Luke wore a sack coat with side pockets. It was this circumstance that had made it easy for Harold to transfer the wallet unsuspected to his pocket.
Quite ignorant of what had taken place, Luke kept on his way to Mrs. Merton's house. He rang the bell, and on being admitted, went up, as usual, to the room of his patroness.
Good morning, Luke, said Mrs. Merton, pleasantly.
Good-morning, responded Luke.
I don't think I shall go out this morning, and I don't think of any commission, so you will have a vacation.
I am afraid I am not earning my money, Mrs. Merton. You make it very easy for me.
At any rate, Luke, the money is cheerfully given, and I have no doubt you find it useful. How are you getting along?
Very well, indeed! I have just made the last payment on mother's machine, and now we owe nothing, except, perhaps, for the rent, and only a week has gone by on the new month.
You seem to be a good manager, Luke. You succeed in keeping your money, while I have not always found it easy. Yesterday, for instance, I lost sixty-five dollars.
How was that? inquired Luke, with interest.
The drawer in which I keep a pocketbook was unlocked, and this, with its contents, was stolen.
Don't you suspect anyone?
I did, but he has cleared himself, in my opinion. It is possible it was one of the servants.
At this moment Luke pulled his handkerchief from his side pocket and with it came the morocco pocketbook, which fell on the carpet.
Mrs. Merton uttered an exclamation of surprise.
Why, that is the very pocketbook! she said.
Luke stooped and picked it up, with an expression of bewilderment on his face.
I don't understand it, he said. "I never saw that pocketbook before in my life."
Please hand it to me.
Luke did so.
Yes, that is the identical pocketbook, said the old lady.
And it came from my pocket?
Yes."
Is there any money in it, Mrs. Merton.
Mrs. Merton opened it, and shook her head. That has been taken out," she answered.
I hope you won't think I took the money, said Luke, with a troubled look.
I know you did not. It was taken while we were out together yesterday. The last thing before I left the house I locked the drawer, and the pocketbook with the money inside was there. When I returned it was gone.
That is very mysterious. I don't understand how the pocketbook came in my pocket.
Someone must have put it there who wished you to be suspected of the theft.
Yes, said Luke, eagerly. "I see."
Then he stopped suddenly, for what he was about to say would throw suspicion upon Harold.
Well, go on!
I don't know that I ought to speak. It might throw suspicion on an innocent person.
Speak! It is due to me. I will judge on that point. Who has had the chance of putting the wallet into your pocket?
I will speak if you insist upon it, Mrs. Merton, said Luke, reluctantly. "A few minutes since I met Harold on the street. We were bound in opposite directions. He surprised me by stopping me, and addressing me quite cordially. We stood talking together two or three minutes."
Did he have an opportunity of putting the wallet in your pocket?
He might have done so, but I was not conscious of it.
Let me think! said the old lady, slowly. "Harold knew where I kept my money, for I opened the drawer in his presence the other day, and he saw me take a bill from the pocketbook. I did not think him capable of robbing me."
Perhaps he did not, said Luke. "It may be explained in some other way."
Can you think of any other way? asked the old lady.
Suppose a servant had taken the money, and left the pocketbook somewhere where Harold found it----
Even in that case, why should he put it in your pocket?
He does not like me. He might wish to throw suspicion upon me.
That would be very mean.
I think it would, but still he might not be a thief.
I would sooner excuse a thief. It is certainly disreputable to steal, but it is not necessarily mean or contemptible. Trying to throw suspicion on an innocent person would be both.
Luke remained silent, for nothing occurred to him to say. He did not wish to add to Mrs. Merton's resentment against Harold.
After a moment's thought the old lady continued: "Leave the pocketbook with me, and say nothing about what has happened till I give you leave."
Very well.
Mrs. Merton took the pocketbook, replaced it in the drawer, and carefully locked it.
Someone must have a key that will open this drawer, she said. "I should like to know who it is."
Do you think anyone will open it again? asked Luke.
No; it will be supposed that I will no longer keep money there. I think, however, I will sooner or later find out who opened it.
I hope it won't prove to be Harold.
I hope so, too. I would not like to think so near a relative a thief. Well, Luke, I won't detain you here any longer. You may come to-morrow, as usual.
It is lucky Mrs. Merton has confidence in me, thought Luke. "Otherwise she might have supposed me to be the thief. What a mean fellow Harold Tracy is, to try to have an innocent boy suspected of such a crime."
As he was going out of the front door, Mrs. Tracy entered.
She cast a withering glance at Luke.
Have you seen my aunt this morning? she asked.
Yes, madam.
I wonder you had the face to stand in her presence.
It must be said, in justification of Mrs. Tracy, that she really believed that Luke had stolen Mrs. Merton's money.
I know of no reason why I should not, said Luke, calmly. "Will you be kind enough to explain what you mean?"
You know well enough, retorted Mrs. Tracy, nodding her head venomously.
Mrs. Merton appears to be well satisfied with me, said Luke, quietly. "When she is not, she will tell me so, and I shall never come again."
You are the most brazen boy I know of. Why it is that my aunt is so infatuated with you, I can't for my part, pretend to understand.
If you will allow me, I will bid you good-morning, said Luke, with quiet dignity.
Mrs. Tracy did not reply, and Luke left the house.
If I ever hated and despised a boy, it is that one! said Mrs. Tracy to herself as she went upstairs to remove her street dress. "I wish I could strip the mask from him, and get aunt to see him in his real character. He is a sly, artful young adventurer. Ah, Felicie, come and assist me. By the way, I want you to watch that boy who has just gone out?"
Luke Walton?
Yes; of course you have heard of my aunt's loss. I suspect that this Luke Walton is the thief.
Is it possible, madam? Have you any evidence?
No; but we may find some. What do you think?
I haven't thought much about the matter. It seems to me very mysterious.
When Felicie left the presence of her mistress she smiled curiously.
What would Madam Tracy say if she knew it was her own son? she soliloquized. "He is a young cur, but she thinks him an angel."
Harold had been compelled to give up half his money, but he still had thirty dollars left. How should he invest it? That was the problem that occupied his thoughts. Thus far he had not derived so much satisfaction from the possession of the money as he had anticipated. One thing, at any rate, he resolved. He would not spend it upon others, but wholly upon himself.
