“Take what money you need. I leave that
to your discretion.”
“You put great trust in me, Mr. Nixon.”
“Well, young as you are, you are my right-hand man.
.bn 259.png
Mr. Nugent could have done me no
greater favor than by sending you to me.”
On the afternoon of the second day Gerald
found himself riding up a rocky incline, probably
fifty miles on his way. There was no
other traveler in sight. This had been his experience
much of the way. Through the clear
atmosphere, however, he could see some scattered
buildings, betokening the presence of a village
three or four miles away.
“I wish some one would come along,” thought
Gerald. “I haven’t seen a face for three
hours.”
Had Gerald foreseen in what way his solitude
would be broken in upon, he would have
hesitated to express such a wish.
Ten minutes later he heard a terrible roar,
and, looking up quickly, turned pale with dismay,
as he noted the approach of a huge lion
advancing toward him at terrific speed.
He had never heard that lions were to be
found in Montana, and his surprise was almost
as great as his terror.
.bn 260.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch29
CHAPTER XXIX || NERO
.sp 2
There was no time or inclination on his part
to speculate upon such an extraordinary appearance.
He felt that his life was in peril, and he
must consider at once whether there was any
chance of his saving it.
He was armed with a rifle, which thus far he
had had no occasion to use. He was not unskilled
in the use of firearms, and luckily the
rifle was loaded. To use it seemed to be his
one chance of safety.
When his horse espied the lion he seemed
almost paralyzed with terror. If the lion had
no other claim to be called king of beasts, the
terror which he inspires in all other animals
might be taken for a strong evidence of his
royal supremacy. The horse stood stock still,
and it seemed to Gerald that he would remain
so till the lion came up. This being the case,
he thought it best to slip off the horse’s back
.bn 261.png
and jump to the ground. It was this act of
his, perhaps, that startled the horse into life
and motion. At any rate he set out on a wild
run, attaining a pace probably unprecedented
in his history. The animal could not have
rendered his rider a better service. Hitherto
the lion’s attention had been divided between
the horse and the boy. Now that he saw the
horse in rapid flight, the hunting instinct came
to him. More than one have testified that when
they saw a person or animal running they were
seized with an impulse to follow. This was
the case with the lion. Apparently he did not
notice Gerald, but, swerving from his course,
set out in pursuit of the horse.
When Gerald noted the fortunate turn that
matters had taken, he breathed a sigh of deep-felt
relief. But his relief was only temporary.
It might not be long before the lion would overtake
and kill the horse. Then, inflamed by the
sight of blood, he would probably turn back
and pursue the rider.
What could Gerald do?
.if h
.il fn=p256.jpg w=500px
.ca HIS HORSE STOPPED ON SEEING THE LION
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: HIS HORSE STOPPED ON SEEING THE LION]
.if-
He turned his eyes toward the distant town.
Probably it was only three miles away, but it
might almost as well have been three hundred.
.bn 262.png
.bn 263.png
.bn 264.png
Yet to reach it was his only hope of
safety.
He turned and ran toward the town as fast
as his legs could carry him. He soon became
scant of breath. The high elevation helped to
make him so. Probably the excitement, too,
had its effect.
He had no means of knowing whether the
lion had caught up with his intended victim.
Gerald fervently hoped not. The longer the
horse could hold out, the more time he had to
get away. He hardly dared to look, for he felt
that even this might take time and so delay
him.
He did look up, however, and, to his infinite
relief, he discovered that a horseman was speeding
toward him from the town.
He stood still and waited.
The man stopped his horse when he saw
Gerald, and asked: “Boy, have you seen a lion
hereabouts?”
The speaker had long hair, and wore a large
sombrero, after the fashion of Buffalo Bill.
“Yes,” answered Gerald, as soon as he could
get his breath. “I am running away from
him.”
.bn 265.png
“But where is he?”
“In pursuit of my horse.”
“But why are you not on your horse? Did
he throw you?”
“No; I slipped off his back, and he started
off in wild terror, the lion in pursuit.”
“That probably saved your life.”
“But how does a lion happen to be in this
territory?” asked Gerald, in curiosity. “I
never heard that lions were to be found in
Montana.”
“Nor are they. This lion belongs to a circus.
He escaped only half an hour ago, and I am in
pursuit of him.”
“Are you connected with the circus?”
“Yes. My brother and I own it. We want
to recover the lion, for he cost us a large sum of
money.”
“But suppose you meet him—won’t you be
in danger?”
“No. Any one else would; but I am his
keeper, and he is afraid of me.”
Gerald looked at him in curiosity. He could
not understand how any one could gain such
power over a lion.
“In what direction did the lion go?”
.bn 266.png
Gerald pointed eastward.
“I suppose, then, there is nothing to do but
wait till he comes back.”
“I would rather not wait. You may have
power over the lion, but I have not.”
“Then you can push on to the village; I will
wait here.”
“How far is it?”
“Rather more than a mile.”
“But if the lion should overtake me, I should
be in a bad case.”
“I’ll tell you what you may do. You may
take my horse, and I will stay here. Go to the
hotel and say that I sent you.”
“What name shall I use?”
“King. I am Paul King, and I belong to
King Brothers’ Circus.”
“I don’t like to deprive you of your horse.”
“It is of no consequence. If Nero comes
back I can meet him just as well alone.”
“Do you think he will come back?”
“Aye. Look!” he added, with excitement,
“there he is!”
.bn 267.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch30
CHAPTER XXX || THE CIRCUS
.sp 2
Speeding toward them came the big beast,
lashing his sides with his tail, evidently in a
state of great excitement. Gerald trembled as he
saw him. There are few, whatever their courage,
who would not do so. He did not dare to set
out on the way to the village. He thought it
better to remain with the lion’s keeper and under
his protection.
Paul King stood calm and imperturbable,
waiting the arrival of his lost charge. There
was a time when he, too, would have fled, but he
had become used to lions and their ways, and
felt perfect confidence in his power to subdue
them.
As Nero came nearer, Gerald could see that
his jaws were bloody. He guessed that the
blood was that of his ill-fated horse.
“He has killed your horse, sure enough,” said
King. “Was he valuable?”
.bn 268.png
“I paid a hundred dollars for him.”
“He wasn’t insured against lions?”
“No.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“I shall not mind that if I save my own life.”
“Your life is in no danger.”
By this time the lion was almost upon them.
