For the moment Robert was dumfounded, for he had not dreamed that this pleasant stranger was about to attack him.
Do you hear? Give me that money, repeated Huskin, and tightened his grip.
Let me go! returned Robert. "Would you rob me?"
I want that money you drew out of the post-office. And I want it instantly.
I won't give you a cent, cried Robert, and began to struggle with all the strength at his command.
Although but a boy, he was strong, and soon it looked as if he might break away in spite of all the sharper could do to hold him. Seeing this, Huskin whistled loudly three times,—a signal that Andy Cross must join him at once.
The signal had scarcely come to an end when Andy Cross pushed his way into the hallway.
Quick—hold him! shouted Jim Huskin. "He's a regular eel."
I've got him, answered Andy Cross, and caught Robert from behind, and soon his bony fingers were pressing themselves directly into the poor youth's windpipe, so that it looked as if Robert would be choked to death.
Robert could not see Cross, but he recognized the sharper's voice, and at once came to the conclusion that the two men had laid a plot to rob him.
Nearly strangled, he let go his hold of Huskin, and tried to break Andy Cross' grip.
The moment Jim Huskin felt himself free he wrenched Robert's watch and chain from their fastening and placed them in his own pocket.
Then he dove into the boy's coat.
Let—let me go! spluttered Robert. "Help! thiev——"
He could go no farther, for now his wind was cut off entirely. All grew black before his eyes, and it was only in a hazy fashion that he felt Huskin snatch the money from where he had placed it with care.
Got what you want? asked Andy Cross.
Yes.
Sure about the money?
Here is a package of five and ten dollar bills.
That's it. And the watch?
Safe.
Then we had better make tracks.
Ram his head against the wall first. We don't want him to give the alarm too soon.
Andy Cross understood what Huskin meant, and between them the sharpers raised the boy's body up and threw him with great violence against the hard wall close at hand.
The shock landed mainly upon Robert's head, as was intended, and with a groan, the youth sank down in a heap unconscious.
I guess he's done for, said Cross.
He is for a while, anyway, responded Huskin. "Come, the sooner we get out of this neighborhood the better off we will be."
Running to the doorway of the tenement, both sharpers peered forth.
A man is coming! cried Cross.
Let us get out by the back way, said his companion.
They hurried back past Robert, and into the kitchen.
Here, to their surprise, a fire was burning in a dilapidated stove.
Hullo! I thought this place was deserted, ejaculated Jim Huskin, in astonishment.
We must not be caught, added Cross. "Here is a back door and another alleyway."
The door was unlocked, and they slipped outside. Soon the rascals had placed several blocks between themselves and the scene of the nefarious encounter.
Meanwhile the man coming up the alleyway paused at the tenement.
He lived in the place, paying no rent. He was very old, and could hardly walk, and his eyesight was poor.
He had been to the corner grocery to buy himself a few of the necessities of life.
Entering the semi-dark hallway he shambled along until his foot struck Robert's body.
Why, what can this be? he muttered, and bent over that he might see.
He was greatly amazed to find a boy there, suffering from a slight cut over one eye, from which the blood was flowing.
Something is wrong, he thought. "Has the lad met with foul play?"
He was half of a mind to summon the police, but was afraid he could not find an officer short of six or seven blocks off.
Setting down his basket, he raised up Robert's head. As he did this, our hero gave a groan and a shiver.
Don't, don't hit me again, he murmured. "Don't!"
I ain't hit ye, answered the old man. "How did ye git here?"
But Robert did not answer, having relapsed again into unconsciousness.
Not without considerable trouble did the old man bring some cold water and bathe Robert's face, and bind up the wound with an old towel. He carried the boy to the kitchen and set him down on a worn-out lounge.
How do you feel? he asked as Robert opened his eyes and stared around him.
Where are they—the rascals? asked Robert. He was completely bewildered.
Who do you mean?
I mean the men who attacked me.
I don't know anything about 'em. I found ye in the hallway in a heap.
Two men attacked me and robbed me.
Gee shoo! Did they git much?
Yes. Robert gave a groan. "They got my watch and over a hundred and fifty dollars."
At this announcement the eyes of Lemuel Branley almost started from their sockets.
A hundred and fifty dollars!
Yes; and a watch worth twenty-five more.
What was ye a-doing with so much money about ye?
I was expecting to use the most of it to buy something with. So you didn't see the men?
Lemuel Branley shook his head.
They couldn't have left so long ago.
Then they didn't go out by the front door, for I was at the top of the alleyway quite a spell.
Is there a rear way out?
Yes; and come to think of it, the back door was wide open when I first came in for the water.
Then they went out that way.
There was a pause.
Did you know them? asked the old man, curiously.
I knew one of them in a way. The other introduced himself to me while I was on my way over here.
And Robert related how he had fallen in with Jim Huskin, and how the sharper had gotten him to enter the tenement hallway.
You're lucky to escape with your life, said Lemuel Branley. "You don't know how bad some of the criminals in Chicago are."