He stepped into a billiard saloon to enjoy his favorite pastime. In the absence of any companion he played a game with a man employed in the establishment, and, naturally, got beaten, though he was given odds. At the end of an hour he owed sixty cents, and decided not to continue.
You play too well for me, he said, in a tone of disappointment.
You had bad luck, answered his opponent, soothingly. "However, I can more than make it up to you."
How? inquired Harold, becoming interested.
A friend of mine has pawned his watch for fifteen dollars. It is a valuable gold watch--cost seventy-five. He could have got more on it, but expected to redeem it. He has been in bad luck, and finds it no use. He has put the ticket in my hands, and is willing to sell it for ten dollars. That will only make the watch cost twenty-five. It's a big bargain for somebody.
Harold was much interested. He had always wanted a gold watch, and had dropped more than one hint to that effect within the hearing of Aunt Eliza, but the old lady had always said: "When you are eighteen, it will be time enough to think of a gold watch. Till then, your silver watch will do."
Harold took a different view of the matter, and his desire for a gold watch had greatly increased since a school friend about his own age had one. For this reason he was considerably excited by the chance that seems to present itself.
You are sure the watch is a valuable one? he asked.
Yes; I have seen it myself.
Then why don't you buy the ticket yourself?
I haven't the money. If I had, I wouldn't let anybody else have it.
Let me see the ticket.
The other produced it from his vest pocket, but, of course, this threw no light upon the quality of the watch.
I can secure the watch, and have nearly five dollars left, thought Harold. "It is surely worth double the price it will cost me, and then I shall have something to show for my money."
On the other hand, his possession of the watch would excite surprise at home, and he would be called upon to explain how he obtained it. This, however, did not trouble Harold.
I've a great mind to take it, he said, slowly.
You can't do any better. To tell the truth, I hate to let it go, but I don't see any prospect of my being able to get it out myself, and my friend needs the money.
Harold hesitated a moment, then yielded to the inducement offered.
Give me the ticket, he said. "Here is the money."
As he spoke, he produced a ten-dollar bill. In return, the ticket was handed to him.
The pawnbroker, whose name was found on the ticket, was located less than fifteen minutes walk from the billiard saloon. Harold, eager to secure the watch, went directly there.
Well, young man, what can I do for you? asked a small man, with wrinkled face and blinking eyes.
I want to redeem my watch. Here is the ticket.
The old man glanced at the ticket, then went to a safe, and took out the watch. Here were kept the articles of small bulk and large value.
Harold took out fifteen dollars which he had put in his vest pocket for the purpose, and tendered them to the pawnbroker.
I want a dollar and a half more, said the old man.
What for? asked Harold, in surprise.
One month's interest. You don't think I do business for nothing, do you?
Isn't that high? asked Harold, and not without reason.
It's our regular charge, young man. Ten per cent a month--that's what we all charge.
This statement was correct. Though the New York pawnbroker is allowed to charge but three per cent a month, his Chicago associate charges more than three times as much.
There was nothing for it but to comply with the terms demanded, and Harold reluctantly handed out the extra sum.
You ought to have a watch chain, my friend, said the pawnbroker.
I should like one, but I cannot afford it.
I can give you a superior article--rolled gold--for a dollar.
Let me see it!
The chain was displayed. It looked very well; and certainly set off the watch to better advantage.
Harold paid down the dollar, and went out of the pawn broker's with a gold watch, and chain of the same color, with only two dollars left of his ill-gotten money. This was somewhat inconvenient, but he rejoiced in the possession of the watch and chain.
Now Ralph Kennedy can't crow over me, he soliloquized. "I've got a gold watch as well as he."
As he left the pawnbroker's, he did not observe a familiar face and figure on the opposite side of the street. It was Warner Powell, his mother's brother, who recognized, with no little surprise, his nephew, coming from such a place.
What on earth has carried Harold to a pawn broker's? he asked himself.
Then he caught sight of the watch chain, and got a view of the watch, as Harold drew it out ostentatiously to view his new acquisition.
There is some mystery here, he said to himself. "I must investigate."
He waited till Harold was at a safe distance, then crossed the street, and entered the pawnbroker's.
There was a boy just went out of here, he said to the old man.
Suppose there was, returned the pawnbroker, suspiciously.
What was he doing here?
Is that any of your business?
My friend, I have nothing to do with you, and no complaint to make against you, but the boy is my nephew, and I want to know whether he got a watch and chain here.
Yes; he presented a ticket, and I gave him the watch.
Is it one he pawned himself?
I don't know. He had the ticket. I can't remember everybody that deals with me.
Can you tell me how much the watch and chain were pawned for?
The watch was pawned for fifteen dollars. I sold him the chain for a dollar.
All right. Thank you.
It's all right?
Yes, so far as you are concerned. How long had the watch been in?
For three weeks.
Warner Powell left the shop, after obtaining all the information he required.
It is Harold who robbed Aunt Eliza, he said to himself. "I begin to think my precious nephew is a rogue."
Meanwhile, Harold, eager to ascertain the value of his watch, stepped into a jeweler's.
Can you tell me the value of this watch? he inquired.
The jeweler opened it, and after a brief examination, said: "When new it probably cost thirty-five dollars."
Harold's countenance fell.
I was told that it was a seventy-five dollar watch, he said.
Then you were cheated.
But how can such a large watch be afforded for thirty-five dollars?
It is low-grade gold, not over ten carats, and the works are cheap. Yet, it'll keep fair time.
Harold was very much disappointed.
When he came to think it over, Harold gradually recovered his complacence. It was a gold watch, after all, and no one would know that the gold was low grade. He met one or two acquaintances, who immediately took notice of the chain and asked to see the watch. They complimented him on it, and this gave him satisfaction.
When he reached home, he went directly upstairs to his room, and only came down when he heard the supper bell.
As he entered the dining room his mother was the first to notice the watch chain.
Have you been buying a watch chain, Harold? she asked.
I have something besides, said Harold, and he produced the watch.
Mrs. Tracy uttered an exclamation of surprise, and Mrs. Merton and Warner exchanged significant glances.
How came you by the watch and chain? asked Mrs. Tracy, uneasily.