He looked terrible, with the blood-stains about
his jaws, but Paul King’s equanimity was not
shaken. One thing, however, he failed to consider,
and that was the effect of blood upon the
savage brute. Great as was his ascendency over
Nero, the savage instinct of the great animal destroyed
the effect of years of discipline.
Paul King understood this when Nero advanced
upon him, unheeding his tone of command.
“Down, Nero!” he cried; but Nero would
not down. His wicked eyes glared, his tail
lashed his sides, and he rushed at his keeper
with hostile intent.
It flashed upon King that Nero was becoming
dangerous.
“I shall have to kill you!” he cried, between
his set teeth.
He fired at the lion, but either the huge animal
.bn 269.png
swerved or something affected his aim, for
it did not hit the mark.
Then Gerald thought it was time for him to
act. His life as well as the keeper’s was in peril.
Raising his weapon he took steady aim.
“Shoot him in the eye!” exclaimed King.
Gerald obeyed, directions. As a boy, of
course, he was not a practised marksman; but
luck—or perhaps it would be better to say Providence—was
on his side, and the bullet entered
Nero’s eye and penetrated to his brain. The
lion swayed a moment, and then fell over on his
side. Death seemed to be instantaneous.
“By Jove! you have killed him!” exclaimed
Paul King. “It was a fine shot!”
“Is he really dead?” asked Gerald, finding
it difficult to believe in his success.
“Yes, he is dead fast enough. He is dead, and
the circus is out nearly five thousand dollars.”
“That was better than to have him kill either
of us.”
“You are right. I never knew Nero in such
a mood. It must have been the horse’s blood
that excited him.”
“Have you any other lion in the show?”
“Yes, one; but this was the best.”
.bn 270.png
“Shall you leave him here?”
“I will send out some of my men to bury
him. He was a grand beast, and deserves burial.
And now let us be going back.”
“I will get off the horse and leave him to
you,” said Gerald.
“No; since my lion killed your horse, it is only
fair that you should ride on mine. To be sure
you killed the lion.”
“I feel proud of it. I never expected to kill
a lion.”
“You have reason to be proud. You are the
only boy I ever knew that could say as much.”
Though Goldwin was a small town, a circus
performance was given there during the evening.
Five miles away was a mining station, and some
seventy-five miners were in attendance. Gerald
was glad to go, partly because it filled up his
evening agreeably, and partly from the taste for
such performances which he had in common
with most boys of his age.
It was a small show, but Goldwin had never
had a visit from Barnum or Forepaugh, and vociferously
applauded the clown, the bareback
riders, the trapeze performers, and other acts
familiar to the regular circus goer.
.bn 271.png
In cages, in full view of the audience, were a
few animals, including a Bengal tiger and a lioness.
Paul King, Gerald’s acquaintance of the
afternoon, described these in succession. When
he came to the lioness, he said: “I am sorry
not to be able to show you the lion Nero, one of
the finest specimens ever imported from Africa.
He has been connected with our show for five
years, but this morning he escaped and started
out on a jaunt across country. He nearly killed
a boy, who slipped off his horse and left the lion
to chase the unfortunate animal. He overtook
and tore the horse to pieces, and then started on
his return.
“I had gone out in search of him, having
confidence in my power over him. But I was
mistaken. The blood which he had tasted
roused his savage nature, and I was compelled
to use my gun. But by bad luck I failed, and
should myself have fallen a victim, but for the
boy who had joined me and shot him in the
eye, instantly killing him.
“I cannot show you the lion Nero, but I am
able to show you the boy who killed him, the
only boy within my knowledge who ever killed
a lion.”
.bn 272.png
He signaled, to Gerald, who rose from his seat,
flushed and bashful. The whole audience, and
especially the miners, cheered him loudly. Gerald
bowed his acknowledgment and sat down.
When the performance was over more than
one went up to Gerald and shook his hand.
Among them was a tall, slabsided Yankee, who
closely resembled the pictures of Uncle Sam.
“I tell you, boy, you’re true grit,” he said;
“take the word of Joshua Burdoch for that.
I’ve shot a panther, but I own I shouldn’t dare
to tackle a lion.”
“It was a case of necessity,” said Gerald,
smiling. “Either I must kill him, or he would
have killed me.”
“Weren’t you afraid?”
“Yes, I was.”
“I think better of you for saying so. Some
would have denied it and said they were perfectly
cool.”
“I hope I shall never meet another lion,”
said Gerald. “I am satisfied with killing one.”
“Where are you going when you leave
here?”
“To Ransom.”
“So am I. Suppose we hitch horses?”
.bn 273.png
“I shall be very glad of your company, Mr.
Burdoch; but, as to hitching horses, I shall
have to buy one first. The poor animal I came
on was killed by Nero.”
“You can buy one in town, and if you need
money I will lend you some.”
“There won’t be any trouble about that. I
am well provided.”
Gerald was pleased to have secured as companion,
an honest man whom he could trust.
Moreover, in case of danger or difficulty, he felt
that he could rely on Joshua Burdoch for help.
.bn 274.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch31
CHAPTER XXXI || RANSOM
.sp 2
Gerald purchased a horse, and kept on his
way to Ransom with Joshua Burdoch. After
some reflection he told his Yankee friend his
business. The latter promised him his assistance
if required.
“That man, the superintendent, is a crafty
old fox,” he said. “Between us we must circumvent
him. What is his name?”
“Nelson Hawk.”
“When we get to Ransom we must make inquiries
and learn all we can before acting. It
seems to me it is rather a heavy responsibility
for you!”
“So it is, and I am glad to have your advice
and assistance.”
“It will be fun for me to outwit the old
fox!”
They speedily reached Ransom. It was entirely
a mining town. The houses of the miners,
.bn 275.png
with the hotel and store, constituted the town.
Gerald stayed at the hotel, which he found a
fair one for such a place. His room and Mr.
Burdoch’s joined. If Mr. Burdoch had any
business he did not mention it, except to say
that he had a few dollars, and might invest if
he found anything worth buying.
Among the boarders at the Ransom House
was a small, thin, shriveled man, with a wrinkled
face and a pair of sharp, crafty eyes, whose
name on the register was Matthew Grote. He
appeared to have money, and it was currently
reported that he wanted to make an investment.
On the evening of their arrival, Nelson Hawk,
the superintendent of the mine, called, and, taking
a seat in the public room, began to converse
with Grote. Gerald conjectured that this must
be the man who wanted to buy the mine. He
sat down about ten feet from the pair, and appeared
to be absorbed in a paper which he had
picked up in the office. Grote and Hawk had
no suspicion that the boy, whom they considered
of small importance, was a listener to their
conversation, and spoke in their ordinary tone
of voice.