I must try to get on their track. I can't afford to lose my money, nor the watch, either. And Robert's face grew serious. The watch was the one his father had given him, and without the money how was he to purchase the map Dick Marden was so anxious to possess?
You'll have to hustle to find them rogues, to my way of thinking, said Lemuel Branley. "Like as not they'll quit Chicago just as soon as possible."
Robert stood up. He felt strangely weak and far from able to pursue anybody.
Can you call a policeman? he asked.
Certainly.
Lemuel Branley made off, and while he was gone the boy brushed off his clothing and washed himself. Luckily he had a bit of court-plaster in his pocket, and this he plastered over the cut on forehead, thus doing away with the ragged towel.
By the time he had finished he felt a little stronger. Soon the old man came back, followed by a tall, heavy-set officer of the law.
I saw you and one of the men a while ago, said the policeman, after our hero had told his story. "The man didn't impress me very favorably. I rather think I've seen his picture in the rogues' gallery."
Then you would know him again?
I think I would.
I wish you would try to hunt him up.
I will. Will you go along.
Robert was willing, and they left the tenement by the back way, our hero first thanking Lemuel Branley for what he had done.
But nothing was to be seen of Andy Cross and Jim Huskin, and in an hour the policeman and the youth gave up the hunt. The officer directed Robert to the nearest station house, and here the particulars of the robbery were taken down. A large book of photographs was placed before Robert, and he soon found Jim Huskin's portrait.
That's the man, he said.
You are certain.
Yes, I would know him out of a thousand.
Andy Cross' photograph could not be found, since he had not yet sat for the rogues' gallery, even though he richly deserved it.
The officer in charge took down Robert's address, and told our hero if anything was learned he would let the youth know.
With this small consolation Robert had to be content. He left the station house much crestfallen.
Everything seems to be going wrong, he mused. "I do hope those rascals are caught, and that very soon."
It must be confessed that Robert was in no humor to hunt up Herman Wenrich.
Even if I find him, what good will it do, if I can't offer him the money for the map? was his mental comment.
Nevertheless, there seemed to be nothing else to do, and so, after a lunch, he started again for No. 238 Grandon Street.
He was careful where he went this time, and found the thoroughfare without further difficulty. It was fully eight blocks from the tenement where he had been robbed.
The number he was searching for was a block away, and as he walked toward it two men passed him whom he instantly recognized. The men were Jean Le Fevre and Oscar Hammerditch.
Well, I declare! muttered the boy. "Can it be possible that they have been calling upon Herman Wenrich?"
It certainly would seem so, yet Robert had no way of proving it. Both the Canadian and the Englishman were walking rapidly, and soon they passed out of sight around the corner.
Robert found No. 238 Grandon Street a modest dwelling set in the rear of a tiny garden of flowers. As he entered the garden a girl came out on the front porch and gazed up and down the street anxiously. She was probably fifteen years of age, and was pale and thin, as if just getting over a long sickness, which was the case.
Does Mr. Herman Wenrich live here? asked Robert politely, as he tipped his hat.
Yes, sir, answered the girl.
Is he in?
He is, but he is not very well.
As she spoke the girl eyed Robert sharply, wondering what he wanted.
He doesn't look like one of these traveling agents, she thought. She had been bothered with agents a great deal lately.
I am sorry to hear Mr. Wenrich is not well, said Robert. "I wished to see him on a little business."
May I ask your name?
My name is Robert Frost. But he doesn't know me. You might tell him that I came here at the request of Richard Marden, who is a nephew of Felix Amberton, of Timberville, Michigan. I wish to see him about a lumber tract up there.
Why, that is what those two men came about! cried the girl.
You mean the two men I just met on the street?
I presume they are the same. The men left but a minute before you came.
Can you tell me if they came for a map?
Why, yes, they—— The girl stopped short. "I do not know as I have any right to talk of these things, Mr. Frost. My father might not like it."
So Mr. Wenrich is your father.
Yes. My name is Nettie Wenrich.
Robert bowed. "I certainly would not wish to make any trouble for you," he said, with a smile. "But I would like to see your father."
Nettie Wenrich hesitated for a moment. "He looks like a nice boy," she thought. "I like him better than I did those men."
Come into the parlor and I will tell father you are here, said she.
Robert found the parlor small but cozy. There were several covered chairs, some pictures and books, and in one corner stood a small organ. The youth sat down near a window and waited.
The girl was gone fully five minutes. When she returned her face bore a puzzled look.
Father does not know what to make of this, she said. "You say you came because Mr. Amberton sent you?"
Mr. Marden sent me. He is Mr. Amberton's nephew and has taken full charge, now that Mr. Amberton is sick.
Father says Mr. Hammerditch, one of the men who just called, said Mr. Amberton sent him for the map.
What! cried Robert, leaping to his feet. "That cannot be possible."
Why?
Because those men are enemies of Mr. Amberton. They wish to get some of his lumber lands away from him.
The girl studied Robert's honest face for a moment.
I believe you. But it is a queer mix-up, was her comment.
Perhaps I can explain some things, Miss Wenrich. But I would like to talk with your father first.
Very well. But my father is quite sick, and I would not like to have you excite him.