They were given to me, answered Harold.
But that is very strange. Aunt Eliza, you have not given Harold a watch, have you?
No, Louisa. I think a silver watch is good enough for a boy of his age.
Why don't you ask me, Louisa? said Warner, smiling.
I don't imagine your circumstances will admit of such a gift.
You are right. I wish they did. Harold, we are all anxious to know the name of the benevolent individual who has made you such a handsome present. If you think he has any more to spare, I should be glad if you would introduce me.
I will explain, said Harold, glibly. "I was walking along Dearborn Street about two o'clock, when I saw a gentleman a little in advance of me. He had come from the Commercial Bank, I judge, for it was not far from there I came across him. By some carelessness he twitched a wallet stuffed with notes from his pocket. A rough-looking fellow sprang to get it, but I was too quick for him. I picked it up, and hurrying forward, handed it to the gentleman. He seemed surprised and pleased.
"
'My boy,' he said, 'you have done me a great service. That wallet contained fifteen hundred dollars. I should have lost it but for you. Accept this watch and chain as a mark of my deep gratitude.' With that, he took the watch from his pocket, and handed it to me. I was not sure whether I ought to take it, but I have long wanted a gold watch, and he seemed well able to afford the gift, so I took it.""
"
Mrs. Tracy never thought of doubting this plausible story.
Harold, she said, "I am proud of you. I think there was no objection to accepting the watch. What do you say, Aunt Eliza?"
Let me look at the watch, Harold, said the old lady, not replying to her niece's question.
Harold passed it over complacently. He rather plumed himself on the ingenious story he had invented.
What do you think of it, Warner? asked Mrs. Merton, passing it to her nephew.
It is rather a cheap watch for a rich man to carry, answered Warner, taking it in his hand and opening it.
I am sure it is quite a handsome watch, said Mrs. Tracy.
Yes, it is large and showy, but it is low-grade gold.
Of course, I don't know anything about that, said Harold. "At any rate, it is gold and good enough for me."
No doubt of that, said the old lady, dryly.
Rich men don't always carry expensive watches, said Mrs. Tracy. "They are often plain in their tastes."
This watch is rather showy, said Warner. "It can't be called plain."
At any rate, Harold has reason to be satisfied. I am glad he obtained the watch in so creditable a manner. If it had been your protege, Aunt Eliza, I suspect he would have kept the money,
I don't think so, Louisa, said Mrs. Merton, quietly. "I have perfect confidence in Luke's honesty."
In spite of your lost pocketbook?
Yes; there is nothing to connect Luke with that.
Harold thought he ought to get the advantage of the trick played upon Luke in the morning.
I don't know as I ought to say anything, he said, hesitating, "but I met Luke this morning, and if I am not very much mistaken, I saw in his pocket a wallet that looked very much like aunt's. You know he wears a sack coat, and has a pocket on each side."
Again Mrs. Merton and Warner exchanged glances.
This is important! said Mrs. Tracy, in excitement. "Did you speak to him on the subject?"
No.
Why not?
I thought he might be innocent, and I didn't want to bring a false charge against him.
You are very considerate, said Mrs. Merton.
That seems quite conclusive, Aunt Eliza, said Mrs. Tracy, triumphantly. "I am sure Warner will agree with me."
As to that, Louisa, said her brother, "Harold is not certain it was aunt's lost pocketbook."
But he thinks it was----
Yes, I think it was
For my own part, I have no doubt on the subject, said Mrs. Tracy, in a positive tone. "He is the person most likely to take the money, and this makes less proof needful."
But, suppose, after all, he is innocent, suggested Warner.
You seem to take the boy's side, Warner. I am surprised at you.
I want him to have a fair chance, that is all. I must say that I have been favorably impressed by what I have seen of the boy.
At any rate, I think Aunt Eliza ought to question him sternly, not accepting any evasion or equivocation. He has been guilty of base ingratitude.
Supposing him to be guilty?
Yes, of course.
I intend to investigate the matter, said the old lady. "What do you think, Harold? Do you think it probable that Luke opened my drawer, and took out the pocket-book?"
It looks very much like it, said Harold.
Certainly it does, said Mrs. Tracy, with emphasis.
Suppose we drop the conversation for the time being, suggested the old lady. "Harold has not wholly gratified our curiosity as to the watch and chain. Do you know, Harold, who the gentleman is to whom you rendered such an important service?"
No, Aunt Eliza, I did not learn his name.
What was his appearance? Describe him.
He was a tall man, answered Harold, in a tone of hesitation.
Was he an old or a young man?
He was an old man with gray hair. He walked very erect.
Should you know him again, if you saw him?
Yes, I think so.
Then, perhaps, we may have an opportunity of ascertaining who he was. My broker will probably know him from your description.
Why do you want to find out who he is? asked Harold, uneasily. "Don't you think I ought to keep the watch?"
I have a feeling of curiosity on the subject. As to keeping it, I don't think the gentleman will be likely to reclaim it.
Of course not. Why should he? said Mrs. Tracy. "He gave it freely, and it would be very strange if he wished it back."
Here the conversation dropped, much to Harold's relief. Warner accompanied his aunt from the room.
What do you think of Harold's story, Warner? asked the old lady.
It is very ingenious.
But not true?
No; he got the watch and chain from a pawnbroker. I saw him come out of the shop, and going in, questioned the pawnbroker. He must have got the ticket somewhere.
Then it seems that Harold is not only a thief, but a liar.
My dear aunt, let us not be too hard upon him. This is probably his first offense: I feel like being charitable, for I have been in the same scrape.
I can overlook theft more easily than his attempt to blacken the reputation of Luke, said Mrs. Merton, sternly.
Thanks to the liberal compensation received from Mrs. Merton, Luke was enabled to supply his mother and Bennie with all the comforts they required, and even to put by two dollars a week. This he did as a measure of precaution, for he did not know how long the engagement at the house on Prairie Avenue would last. If he were forced to fall back on his earnings as a newsboy, the family would fare badly. This might happen, for he found himself no nearer securing the favor of Harold and his mother. The manner of the latter was particularly unpleasant when they met, and Harold scarcely deigned to speak to him. On the other hand, Warner Powell showed himself very friendly. He often took the opportunity to join Luke when he was leaving the house, and chat pleasantly with him. Luke enjoyed his companionship, because Warner was able to tell him about Australia and California, with both of which countries Mrs. Tracy's brother was familiar.