.bn 276.png
“Have you heard from old Nixon, Mr.
Hawk?” asked Grote.
“Yes. I received a letter yesterday.”
“What does he say?”
“That he can’t come on. His health will
not admit of it.”
“Will he sell you his interest?”
“He says he will take the offer into consideration,
and will let me know soon.”
“I wish the old crank would hurry up. Does
he express any doubts about your statements
as to the depreciation in value?”
“No. Why should he? He knows nothing
about it except what I tell him.”
“But suppose these stories should be
true?”
“What do you mean?”
“That the mine is falling off in the amount
of its output.”
“My dear sir, you are not in earnest. Why,
the mine was never in better condition than at
present. Our output last month was greater
than ever before. A half share is well worth
the forty thousand dollars I require. Why, if
you buy you can make fifty per cent. in one
year. I can almost guarantee that.”
.bn 277.png
“Why, then, are you willing to sell your
share?”
“Because I want to divide the responsibility.
Besides, I am short of ready money. I should
like, if I get hold of Nixon’s share, to sell the
whole thing for seventy-five thousand dollars.
I am tired of this country, and I want to go
back to my Eastern home.”
“Well, we will see. I might make up my
mind to buy the entire mine if I find that your
statements are correct. How soon do you think
Mr. Nixon will make up his mind?”
“Very soon. If not, I will write him again.”
“The sooner the better.”
Here the twain parted. Gerald had heard all
that he needed. He saw that a stupendous
fraud was contemplated, of which Mr. Nixon
was to be the victim. Hawk had offered him
twenty thousand dollars for his half interest,
and agreed conditionally to sell it to Grote for
forty thousand. This would give the superintendent
a very neat profit.
Mr. Burdoch had not heard this conversation.
Had he been within hearing, they
would have been more careful in their speech.
As to Gerald, they looked upon him as a mere
.bn 278.png
boy, and did not feel it necessary to be on their
guard.
Gerald, however, lost no time in imparting
the information he had obtained to Mr. Burdoch.
“The confounded rascal!” exclaimed the
Yankee. “He has got up a very pretty scheme
for fleecing your employer. So he says the
mine is doing well?”
“Never better. He says a half interest is
well worth forty thousand dollars.”
“Humph! It may be worth looking up. I
might decide to buy the mine myself.”
Gerald regarded his companion with surprise.
He had not looked upon him as a rich man, but
thought he might be worth one or two thousand
dollars.
“Do you really mean it?” he asked.
“Certainly I do.”
“I did not suppose——” Here Gerald hesitated.
“Oh, I see—you didn’t think I had money
enough. Well, Gerald, I don’t mind telling
you I could buy two such mines as this one
here. I ain’t no dude, but I’ve got the gold.”
.bn 279.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch32
CHAPTER XXXII || IMPRISONED
.sp 2
Gerald lost no time in writing a letter to
Thomas Nixon, to let him know of his arrival
in Ransom and his adventures up to date. He
finished by advising Mr. Nixon not to sell his
share in the mine for less than forty thousand
dollars.
“Indeed,” he added, “I think I can find you
a purchaser at that price.”
He did not make himself known to Nelson
Hawk, but remained at the hotel waiting for
further developments.
He did not observe that one of the miners
who hung about the hotel surveyed him curiously,
nor had he any idea that he was recognized.
But this miner—Jack Manton—remembered to
have seen him at Campville, and knew his connection
with old Tom Nixon, whose interest in
the mine was well known. Desiring to ingratiate
himself with the superintendent, he joined
.bn 280.png
him in the street as he was leaving the mine,
and said, touching his hat:
“Mr. Hawk, may I have a few words with
you?”
“Go on,” said Hawk, impatiently, “but my
time is valuable.”
“It will be worth your while to hear me.
Have you seen a boy about the hotel?”
“Yes; what of it?”
“Do you know who he is?”
“No. Is he a person of any importance?”
“I should say so. He is secretary and companion—whatever
you may choose to call it—to
old Tom Nixon.”
Nelson Hawk uttered an exclamation of dismay.
“Are you sure of that?” he asked hurriedly.
“Certainly I am.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw him at Campville three weeks ago
and I know he lives with old Tom.”
Straightway it flashed upon the superintendent’s
mind that he had discussed the condition of
the mine with Matthew Grote in hearing of this
boy. He must, he felt convinced, have spoken
.bn 281.png
of its large output, having no idea that this
youth was an agent of his partner. If this were
the case all his plans were upset. Gerald would
of course communicate what he had heard to
the old man.
What was to be done?
He must question Gerald and find out how
much he knew, and whether he had written to
Mr. Nixon.
So when he next saw Gerald in the hotel he
sat down beside him.
“Where do you come from, young man?
Haven’t I seen you in Campville?”
“I don’t know. Have you been there recently?”
“No, but one of my men has. Do you know
old Tom Nixon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he send you here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nelson Hawk breathed hard. All his fears
were realized.
“Have you any communication for me? I
wrote recently to Mr. Nixon, offering him a large
sum for his interest in the mine. Do you think
he will accept?”
.bn 282.png
“I know he will not.”
“Why?”
“Because it is worth much more than you
offered.”
“Shall you advise him to refuse my offer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That is frank. I suppose you heard me say
to Mr. Grote that the output had increased?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And naturally you concluded that it is
worth more than I offered. But there is another
side to the question—expenses have increased,
too. It is harder to work. Would you
like to visit the mine and see for yourself?”
“Yes, sir,” said Gerald, promptly.
Hawk’s eyes lighted up with satisfaction.
“Very well,” he said; “we will go at once.”
They proceeded to the mine, half a mile
away, and Hawk signaled for the elevator. It
was a large cask, operated by a windlass.
“Get in,” he said.
They did so, and began slowly to descend.
The mine was about three hundred feet deep.
Touching bottom, they left the tub, and Hawk
began to show Gerald about, talking in a desultory
way. At length they reached a side cavern,
.bn 283.png
and Hawk led the way in. Then his manner
changed.
“Boy,” he said, “are you authorized to sell
Mr. Nixon’s interest in the mine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will give twenty thousand dollars.”
“I can’t take it.”
“Be careful! You may come to harm if you
don’t?”
“What do you mean?” demanded Gerald,
startled.
“I mean that I will keep you confined in this
room until you agree to the bargain!”
Gerald turned pale. He saw that he was in
a trap.
“I can’t betray Mr. Nixon’s interests.”
Hawk opened the door and went out, thrusting
Gerald back.
“I will come here to-morrow morning,” he
said. “By that time you may have come to
your senses.”
“Let me out!” exclaimed Gerald, vehemently.
“So I will, if you agree to my terms.”
In a moment the door was locked, and Gerald
found himself immured in a cavern three hundred
feet below the surface of the earth.
.bn 284.png
.if h
.il fn=p276.jpg w=500px
.ca HE SAW THAT HE WAS IN A TRAP
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: HE SAW THAT HE WAS IN A TRAP]
.if-
.bn 285.png
.bn 286.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch33
CHAPTER XXXIII || RESCUED
.sp 2
It seemed to Gerald like a terrible dream,
as he tried with his unpractised eyes to peer
through the blackness. But it was completely
dark. It seemed to be an excavation which had
been abandoned. It was at some distance from
that part of the mine in which active operations
were going on. How long he would be kept
here he could not conjecture. Whether, indeed,
the superintendent would dare to keep him in
captivity, perhaps even let him starve to death,
he could not tell. He felt it hard to realize the
position he was in.
Leaving him to his troubled thoughts, we
will go back to the hotel where Joshua Burdoch
and he were guests.
When Gerald left the house with the superintendent,
Burdoch was temporarily absent.
Twenty minutes later he returned, and looked
.bn 287.png
about for Gerald. Not seeing him he concluded
that he had gone out for a walk. But an hour
passed, and still Gerald was absent. He did
not feel anxious about him, but he and Gerald
were such constant companions that he felt lonesome
and uneasy without him.
He walked up to the desk of the hotel and
asked the landlord: “Have you seen anything
of the boy?”
“Yes, he was here rather more than an hour
ago.”
“Did he go out?”
“Yes; he went out with Mr. Hawk.”
“The superintendent of the mine?”
“Yes.”
This surprised Mr. Burdoch. For, so far as
he knew, the two had never held any communication.
“Did they appear to be talking together?”
he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where do you think they went?”
“I believe Hawk proposed that the boy
should go with him to the mine.”
“I wonder what that means?” thought Burdoch,
puzzled.
.bn 288.png
He took his hat and walked out in the direction
of the mine.
Near by he saw Nelson Hawk conversing
with one of the miners.
“Mr. Hawk,” he said, walking up to the superintendent,
“where is Gerald Lane?”
Nelson Hawk shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“Lockard told me he left the hotel in your
company.”
“Yes, we walked a little way together.”
“And then you separated?”
“Yes.”
“Did he go back?”
“I presume so.”
“He did not go down into the mine?”
“No. Why should he?”
“I don’t know. I merely asked.”
“I am busy. I can’t talk with you any more.”
Joshua Burdoch, more puzzled than ever,
walked slowly away. A hundred yards distant
he met a man he knew, and asked if he had
seen anything of Gerald.
“An hour or two ago I saw him with Mr.
Hawk.”
“Where were they?”
.bn 289.png
“Just going down into the mine.”
“I’ll warrant, there’s some mischief here!”
exclaimed Burdoch. “Hawk has been deceiving
me.”
“You didn’t see the two come up again?”
“No; but I saw Hawk coming out of the
mine alone.”
This confirmed the suspicion of Burdoch, and
he guessed the truth.
“McKee,” he said, “I scent trouble. That
man has left the boy in the mine, and I propose
to get him out. Are you with me?”
“Yes; I hate Hawk, and I will help you
cheerfully.”
“Then come back with me.”
Burdoch strode back and walked up to the
superintendent.
“Mr. Hawk,” he said, “you have shut up
the boy in the mine. Unless you release him I
will shoot you!”
Hawk turned pale, but tried to bluster.
“You are mistaken,” he said. “At any rate,
I won’t be talked to in this style.”
“You can’t help yourself.”
“What motive could I have for confining the
boy?”
.bn 290.png
“You have probably found out that he represents
your partner, old Tom Nixon, and that he
has come here to find out the real state of the
mine.”
“You astonish me, and I don’t believe you.
Nixon wouldn’t send a kid like that.”
“We won’t argue the point. That boy must
be released!”
“He is not in the mine.”
“I intend to go down and see.”
“Oh, very well; you can go!”
“You must go with us.”
“I have not time.”
In reply, Burdoch put a pistol to the side of
his head.
“Be careful,” said the affrighted superintendent,
“it might go off!”
“Will you go down?”
“Yes.”
They started, Burdoch watching Hawk closely,
ready at the slightest sign of treachery to shoot
him.
But Hawk had made up his mind to deceive
him if he could. He did not dare to resort to
violence in the case of a man so strong and determined
as Joshua Burdoch. They descended
.bn 291.png
to the bottom of the mine, and the party got
out.
“Now,” said Hawk, waving his hand, “you
are at liberty to search for yourself, and if you
can find the boy, do so!”
Burdoch and his friend went about the mine,
peering everywhere, but no trace of Gerald’s
presence could be found.
Burdoch became uneasy and discouraged.
He had no confidence in the superintendent.
He felt convinced that he was being deceived,
but how could he prove it?
“Well,” said Hawk, who had not accompanied
them, “have you found him?”
There was a triumphant smile on his face,
which excited Burdoch’s suspicions.
“Not yet,” he answered, briefly.
“Oh, well, you can continue your search,”
and he walked away.
“McKee,” said Burdoch, abruptly, “have you
ever been in this mine before?”
“Yes; two years ago I was employed here
for a few weeks.”
“Is there any place—any secret place—besides
those that we have visited where the boy
could be confined?”
.bn 292.png
“Yes,” answered McKee, with a sudden
thought, “there is a vault not now used, rather
apart from the rest of the mine, where he might
be concealed.”
“Can you guide me there?” asked Burdoch,
eagerly.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then do so in mercy’s name!”
McKee’s memory served him well. He led
the way to the side excavation. It was shut off
from the rest of the mine by a wooden door.
That door was locked.
“This is the place,” said Burdoch. “Now to
find out if Gerald is here!”
He struck with his heavy jack-knife on the
door, and then waited.
There was an answering knock.
“That is he!” he exclaimed.
He bent down and called through the keyhole:
“Are you inside, Gerald?”
There was a faint sound. He could not hear
the words, but he was convinced that it was
Gerald’s voice.