Mother, said Harold, one day, "Uncle Warner seems very thick with that newsboy. I have several times seen them walking together."
Mrs. Tracy frowned, for the news displeased her.
I am certainly very much surprised. I should think my brother might find a more congenial and suitable companion than Aunt Eliza's hired boy. I will speak to him about it.
She accordingly broached the subject to Warner Powell, expressing herself with emphasis.
Listen, Louisa, said Warner, "don't you think I am old enough to choose my own company?"
It doesn't seem so, retorted Mrs. Tracy, with a smile.
At any rate, I don't need any instructions on that point.
As my guest, you certainly ought to treat me with respect.
So I do. But I don't feel bound to let you regulate my conduct.
You know what cause I have--we both have--to dislike this boy.
I don't dislike him.
Then you ought to.
He is in Aunt Eliza's employment. While he remains so, I shall treat him with cordiality.
You are blind as a mole! said Mrs. Tracy, passionately. "You can't see that he is trying to work his way into aunt's affections."
I think he has done so already. She thinks a great deal of him.
When you find her remembering him in her will, you may come over to my opinion.
She is quite at liberty to remember him in her will, so far as I am concerned. There will be enough for us, even if she does leave Luke a legacy.
"
I see you are incorrigible. I am sorry I invited you to remain in my house. I was under the impression that it was Aunt Eliza's house. You are claiming too much, Louisa.""
"
Mrs. Tracy bit her lip, and was compelled to give up her attempt to secure her brother's allegiance. She contented herself with treating him with formal politeness, abstaining from all show of cordiality. This was carried on so far that it attracted the attention of Mrs. Merton.
What is the trouble between you and Louisa? she asked one day.
Warner laughed.
She thinks I am too intimate with your boy, Luke.
I don't understand.
I often walk with Luke either on his way to or from the house. Harold has reported this to his mother, and the result is a lecture as to the choice of proper companions from my dignified sister.
Mrs. Merton smiled kindly on her nephew.
Then you don't propose to give up Luke? she said.
No; I like the boy. He is worth a dozen Harolds. Perhaps I ought not to say this, for Harold is my nephew and they say blood is thicker than water. However, it is a fact, nevertheless, that I like Luke the better of the two.
I shall not blame you for saying that, Warner, returned the old lady. "I am glad that one of the family, at least, is free from prejudice. To what do you attribute Louisa's dislike of Luke?"
I think, aunt, you are shrewd enough to guess the reason without appealing to me.
Still, I would like to hear it from your lips.
In plain words, then, Louisa is afraid you will remember Luke in your will.
She doesn't think I would leave everything to him, does she?
She objects to your leaving anything. If it were only five hundred dollars she would grudge it.
Louisa was always selfish, said Mrs. Merton, quietly. "I have always known that. She is not wise, however. She does not understand that I am a very obstinate old woman, and am more likely to take my own way if opposed."
That's right, aunt! You are entitled to have your own way, and I for one am the last to wish to interfere with you.
You will not fare any the worse for that! And now, Warner, tell me what are your chances of employment?
I wished to speak to you about that, aunt. There is a gentleman in Milwaukee who has a branch office in Chicago, and I understand that he wants someone to represent him here. His present agent is about to resign his position, and I think I have some chance of obtaining the place. It will be necessary for me, however, to go to Milwaukee to see him in person.
Go, then, by all means, said Mrs. Merton. "I will defray your expenses."
Thank you very much, aunt. You know that I have little money of my own. But there is another thing indispensable, and that I am afraid you would not be willing to do for me.
What is it, Warner?
I shall have charge of considerable money belonging to my employer, and I learn from the present agent that I shall have to get someone to give bonds for me in the sum of ten thousand dollars.
Very well! I am willing to stand your security.
Warner looked surprised and gratified.
Knowing how dishonestly I have acted in the past? he said.
The past is past. You are a different man, I hope and believe.
Aunt Eliza, you shall never regret the generous confidence you are willing to repose in me. It is likely to open for me a new career, and to make a new man of me.
That is my desire, Warner. Let me add that I am only following your own example. You have refused to believe evil of Luke, unlike your sister, and have not been troubled by the kindness I have shown him. This is something I remember to your credit.
Thank you, aunt. If you have been able to discover anything creditable in me, I am all the more pleased.
How much will this position pay you, supposing you get it?
Two thousand dollars a year. To me that will be a competence. I shall be able to save one-half, for I have given up my former expensive tastes, and am eager to settle down to a steady and methodical business life.
When do you want to go to Milwaukee, Warner?
I should like to go at once.
Here is some money to defray your expenses.
Mrs. Merton opened her table drawer, and took out a roll of bills amounting to fifty dollars.
I wish you good luck! she said.
Thank you, aunt! I shall take the afternoon train to Milwaukee, and sleep there to-night.
Warner Powell hastened to catch the train, and, at six o'clock in the evening, landed, with a large number of fellow passengers, in the metropolis of Wisconsin.
Warner Powell had learned wisdom and prudence with his increasing years, and, instead of inquiring for the best hotel, was content to put up at a humbler hostelry, where he would be comfortable. He made the acquaintance on the cars of a New York drummer, with whom he became quite sociable.
I suppose you have been in Milwaukee often, said Warner.
I go there once a year--sometimes twice.
Where do you stay?
At the Prairie Hotel. It is a comfortable house--two dollars a day.
Just what I want. I will go there.
So, at quarter-past six. Warner Powell found himself in the office of the hotel. He was assigned a room on the third floor.
After making his toilet, he went down to supper. At the table with him were two gentlemen who, from their conversation, appeared to be residents of the city. They were discussing the coming municipal election.
I tell you, Browning will be our mayor, said one. "His reputation as a philanthropist will elect him."
I never took much stock in his claims on that score.
He belongs to all the charitable societies, and is generally an officer.
That may be; how much does he give himself?
I don't know. I suppose he is a liberal subscriber.
He wants to give that impression, but the man is as selfish as the average. He is said to be a hard landlord, and his tenants get very few favors.