Now to open the door. It was heavy and
the lock was strong. There seemed no way
except to use the key. That key undoubtedly
.bn 293.png
the superintendent had. Just then Nelson
Hawk came in sight. He had been afraid the
secret room would be found.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, uneasily, “you
seem to have gone astray. What brought you
here?”
“Give me the key of that door!” said Burdoch,
sternly.
“I have no key.”
“Give me that key!”
“I tell you I have none,” and the superintendent
started to go away.
Instantly Burdoch had him by the throat.
“Now search his pockets, McKee.”
“You will repent this outrage,” said Nelson
Hawk, in a choking voice.
“I will risk that.”
From his pockets a bunch of keys was taken
by McKee, and one of them was found to fit
the door.
Burdoch inserted it in the lock, and in a
moment the door swung back, revealing Gerald,
who gladly stepped outside.
“You scoundrel!” said Burdoch, shaking his
fist in the superintendent’s face. “Now tell
your story, Gerald.”
.bn 294.png
Gerald did so.
“What have you to say for yourself, Hawk?”
demanded Burdoch.
“It must have been a mistake,” whined the
superintendent.
“You will hear from us again. Now, Gerald,
we will go out.”
“Now,” said Burdoch, “do you know what I
have decided to do?”
“No.”
“I shall go back with you to Campville,
make Mr. Nixon an offer for his share in the
mine, come back and force Hawk out. I mean
to control it and manage it myself. You shall
introduce me to Tom Nixon.”
“I will with pleasure.”
.bn 295.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch34
CHAPTER XXXIV || A DEED OF GIFT
.sp 2
Within two weeks Joshua Burdoch had
bought Mr. Nixon’s share of the mine at Ransom
for forty thousand dollars. Mr. Hawk’s
share he secured for thirty thousand. He then
made a formal proposal to Gerald to go to work
for him as assistant manager. But to this Mr.
Nixon demurred.
“I can’t spare Gerald, Mr. Burdoch,” he said.
“But, Mr. Nixon, think of the boy’s interests.
I am willing to pay him a salary of a hundred
dollars a month.”
“And I,” said the old man, “will give him
outright ten thousand dollars—one-fourth of
the sum you have paid me for my interest in
the mine.”
“Give me your hand, Mr. Nixon,” said Burdoch,
“I can’t go ahead of that. He is a good
boy, and he deserves his good fortune.”
Gerald was overwhelmed by his liberality.
.bn 296.png
“How can I thank you, Mr. Nixon,” he said,
“for your generosity?”
“It isn’t generosity. It’s only justice. But
for you I doubt if I should be living to-day.
You have taught me how to live. And now
let me tell you something. I have sent on to Mr.
Nugent the amount I took from his firm many
years ago. He refused to accept interest, but
wrote that I might make up to you whatever it
amounted to. It amounts to more than the ten
thousand dollars I have given you, but that I
will account for later.”
“I cannot realize my good fortune, Mr. Nixon.
You and Mr. Nugent have been very kind to
me.”
“Are you tired of living in Montana?”
“I don’t like it as well as living in my old
home.”
“Nor do I. With your help I propose to
settle up my affairs, convert what property I
have here into money, and go back to the East.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so, Mr.
Nixon.”
“It will probably require six months. Then
we will start. But you must stay with me
there. I have no relations that I care for. I
.bn 297.png
consider you my adopted son, and will see that
you are provided for.”
Steps were immediately taken to settle up
Mr. Nixon’s estate. To anticipate matters a
little, it was found, after this was effected, that
he possessed close upon seventy-five thousand
dollars, though he had paid up the sum of
his defalcation and made Gerald a gift of ten
thousand dollars.
At length the time came when Mr. Nixon
was ready to start for the East. The old man
brightened up with anticipation.
“Gerald,” he said, “I feel ten years younger.
I really begin to think that I shall live a few
years longer.”
“I am sure you will, Mr. Nixon.”
“How much I owe you! I little thought
when you came to me, a mere boy, that you
would do me so much good. John Nugent
knew what he was about when he selected you
as his messenger. How long is it since you
came to me?”
“It must be nearly a year and a half.”
“I should have been in my grave before this
if you had not come. Do you ever hear from
your stepmother?”
.bn 298.png
“I have not heard from her.”
“She is still at Portville?”
“I suppose so.”
“You won’t leave me and go to live with
her?”
“There is no danger of that,” answered Gerald.
Mr. Nixon breathed a sigh of relief.
“Stay with the old man till he dies!” he
pleaded. “You won’t be sorry.”
“I will, Mr. Nixon.”
.bn 299.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch35
CHAPTER XXXV || JOHN GRAVES REAPPEARS
.sp 2
We must now go back to Portville and
gather some information about Gerald’s family.
Mrs. Lane lived in the old mansion that had
belonged to his father. Abel also lived with
her. He had teased her to go to the city to
live, but she hesitated, partly from motives of
prudence and partly from a thought of the
temptations to which she feared Abel would
yield.
She did not find her son a source of satisfaction.
He was irritable and unpleasant in his
manner, and a source of anxiety to her.
One day he came in and broke out: “What
do you think I heard this morning?”
“I don’t know. You had better tell me at
once.”
“Gerald is on his way home.”
“Is he indeed? Who told you?”
.bn 300.png
“Munroe Hill. He lives near Mr. Nugent,
you know. Mr. Nugent told him. Are you going
to let him come here?”
“I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Lane, hesitatingly.
“I presume he has some money.”
“Then let him pay board. You can’t afford
to support him.”
“People might say ill-natured things, as I
received all my money from his father.”
“Let them talk! It is none of their business.
That reminds me, ma. Can’t you let me
have five dollars?”
“I let you have some money three days ago,”
said Mrs. Lane, frowning. “What did you do
with it?”
“It was only three dollars.”
“That is a good deal of money for a boy of
your age. You seem to think I am made of
money.”
“You mustn’t get mean, ma. Why, Mr. Lane
left you as much as fifty thousand dollars. I
have heard you say so.”
“I will give you two dollars, and not a
cent more. Don’t ask me for any more for a
week.”
Abel did not commit himself, but taking the
.bn 301.png
money, went down the street, where he soon
spent part of it playing pool with a young man
of not the best reputation.
Mrs. Lane sat down at her desk, and began to
examine her accounts.
“Fifty thousand dollars!” she mused. “Yes,
it is a goodly sum, and will maintain Abel and
myself in comfort all our lives. I am sorry he is
growing so extravagant. I shall have to check
him. In one month I shall hand in my final accounts,
and shall come into undisputed possession
of my money. Then I shall be able to carry
out the plan I have had in view so long, and
will make a tour of Europe with Abel. I am
told that it does not cost as much to travel in
Europe as in this country. There, free from all
money cares, I can enjoy myself. I can hardly
wait for the time to come.”
She closed her book and leaned back in her
chair, in complacent thought.
But her meditation was soon interrupted.
“There’s a gentleman below wishes to see you,
Mrs. Lane,” said Susan, the servant.
“Who is it? Did you ever see him before?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What name did he give?”
.bn 302.png
“Here’s his card, ma’am. I came near forgetting
to give it to you.”
Mrs. Lane took the card from the servant’s
hand, and glanced at it.
She turned pale and uttered a half exclamation.
Of all men in the world John Graves was
about the last she wished to see. It was he who
had deposited thirty thousand dollars in her
husband’s hands, and now, doubtless, he had
come to claim it. This would take away more
than half of the fortune on whose possession she
had been congratulating herself.
What should she do? While she was considering
this difficult question, Mr. Graves was
ushered into the room.
He was a man of somewhat less than medium
size, sixty years of age, but looking considerably
older on account of his white hair and
beard.
“Mrs. Lane?” he said inquiringly.
“That’s my name,” she answered stiffly.
“I have been living in Australia,” he resumed,
“for many years. Circumstances cut me off
from news, and it is only since I came to Portville
that I learned the sad news of your husband’s
death.”
.bn 303.png
Mrs. Lane did not reply, but regarded him with
a frosty air.
“It seems my poor friend has been dead nearly
two years?”
“Yes.”
John Graves regarded her with some surprise,
so cold and repelling was her manner.
“Our relations were very confidential,” continued
Graves. “Before I went away I deposited
in your husband’s hands, as he doubtless
told you, the sum of thirty thousand dollars.”
“You are mistaken, sir,” returned Mrs. Lane,
in an icy tone. “He never told me any such
thing, and you must pardon me for saying that
I do not believe such a preposterous statement!”
John Graves arched his eyebrows in amazement,
and regarded Mrs. Lane for a moment
without speaking.
“Did your husband leave no memorandum
respecting my deposit?” he asked, after a pause.
“No, sir.”
“That is very remarkable.”
“It is more remarkable that you should come
here with such a barefaced claim—a claim that
would sweep away more than half of the estate
my husband left.”
.bn 304.png
“Then you doubt the genuineness of my
claim?” he asked, calmly.
“I do.”
“Then I will say good-by—for the present.”
John Graves rose, and, with a bow, left the room.
Mrs. Lane breathed a sigh of relief.
“I think I have gotten rid of him,” she said.
.bn 305.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch36
CHAPTER XXXVI || MRS. LANE’S DISCOMFITURE
.sp 2
It was soon noised about that John Graves
was in town. Ten years before he had been a
frequent visitor at the house of Mr. Lane, and
he was still remembered by many.
Among those who were interested in his return
was Enoch Perkins, the lawyer who had
in his safe the letter which Mrs. Lane had lost
relating to his claim on the estate. He had kept
it carefully, not knowing whether it would ever
be available. Now it seemed the time had come.
Mr. Graves was staying at the house of John
Nugent, but he had not yet mentioned the
business matter which he had discussed with
Mrs. Lane. He was considering what he would
do about it. Not that it would seriously embarrass
him to lose the money, for he was a
rich man outside of this sum. But he felt that
at any rate he must substantiate his claim and
prove that he was no impostor.
.bn 306.png
Graves was passing the office of the lawyer
the next day, when Mr. Perkins called him to
come in.
“I don’t know if you know me, Mr. Graves,”
he said, “but when you were last here I had
just opened an office. This is my card.”
“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr.
Perkins,” said Graves, politely.
“Will you pardon me for my abruptness,
but have you not a claim—a large claim—on
the estate of the late Mr. Lane?”
John Graves eyed him in amazement.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“Let me show you.”
He opened his safe and drew out the sheet of
paper addressed by Mr. Lane to his wife.
As John Graves read it his eyes brightened
and his face showed the relief he felt.
“So my friend was true to me, after all,” he
murmured.
“Have you been to see Mrs. Lane?” asked
the lawyer, shrewdly.
“Yes.”
“And she refuses to entertain your claim?”
“Yes. But how did you come into possession
of this paper?”
.bn 307.png
The lawyer told him briefly.
“I foresaw what would happen,” he said,
“and I have kept this paper carefully for nearly
two years.”
“Thank you. You have done me a great
service.”
“The estate is not yet settled. That is, the
final accounts have not been handed into the
court. Mrs. Lane doubtless thinks she will be
able to confiscate your claim. I have heard
that she intends to go to Europe when her accounts
are filed.”
“She seems a very unprincipled woman. I
am sorry that my old friend succeeded so poorly
in his matrimonial venture.”
“She did show not herself in her true colors
till after his death. He died believing her to be
a woman of good principles.”
“I am glad of that.”
“If you will put the matter in my hands,
Mr. Graves, I will manage it for you.”
“I will authorize you to do so. I do not
care to see her again.”
Mrs. Lane was considerably surprised to receive
this letter, signed, “Enoch Perkins, Attorney-at-Law”:
.bn 308.png
.fs 85%
.in 4
“Madam—You are requested to call at my
office on business of great importance.”
.in 0
.fs 100%
She was disposed at first to take no notice of
the letter, but a feeling of uneasiness finally induced
her to answer the summons.
“Mr. Perkins,” she said, haughtily, as she
entered the office, “I have received a strange
letter from you.”
“Be seated, madam, and I will let you know
why I wrote. I am acting for Mr. John Graves,
who has a large claim against you.”
“I thought as much. He did me the honor
to call yesterday and make a most preposterous
claim against my husband’s estate.”
“Why preposterous?”
“It is very clear that he is trying to swindle
me!”
“The claim is genuine.”
“Let him prove it then!”
“He is prepared to do so.”
“How?” she asked, a little startled.
“On your husband’s testimony.”
“My husband is dead.”
“He left a memorandum in writing relating
to this claim.”
.bn 309.png
Mrs. Lane knew this, but she believed that it
was no longer in existence.
“Let him produce it,” she said, calmly.
“He is prepared to do so.”
“There is no such memorandum in existence.”
“Pardon me, but there is!”
“Where is it?”
“In my hands.”
Mrs. Lane turned pale.
“I don’t believe it!”
“Then I will show you a copy of it.”