I am surprised to hear that.
He is trading on his philanthropy. It would be interesting to learn where his wealth came from. I should not be surprised if he were more smart than honest.
Warner Powell found himself getting interested in this Browning. Was he really a good man, who was unjustly criticised, or was he a sham philanthropist, as charged?
After all, it doesn't concern me, he said to himself. "The good people of Milwaukee may choose whom they please for mayor so far as I am concerned."
After supper Warner stepped up to the cigar stand to buy a cigar. This, as the reader will remember, was kept by Jack King, an old California acquaintance of Thomas Browning, whose first appearance in our story was in the character of a tramp and would-be burglar.
Is business good? asked Warner, pleasantly.
It is fair; but it seems slow to a man like myself, who has made a hundred dollars a day at the mines in California.
I have been in California myself, said Powell, "but it was recently, and no such sums were to be made in my time."
That is true. It didn't last with me. I have noticed that even in the flush times few brought much money away with them, no matter how lucky they were.
There must become exceptions, however.
There were. We have a notable example in Milwaukee.
To whom do you refer?
To Thomas Browning, the man who is up for mayor.
Jack King laughed.
I've heard a lot of talk about that man. He's very honest and very worthy, I hear.
They call him so, he answered.
I am afraid you are jealous of that good man, said Warner, smiling.
I may be jealous of his success, but not of his reputation or his moral qualities.
Then you don't admire him as much as the public generally?
No, I know him too well.
He is really rich, is he not?
Yes, that is, he is worth, perhaps, two hundred thousand dollars.
That would satisfy me.
Or me. But I doubt whether the money was creditably gained.
Do you know anything about it? Were you an acquaintance of his?
Yes; I can remember him when he was only a rough miner. I never heard that he was very lucky, but he managed to take considerable money East with him.
Warner eyed Jack King attentively.
You suspect something, he said, shrewdly.
I do. There was one of our acquaintances who had struck it rich, and accumulated about ten thousand dollars. Browning was thick with him, and I always suspected that when he found himself on his deathbed, he intrusted all his savings to Butler----
I thought you were speaking of Browning?
His name was Butler then. He has changed it since. But, as I was saying, I think he intrusted his money to Browning to take home to his family.
Well?
The question is, did Browning fulfill his trust, or keep the money himself?
That would come out, wouldn't it? The family would make inquiries.
They did not know that the dying man had money. He kept it to himself, for he wanted to go home and give them an agreeable surprise. Butler knew this, and, I think, he took advantage of it.
That was contemptible. But can't it be ascertained? Is it known where the family lives? What is the name?
Walton.
Walton! repeated Warner Powell, in surprise.
Yes; do you know any family of that name?
I know a boy in Chicago named Luke Walton. He is in the employ of my aunt. A part of his time he spends in selling papers.
Mr. Browning told me that Walton only left a daughter, and that the family had gone to the Eastern States.
Would he be likely to tell you the truth--supposing he had really kept the money?
Perhaps not. What more can you tell me about this boy?
Powell's face lighted up.
I remember now, he told me that his father died in California.
Is it possible? said Jack King, excited. "I begin to think I am on the right track. I begin to think, too, that I can tell where Tom Butler got his first start."
And now he poses as a philanthropist?
Yes.
And is nominated for mayor?
Yes, also.
How are your relations with him?
They should be friendly, for he and I were comrades in earlier days, and once I lent him money when he needed it, but he has been puffed up by his prosperity, and takes very little notice of me. He had to do something for me when I first came to Milwaukee, but it was because he was afraid not to.
Meanwhile Warner Powell was searching his memory. Where and how had he become familiar with the name of Thomas Browning? At last it came to him.
Eureka! he exclaimed, in excitement.
What does that mean? I don't understand French.
Warner smiled.
It isn't French, he said; "but Greek, all the Greek I know. It means 'I have discovered'--the mystery of your old acquaintance."
Explain, please! said Jack King, his interest be coming intense.
I have a friend in Chicago--Stephen Webb, a nephew of your philanthropist--who has been commissioned by his uncle to find out all he can about this newsboy, Luke Walton. He was speculating with me why his uncle should be so interested in an obscure boy.
Had his uncle told him nothing?
No, except that he dropped a hint about knowing Luke's father.
This Luke and his family are poor, you say?
Yes, you can judge that from his employment. He is an honest, manly boy, however, and I have taken a fancy to him. I hope it will turn out as you say. But nothing can be proved. This Browning will probably deny that he received money in trust from the dead father.
Jack King's countenance fell.
When you go back to Chicago talk with the boy, and find out whether the family have any evidence that will support their claim. Then send the boy on to me, and we will see what can be done.
I accept the suggestion with pleasure. But I will offer an amendment. Let us write the boy to come on at once, and have a joint consultation in his interest.
We must return to Chicago for a short time before recording the incidents of Luke's visit to Milwaukee.
Though Harold had lost nearly half of his money through being compelled to divide with Felicie, he was, upon the whole, well satisfied with the way in which he had escaped from suspicion. He had his gold watch, and, as far as he knew, the story which he had told about it had not been doubted. But something happened that annoyed and alarmed him.
One day, when there was no one else in the house, except the servants, Felicie intercepted him as he was going out.
I want a word with you, Master Harold, she said.
I am in a hurry, Felicie, replied Harold, who had conceived a dislike for the French maid.
Still, I think you can spare a few minutes, went on Felicie, smiling in an unpleasant manner.
Well, be quick about it, said Harold, impatiently.
I have a sister who is very sick. She is a widow with two children, and her means are very small.
Goodness, Felicie! What is all this to me? Of course, I'm sorry for her, but I don't know her.
She looks to me to help her, continued Felicie.
Well, that's all right! I suppose you are going to help her.
There is the trouble, Master Harold. I have no money on hand.
Well, I'm sure that is unlucky, but why do you speak to me about it?
Because, and here Felicie's eyes glistened, "I know you obtained some money recently from your aunt."
Hush! said Harold, apprehensively.
But it's true.
And it's true that you made me give you half of it.
It all went to my poor sister, said Felicie theatrically.
I don't see what I have to do with that, said Harold, not without reason.
So that I kept none for myself. Now I am sure you will open your heart, and give me five dollars more.
I never heard such cheek! exclaimed Harold, indignantly. "You've got half, and are not satisfied with that."
But think of my poor sister! said Felicie, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, in which there were no tears.
Think of me! exclaimed Harold, angrily.
Then you won't give me the trifle I ask?
Trifle? I haven't got it.
Where is it gone?
Gone to buy this watch. That took nearly the whole of it.
It is indeed so? I thought you received it as a reward for picking up a pocketbook.
I had to tell my aunt something. Otherwise they would ask me embarrassing questions.
Ah, _quelle invention!_ exclaimed Felicie, playfully. "And you really have none of the money left?"
No.
Then there is only one way.
What is that?
To open the drawer again.
Are you mad, Felicie? I should surely be discovered. It won't do to try it a second time when my aunt is on her guard. Besides, very likely she don't keep her money there now.
Oh, yes, she does.
How do you know?
I was in the room yesterday when she opened the drawer to take out money to pay a bill.
She must be foolish, then.
Ah, said Felicie, coolly, "she thinks lightning won't strike twice in the same place."
Well, it won't.
There must have been fifty dollars in bills in the drawer, continued Felicie, insinuatingly.
It may stay there for all me. I won't go to the drawer again.
I must have some money, said Felicie, significantly.
Then go and tell Aunt Eliza, and she may give you some.
I don't think your Aunt Eliza likes me, said Felicie, frankly.
Very likely not, said Harold, with equal candor.
You can raise some money on your watch, Master Harold, suggested Felicie.
How?
At the pawnbroker's.
Well, I don't mean to.
No?
No! returned Harold, emphatically.
Suppose I go and tell Mrs. Merton who took her money?
You would only expose yourself.
I did not take it.
You made me divide with you.
I shall deny all that. Besides, I shall tell all that I saw--on that day.
Harold felt troubled. Felicie might, as he knew, make trouble for him, and though he could in time inform against her, that would not make matters much better for him. Probably the whole story would come out, and he felt sure that the French maid would not spare him.
A lucky thought came to him.
Felicie, he said, "I think I can suggest something that will help you."
Well, what is it?
Go to my aunt's drawer yourself. You have plenty of chance, and you can keep all the money you find. I won't ask you for any of it.
Felicie eyed him sharply. She was not sure but he meant to trap her.
I have no keys, she said.
You can use the same bunch I have. Here they are!
Felicie paused a moment, then took the proffered keys. After all, why should she not make use of the suggestion? It would be thought that the second thief was the same as the first.
Can I rely on your discretion, Master Harold? she asked.
Yes, certainly. I am not very likely to say anything about the matter.
True! It might not be for your interest. Good-morning, Master Harold, I won't detain you any longer.
Harold left the house with a feeling of relief.
I hope Felicie will be caught! he said to himself. "I have a great mind to give Aunt Eliza a hint."
It looked as if the generally astute Felicie had made a mistake.
"Here is a letter for you, Luke!" said Mrs. Walton.
Luke took it in his hand, and regarded it curiously. He was not in the habit of receiving letters.
It is postmarked Milwaukee, he said.
Do you know anyone in Milwaukee? asked his mother.
No; or stay, it must be from Mr. Powell, a brother of Mrs. Tracy.
Probably he sends a message to his sister.
By this time Luke had opened the following letter, which he read with great surprise and excitement:
DEAR LUKE:--Come to Milwaukee as soon as you can, and join me at the Prairie Hotel. I write in your own interest. There is a large sum due to your father, which I may be able to put you in the way of collecting. You had better see Aunt Eliza, and ask leave of absence for a day or two. If you haven't money enough to come on, let her know, and I am sure she will advance it to you.
Your friend,
WARNER POWELL.
What can it mean? asked Mrs. Walton, to whom Luke read the letter.
It must refer to the ten thousand dollars which father sent to us on his dying bed.
If it were only so! said the widow, clasping her hands.
At any rate, I shall soon find out, mother. I had better take the letter which was sent us, giving us the first information of the legacy.
"
Very well, Luke! I don't know anything about business. I must leave the matter entirely in your hands. I will go at once to Mrs. Merton and ask if it will inconvenience her if I go away for a couple of days.""
"
Do so, Luke! She is a kind friend, and you should do nothing without her permission.
Luke took the cars for Prairie Avenue, though it was afternoon, and he had been there once already. He was shown immediately into the old lady's presence.
Mrs. Merton saw him enter with surprise.
Has anything happened, Luke? she asked.
I have received a letter from your nephew, summoning me to Milwaukee.
I hope he is not in any scrape.
No; it is a very friendly letter, written in my interest. May I read it to you?
I shall be glad to hear it.
Mrs. Merton settled herself back in her rocking-chair, and listened to the reading of the letter.
Do you know what this refers to, Luke? she asked.
Yes; my father on his deathbed in California intrusted a stranger with ten thousand dollars to bring to my mother. He kept it for his own use, and it was only by an accident that we heard about the matter.
You interest me, Luke. What was the accident?
Luke explained.
It must be this that Mr. Powell refers to, he added.
But I don't see how my nephew should have anything to do with it.
There is a man in Milwaukee who answers the description of the stranger to whom my poor father intrusted his money. I have seen him, for he often comes to Chicago. I have even spoken to him.
Have you ever taxed him with this breach of trust?
No, for he bears a different name. He is Thomas Browning, while the letter mentions Thomas Butler.
He may have changed his name.
I was stupid not to think of that before. There can hardly be two men so singularly alike. I have come to ask you, Mrs. Merton, if you can spare me for two or three days.
For as long as you like, Luke, said the old lady, promptly. "Have you any money for your traveling expenses?"
Yes, thank you.
No matter. Here are twenty dollars. Money never comes amiss.
You are always kind to me, Mrs. Merton, said Luke, gratefully.
It is easy to be kind if one is rich. I want to see that man punished. Let me give you one piece of advice. Be on your guard with this man! He is not to be trusted.
Thank you! I am sure your advice is good.
I wish you good luck, Luke. However things may turn out, there is one thing that gratifies me. Warner is showing himself your friend. I have looked upon him till recently as a black sheep, but he is redeeming himself rapidly in my eyes. I shall not forget his kindness to you.