He drew from his desk a copy of the memorandum
printed in an earlier part of this
story.
“Read it, if you like,” he said.
She did so, and her face twitched convulsively.
“I can’t understand how this should have
come into your hands,” she said; “even if it
were genuine?”
“Mrs. Lane, it was left by you on your desk
nearly two years ago, and brought to me by a
tramp, who didn’t know its importance.”
“Supposing this to be so, you should have
returned it to me at once!” she snapped.
.bn 310.png
“You would have destroyed it.”
“This is not in Mr. Lane’s handwriting.”
“No, but the original is.”
“Let me see it.”
“It will be shown in court.”
Mrs. Lane breathed hard. She sat back in
her chair, and a hard look came over her face.
“I will resist this swindle!” she hissed.
“As you please. Who is your lawyer?”
“I will consider. I am a woman, but I won’t
allow myself to be robbed!”
“As you please. I have no more to say to
you this morning.”
She left the office very much perturbed, but
gradually became calmer.
“I will resist!” she declared. “Even if the
memorandum is in Mr. Lane’s handwriting, I
shall claim that he was not in sound mind when
he wrote it.”
She must have a lawyer, however. There
was another lawyer in Portville, and she summoned
him.
“Mr. Bacon,” she said, “a dastardly attempt
has been made to swindle me out of thirty
thousand dollars. The claimant is John
Graves.”
.bn 311.png
“But, Mrs. Lane, Mr. Graves is a man of the
highest standing.”
“I don’t care! He is trying to swindle me
now!”
“Please give me the particulars.”
“I refer you to Enoch Perkins, whom he has
engaged as counsel. He will give you all the
information you require. I want you to act as
my lawyer.”
Mr. Bacon bowed.
“I will call on Lawyer Perkins,” he said,
“and see you again to-morrow morning.”
The next morning he called.
“Well,” he said, “I have seen Mr. Perkins.”
“Well?”
“And I believe the claim of Mr. Graves to
be genuine.”
“He can’t get the money on a mere memorandum.”
“It might be difficult; but this suit would
ruin your reputation for honesty. Everybody
will believe Mr. Graves.”
“Let them do it! I will keep the money!”
She said this between her set teeth.
“There is another little circumstance,” said
.bn 312.png
the lawyer, “which will make your case a desperate
one.”
“What is it?”
“Mr. Graves has your late husband’s receipt
for the money.”
“It is a forgery!” she said, hoarsely.
“No, it is not. I have examined it, and can
safely pronounce it to be in Mr. Lane’s handwriting.
I am very familiar with his handwriting,
and so, indeed, are dozens of others in the
town.”
Mrs. Lane was silent, and her face showed
her keen disappointment.
“Then you don’t see any chance for me?”
she said, in a low voice—“you don’t see any
chance for me?”
“None whatever.”
“But it will ruin me. The interest will
amount to a large sum.”
“Mr. Perkins tells me that Mr. Graves will
waive interest.”
“I will let you know my decision to-morrow.”
Mrs. Lane announced the next day that she
would not resist the claim. It was a bitter disappointment,
but she would have twenty thousand
dollars left.
.bn 313.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch37
CHAPTER XXXVII || CONCLUSION
.sp 2
Three days later Gerald and Mr. Nixon
reached Portville. They called at once on Mr.
Nugent, who received the old man kindly and
cordially.
“Mr. Nugent,” said Tom Nixon, “I have
come prepared to pay you the interest on the
amount of my defalcation.”
“Give it to Gerald. I don’t want it.”
“I have already given Gerald ten thousand
dollars, and when I die he will have all that I
leave behind me.”
Mr. Nugent looked much pleased. He
grasped the hand of his old debtor cordially,
and said: “I am pleased to hear it. Then
you found Gerald of assistance to you?”
“But for him I should not have been
living to-day. He has done everything for
me.”
.bn 314.png
“Probably you wondered at my choice of a
messenger at first?”
“Yes. It seemed strange to me that you
should select a young boy, but I soon found
that he had the sense and discretion of a
man.”
“Have you seen your stepmother yet, Gerald?”
asked Mr. Nugent.
“No; but I met Abel on the street.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He asked me if I had any money.”
“What did you reply?”
“'A little.’ Then he said, 'If you expect to
live on ma you will find yourself much mistaken.
You will have to earn your own living.’
I told him I shouldn’t trouble Mrs. Lane.”
“But, perhaps, you may,” said Mr. Nugent.
Gerald looked an inquiry.
Mr. Nugent explained:
“I have in my hands a later will than the
one under which Mrs. Lane inherits. It was
placed in my hands by your father, with directions
not to produce it if Mrs. Lane treated you
fairly. Otherwise, I was to make it known.
By this will you are left half the property.
That will only amount to ten thousand dollars,
.bn 315.png
as Mrs. Lane has been compelled to surrender
thirty thousand dollars to John Graves. She
will be left comparatively poor.”
“Mr. Nugent,” said Gerald, “am I compelled
to take advantage of this will?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because, thanks to Mr. Nixon’s generosity,
I do not need it. I feel rich already. I am
willing to surrender all claims upon my father’s
estate.”
“Your stepmother does not deserve it.”
“Let the boy have his way,” said Thomas
Nixon, “I prefer to provide for him myself.”
So it was arranged. Mrs. Lane was left in
undisturbed possession of the estate, but now—five
years later—it has been reduced one half.
Abel has proved extravagant and dissipated,
and is far from giving satisfaction to his mother.
Gerald has bought his father’s house, and is now
owner of the old homestead. He and Mr.
Nixon live there, and he occupies a business
position in the city. His prospects are very
bright, and there is every indication that he will
be in time a very rich man. In his case success
is based on merit. He has brought happiness to
Mr. Nixon, who is in better health than he has
.bn 316.png
been for the last twenty years. The clouds that
darkened a part of his life have rolled by, and
his declining years are full of sunshine, thanks
to Gerald and his mission.