As Luke went downstairs he met Mrs. Tracy.
Here again! said she, coldly. "Did my aunt send for you this afternoon?"
No, madam.
Then you should not have intruded. You are young, but you are very artful. I see through your schemes, you may rest assured.
I wished to show Mrs. Merton a letter from your brother, now in Milwaukee, said Luke.
Oh, that's it, is it? Let me see the letter.
I must refer you to Mrs. Merton.
He has probably sent to Aunt Eliza for some money, thought Mrs. Tracy. "He and the boy are well matched."
Thomas Browning sat in his handsome study, in a complacent frame of mind. The caucus was to be held in the evening, and he confidently expected the nomination for mayor. It was the post he had coveted for a long time. There were other honors that were greater, but the mayoralty would perhaps prove a stepping-stone to them. He must not be impatient. He was only in middle life, and there was plenty of time.
I didn't dream this when I was a penniless miner in California, he reflected, gleefully. "Fortune was hard upon me then, but now I am at the top of the heap. All my own good management, too. Tom Butler--no, Browning--is no fool, if I do say it myself."
Someone to see you, Mr. Browning, said the servant.
Show him in! replied the philanthropist.
A poorly dressed man followed the maid into the room.
Mr. Browning frowned. He had thought it might be some influential member of his party.
What do you want? he asked, roughly.
The poor man stood humbly before him, nervously pressing the hat between his hands.
I am one of your tenants, Mr. Browning. I am behindhand with my rent, owing to sickness in the family, and I have been ordered out.
And very properly, too! said Browning. "You can't expect me to let you stay gratis."
But sir, you have the reputation of being a philanthropist. It hardly seems the character----
I do not call myself a philanthropist--others call me so--and perhaps they are right. I help the poor to the extent of my means, but even a philanthropist expects his honest dues.
Then you can do nothing for me, sir?
No; I do not feel called upon to interfere in your case.
The poor man went out sorrowfully, leaving the philanthropist in an irritable mood. Five minutes later a second visitor was announced.
Who is it? asked Browning, fearing it might be an other tenant.
It is a boy, sir.
With a message, probably. Show him up.
But Thomas Browning was destined to be surprised, when in the manly-looking youth who entered he recognized the Chicago newsboy who had already excited his uneasiness.
What brings you here? he demanded, in a startled tone.
I don't know if you remember me, Mr. Browning, said Luke, quietly. "Luke Walton is my name, sir, and I have sold you papers near the Sherman House, in Chicago."
I thought your face looked familiar, said Browning, assuming an indifferent tone. "You have made a mistake in coming to Milwaukee. You cannot do as well here as in Chicago."
I have not come in search of a place. I have a good one at home.
I suppose you have some object in coming to this city?
Yes; I came to see you.
Upon my word, I ought to feel flattered, but I can't do anything for you. I have some reputation in charitable circles, but I have my hands full here.
I have not come to ask you a favor, Mr. Browning. If you will allow me, I will ask your advice in a matter of importance to me.
Browning brightened up. He was always ready to give advice.
Go on! he said.
When I was a young boy my father went to California. He left my mother, my brother, and myself very poorly provided for, but he hoped to earn money at the mines. A year passed, and we heard of his death.
A good many men die in California, said Browning, phlegmatically.
We could not learn that father left anything, and we were compelled to get long as we could. Mother obtained sewing to do at low prices, and I sold papers.
A common experience! said Browning, coldly.
About three months ago, continued Luke, "we were surprised by receiving in a letter from a stranger, a message from my father's deathbed."
Thomas Browning started and turned pale, as he gazed intently in the boy's face.
How much does he know? he asked himself, apprehensively.
Go on! he said, slowly.
In this letter we learned for the first time that father had intrusted the sum of ten thousand dollars to an acquaintance to be brought to my mother. This man proved false and kept the money.
This story may or may not be true, said Browning, with an effort. "Was the man's name given?"
Yes; his name was Thomas Butler.
Indeed! Have you ever met him?
I think so, answered Luke, slowly. "I will read his description from the letter: He has a wart on the upper part of his right cheek--a mark which disfigures and mortifies him exceedingly. He is about five feet ten inches in height, with a dark complexion and dark hair, a little tinged with gray.
Let me see the letter, said Browning, hoarsely.
He took the letter in his hand, and, moving near the grate fire, began to read it. Suddenly the paper as if accidentally, slipped from his fingers, and fell upon the glowing coals--where it was instantly consumed.
How careless I am! ejaculated Browning, but there was exultation in the glance.
The destruction of the letter, and the open exultation of the man who had in intention at least doubly wronged him, did not appear to dismay Luke Walton. He sat quite cool and collected, facing Mr. Browning. "Really, I don't see how this letter happened to slip from my hand," continued the philanthropist. "I am afraid you consider it important."
I should if it had been the genuine letter, said Luke.
What! gasped Browning.
It was only a copy, as you will be glad to hear.
Boy, I think you are deceiving me, said Browning, sharply.
Not at all! I left the genuine letter in the hands of my lawyer.
Your lawyer?
Yes. I have put this matter in the hands of Mr. Jordan, of this city.
Mr. Browning looked very much disturbed. Mr. Jordan was a well-known and eminent attorney. Moreover, he was opposed in politics to the would-be mayor. If his opponent should get hold of this discreditable chapter in his past history, his political aspirations might as well be given up. Again he asked himself, "How much of the story does this boy know?"
If you are employing a lawyer, he said, after a pause, "I don't understand why you came to me for advice."
I thought you might be interested in the matter, said Luke, significantly.
Why should I be interested in your affairs? I have so many things to think of that really I can't take hold of anything new.
I will tell you, sir. You are the man who received money in trust from my dying father. I look to you to restore it with interest.
How dare you insinuate any such thing? demanded Browning, furiously. "Do you mean to extort money by threats?"
No, sir, I only ask for justice.
There is nothing to connect me with the matter. According to your letter it was a Thomas Butler who received the money you refer to.
True, and your name at that time was Thomas Butler.
Mr. Browning turned livid. The net seemed to be closing about him.
What proof have you of this ridiculous assertion? he demanded.
The testimony of one who knew you then and now--Mr. King, who keeps a cigar stand at the Prairie Hotel.
Ha! traitor! ejaculated Browning, apostrophizing the absent King.
This is a conspiracy! he said. "King has put you up to this. He is a discreditable tramp whom I befriended when in dire need. This is my reward for it."
I have nothing to do with that, Mr. Browning. Mr. King is ready to help me with his testimony. My lawyer has advised me to call upon you, and to say this: If you will pay over the ten thousand dollars with interest I will engage in my mother's name to keep the matter from getting before the public.
And if I don't agree to this?
Mr. Jordan is instructed to bring suit against you.
Drops of perspiration gathered on the brow of Mr. Browning. This would never do. The suit, even if unsuccessful, would blast his reputation as a philanthropist, and his prospects as a politician.
I will see Mr. Jordan, he said.
Very well, sir. Then I wish you good-morning.
Within two days Thomas Browning had paid over to the lawyer for his young client the full sum demanded, and Luke left Milwaukee with the happy consciousness that his mother was now beyond the reach of poverty.
Conclusion
Felicie reflected over Harold's dishonest suggestion, and concluded to adopt it. She meant to charge Harold with the second robbery, and to brazen it out if necessary. Accordingly, one day she stole into Mrs. Merton's sitting room, and with the keys supplied by Harold succeeded in opening the drawer. Inside, greatly to her surprise, she saw the identical pocketbook which it had been understood was taken at the time of the first robbery. She was holding it in her hand, when a slight noise led her to look up swiftly.
To her dismay she saw the old lady, whom she had supposed out of the house, regarding her sternly.
What does this mean, Felicie? demanded Mrs. Merton.
I--I found these keys and was trying them to see if any of them had been used at the time your money was stolen.
Do you know who took my money on that occasion? continued the old lady.
Yes, I do, answered Felicie, swiftly deciding to tell the truth.
Who was it?
Your nephew Harold, answered Felicie, glibly.
You know this?
I saw him open the drawer. I was looking through a crack of the door.
And you never told me of this?
I didn't want to expose him. He begged me not to do so.
That is singular. He warned me yesterday that he suspected you of being the thief, and that he had reason to think you were planning a second robbery.
He did? said Felicie, with flashing eyes.
Yes; what have you to say to it?
That he put me up to it, and gave me these keys to help me in doing it. Of course, he expected to share the money.
This last statement was untrue, but Felicie was determined to be revenged upon her treacherous ally.
And you accepted?
Yes, said Felicie, seeing no way of escape. "I am poor, and thought you wouldn't miss the money."
My nephew accused Luke Walton of being the thief.
It is untrue. He wanted to divert suspicion from himself. Besides, he hates Luke.
Do you?
No; I think him much better than Harold.
So do I. Where did my nephew get his gold watch?
It was bought with the money he stole from the drawer.
So I supposed. Well, Felicie, you can go, but I think you had better hand me that bunch of keys.
Shall you report me to Mrs. Tracy?
I have not decided. For the present we will both keep this matter secret.
Luke's absence was, of course, noticed by Mrs. Tracy.
Have you discharged Luke Walton? she asked, hopefully. "I observe he has not come here for the last two or three days."
He has gone out of the city--on business.
I am surprised that you should trust that boy to such an extent.
At this moment a telegraph messenger rang the bell, and a telegram was brought up to Mrs. Merton.
It ran thus:
To MRS. MERTON, ---- Prairie Avenue, Chicago:
I have recovered all my mother's money with interest. Mr. Powell is also successful. Will return this evening.
LUKE WALTON,
Read it if you like, Louisa, said the old lady, smiling with satisfaction.
What does it mean?
That Luke has recovered over ten thousand dollars, of which his mother had been defrauded. It was Warner who put him on the track of the man who wrongfully held the money.
Indeed! said Mrs. Tracy, spitefully. "Then the least he can do is to return the money he took from you."
He never took any, Louisa.
Who did, then?
Your son, Harold.
Who has been telling lies about my poor boy? exclaimed Mrs. Tracy, angrily.
A person who saw him unlocking the drawer.
Has Luke Walton been telling falsehoods about my son?
No; it was quite another person. I have other proof also, and have known for some time who the real thief was. If Harold claims that I have done him injustice, send him to me.
After an interview with Harold, Mrs. Tracy was obliged to believe, much against her will, that he was the guilty one and not the boy she so much detested. This did not prepossess her any more in favor of Luke Walton, whom she regarded as the rival and enemy of her son.
It was a joyful coming home for Luke. He removed at once to a nice neighborhood, and ceased to be a Chicago newsboy. He did not lose the friendship of Mrs. Merton, who is understood to have put him down for a large legacy in her will, and still employs him to transact much of her business. Next year she proposes to establish her nephew, Warner Powell, and Luke in a commission business, under the style of
POWELL & WALTON
she furnishing the capital.
The house on Prairie Avenue is closed. Mrs. Tracy is married again, to a man whose intemperate habits promise her little happiness. Harold seems unwilling to settle down to business, but has developed a taste for dress and the amusements of a young man about town. He thinks he will eventually be provided for by Mrs. Merton, but in this he will be mistaken, as she has decided to leave much the larger part of her wealth to charitable institutions after remembering her nephew, Warner Powell, handsomely.
Ambrose Kean never repeated the mistake he had made. Still more, by diligent economy he saved up the sum advanced him by Mrs. Merton, and he offered it to her. She accepted it, but returned it many times over to his mother. Her patronage brought him another advantage; it led his employer to increase his salary, which is now double that which he formerly received.
Felicie lost her position, but speedily secured another, where it is to be hoped she will be more circumspect in her conduct.
Thomas Browning, after all, lost the nomination which he craved--and much of his wealth is gone. He dabbled in foolish speculation, and is now comparatively a poor man. Through the agency of Jack King, the story of his breach of trust was whispered about, and the sham philanthropist is better understood and less respected by his fellow-citizens.
His nephew, Stephen Webb, has been obliged to buckle down to hard work at ten dollars a week, and feels that his path is indeed thorny.
Luke Walton is not puffed up by his unexpected and remarkable success. He never fails to recognize kindly, and help, if there is need, the old associates of his humbler days, and never tries to conceal the fact that he was once a Chicago newsboy.