.bn 317.png
.bn 318.png
.pb
.sp 2
.ce
Best Books
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FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
[Illustration]
A Series of books for young
people that contains the latest
and best works of the most popular
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stories are not only told in an interesting
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Sold by the leading booksellers everywhere, or sent
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.bn 319.png
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Earning Her Way
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By Mrs. Clarke Johnson, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
A charming story of an ambitious girl who overcomes in a
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Her College Days
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By Mrs. Clarke Johnson, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
This is a most interesting and healthful tale of a girl’s life in a
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Two Wyoming Girls
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By Mrs. Carrie L. Marshall, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
Two girls, thrown upon their own resources, are obliged to
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.bn 320.png
.sp 2
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The Girl Ranchers
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By Mrs. Carrie L. Marshall, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
A story of life on a sheep ranch in Montana. The dangers
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A Maid at King Alfred’s Court
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By Lacy Foster Madison, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
This is a strong and well told tale of the 9th century. It is a
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A Maid of the First Century
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By Lucy Foster Madison, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
A little maid of Palestine goes in search of her father, who
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.bn 321.png
.sp 2
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A Daughter of the Forest
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By Evelyn Raymond, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
The heroine of this unusual tale resides with her uncle on an
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A Colonial Maid of Old Virginia
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By Lucy Foster Madison, Illustrated by Clyde O. DeLand
The heroine, while yet a motherless babe, is adopted by a
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A Daughter of the Union
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By Lucy Foster Madison, Illustrated by Clyde O. DeLand
A story of the Civil War in which the interest centers about
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.bn 322.png
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A Yankee Girl in Old California
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By Evelyn Raymond, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
A young girl, reared among most delightful surroundings in
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My Lady Barefoot
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A beautifully told story of the trials of a little backwoods girl
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The Ferry Maid of the Chattahoochee
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An heroic little Georgia girl, in her father’s extremity, takes
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The Little Lady of the Fort
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A dramatic story dealing with the struggles of the early
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A Quaker Maiden
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A young girl reared in all the simplicity of a Quaker family
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.bn 324.png
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Dorothy Day
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This is a most interesting story of a bright and spirited young
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Miss Wildfire
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Her Father’s Legacy
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By Helen Sherman Griffith, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
Suddenly bereft of father and fortune, a young girl finds herself
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An Odd Little Lass
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An Every-Day Heroine
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By Mary A. Denison, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
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Her Wilful Way
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By Helen Sherman Griffith, Illustrated by Ida Waugh
Lucile, a girl of strong will and quick temper, but generous
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.bn 326.png
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The Boer Boy of the Transvaal
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By Kate Milner Rabb, Illustrated by F. A. Carter
The career of the Boer boy is one series of exciting adventures.
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Much interesting information pertaining to this country
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Uncrowning a King
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By Edward S. Ellis, A. M., Illustrated by J. Steeple Davis
A tale of the Indian war waged by King Philip in 1675. The
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At the Siege of Quebec
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Two boys living on the Kennebec River join Benedict Arnold’s
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.bn 327.png
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With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga
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By W. Bert Foster, Illustrated by F. A. Carter
A vivid picture of the struggles of those heroic New Englanders,
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.ce
Forging Ahead
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By Horatio Alger, Jr., Illustrated by W. S. Lukens
This is an interesting narrative of an earnest, energetic, and
ambitious boy who supports his widowed mother, and by persistent
efforts against great odds succeeds in rising in the
world. There is an abundance of incident and adventure,
and the story is one that will encourage any young reader to
an effort to make the best of himself.
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Price, 90c., net; Postage, 12c.
.sp 2
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In Alaskan Waters
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By W. Bert Foster, Illustrated by W. S. Lukens
A sturdy lad of San Francisco is taken, against his will,
aboard a vessel bound on the unlawful errand of seal poaching
in Alaska. At the time of his departure a large sum of
money disappears from his guardian’s safe, and suspicion
naturally, but unjustly, is attached to the boy. The unraveling
of the mystery created by this incident, the proving of the
hero’s innocence, and his thrilling adventures at sea, form
a fascinating story.
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Price, 90c., net; Postage, 12c.
.bn 328.png
.sp 2
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In the Days of Washington
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By William Murray Graydon, Illustrated by J. C. Claghorn
The story opens in Philadelphia just prior to its evacuation by
the British in 1778. Nathan Stanbury, a bright lad of seventeen,
joins the Continental Army which is then suffering the
hardships of the winter at Valley Forge. A short time later
the Battle of Monmouth is fought, and in this the young hero
figures quite prominently, as he does afterward at the Massacre
of Wyoming.
.sp 2
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On Wood Cove Island
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By Elbridge S. Brooks, Illustrated by Frederic J. Boston
A trio of bright New England children are given an island
on which to spend their summer vacation. Here they establish
a little colony, the management of which gives them
a large amount of amusement and at times causes some
seemingly serious difficulties. In the solution of their perplexing
problems the young people receive much encouragement
and counsel from the poet Longfellow, whose delightful
acquaintance they form in a very unexpected and amusing
manner.
.sp 2
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Under the Tamaracks
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By Elbridge S. Brooks, Illustrated
An interesting and healthful story for boys and girls, representing
a summer’s outing of young people among the
Thousand Islands. It is timed to include the visit of General
Grant at Alexandria Bay, and several interesting conversations
between one of the boys and the hero of the Rebellion
shed pleasing side lights upon the great General’s character.
“General Grant’s talks with the heroes will captivate the
heart of every boy.”—Teachers’ World, New York.
.bn 329.png
.sp 2
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The Wreck of the Sea Lion
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By W. O. Stoddard, Illustrated by John H. Betts
Tales of the sea are always fascinating to young people, especially
when some active, adventuresome boys supply plenty of
thrilling escapades to add to the interest. The story of an
eventful cruise in Southern waters, as told by an old sea captain,
and the ludicrous boastings and experiments of a would-be
scientist, constitute a pleasing variety of incident, and
afford just that amount of instructive material needed to make
a perfect book for young readers.
.sp 2
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The Young Financier
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By W. O. Stoddard, Illustrated by John H. Betts
A unique story, the scene of which is laid in the money centre
of New York City. The young hero begins life as a broker’s
messenger and passing rapidly from one post to another in
good time rises to a position of importance and responsibility.
Numerous exciting experiences incident to the eventual success
in his business career all combine to form a most
interesting narrative.
.sp 2
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True to His Trust
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By Edward S. Ellis, A. M., Illustrated by J. Steeple Davis
The hero of this story will win his way at once into the heart
of every one, and his pluck and perseverance will carry the
sympathy of every reader through his many adventures, struggles,
and singular experiences. Like all of the author’s works,
the incidents teach in the most convincing manner that true
manliness and sturdy integrity are the only principles through
which happiness and success in life are possible.
.pb
.ni
.sp 4
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Unbalanced quotation marks were left as the author intended.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Spelling and hyphenation was made consistent when a predominant \
form was found in this book; otherwise it was not changed.
.ul-
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