I will be careful. But I hope he didn't let them have the map.
No, he is holding that. They made a proposition to him and he said he would think it over.
Nettie Wenrich led the way to the second story of the cottage, and to the front bedchamber. Here, on a snowy couch lay Herman Wenrich, feeble with age and a malady that had attacked his digestive organs.
I do not wish to disturb you, Mr. Wenrich, said Robert, after introducing himself and shaking hands. "But I think it very strange that I should come here right after those two men I met outside."
It is strange, lad, responded Herman Wenrich feebly. "I cannot understand it."
I think I can safely say that Mr. Amberton never sent them and that he knows nothing of their coming, continued our hero.
That makes the whole thing even more strange.
They wish to get a certain map from you—a map of some lumber lands in upper Michigan.
Yes, yes, there is but one map, cried Herman Wenrich. "I have kept it safely for years."
Papa, please do not excite yourself, pleaded Nettie Wenrich, coming to the bedside.
I am not excited, my child.
I do not know a great deal about the matter, continued Robert. "But I do know that those two men, Le Fevre and Hammerditch, are Mr. Amberton's enemies and not his friends."
Can you prove that?
For the instant the youth was nonplussed. Then he thought of Dick Marden's letter.
Here is a letter I got from Timberville, he said. "You can read that."
My eyesight is poor. Nettie, read the letter.
At once the daughter complied. Herman Wenrich listened attentively.
Ah, yes, I remember this Marden now, he said slowly. "He was the son of Amberton's youngest sister. Where does he come from?"
He belongs in California and is a rich miner. But he was brought up down east—in Vermont, if I remember rightly.
Exactly—he is Grace Amberton's boy. A good fellow, too—if he takes after his mother. So Amberton is sick and has put Dick Marden in charge. Then what those two men told me is a—a string of falsehoods.
You can see what I am authorized to offer you for the map, said Robert. "I started for here with the money in my pocket——"
Stop, Mr. Frost. You do not understand old Herman Wenrich. I am not thinking to sell the map.
But you are willing to see justice done to Mr. Amberton, are you not?
Yes, yes—full justice—for he deserves it. He could have had the map before, but it affected some land of mine—which I have since sold.
Then you will let him have the map! exclaimed Robert, much delighted. "I will pay——"
Not a cent, my lad, not a cent. He can have it and welcome. But—but——
But what, sir?
I must be dead sure, as they say, of what I am doing. You look honest enough, but so did those men.
Those men didn't look very honest to me, came from Nettie Wenrich, who had taken a strong liking to Robert, and it must be admitted that the feeling was reciprocated. "I could not bear that Englishman."
I cannot blame you for being suspicious, said Robert gravely. "I wish I had been so this morning. I might have saved my watch and some of my money." He did not feel called upon to state that he had lost the amount which was to be paid over to Herman Wenrich for the map.
Of course he had to tell his story—or, at least, a part of it. Nettie Wenrich was quite affected.
It was too bad! she cried. "I hope you get your watch and money back and succeed in sending those bad men to prison."
I will tell you what I will do, said Herman Wenrich, after several minutes of silent thinking. "Let Felix Amberton send me a written order to deliver the map to you and I will do so."
That is fair, said Robert. "No honest person could ask more at your hands. But what of those two men? They are to call again, I believe."
I will put them off, for, say three days. You ought to be able to get your order by that time.
Perhaps I can get it sooner, but I wish you would make it four days. There may be some delay, especially if Mr. Amberton is very ill.
Very well, we will make it four days then, said Herman Wenrich, and thanking him for his kindness Robert withdrew and followed Nettie Wenrich downstairs.
Do your father and you live here alone? he asked.
Yes.
I hope he gets well soon, said the youth gravely, and his voice was full of a sympathy which went straight to the girl's heart.
I am afraid he will never get well, answered Nettie, and the tears sprang into her eyes.
He took her hand and shook it warmly. "You must hope for the best," he said. And then, as she looked straight into his clear, honest eyes, he added, "If I can ever be of service to you don't hesitate to call upon me."
And a minute later he was gone.
As Robert was approaching his boarding house he ran into Livingston Palmer, valise in hand, bound for the theater.
I'm off, said Palmer. "Our company leaves town to-day."
Well, I wish you every success.
Have you struck anything yet? asked Palmer curiously.
I have and I haven't. I've got a letter from Mr. Marden requesting me to come to Timberville in Michigan.
It wouldn't suit me to bury myself in such a hole.
I don't know that I will stay there any great length of time. I am to go up on a little private business.
I see. Well, I must hurry. What time have you?
No time at all. My watch is gone.
Hullo! Do you mean to say you've had to pawn it already. I thought you were one of the saving kind, to look out for a rainy day.
The watch was stolen from me.
Indeed!
Yes, and some of my money went with it.
That's too bad, Robert, and Palmer's face was full of real sympathy.
It is bad.
I would loan you some money if I had it. But the truth is, I'm broke excepting for a couple of dollars that Jack Dixon advanced me on my salary.
Thank you, Livingston, but I am not quite broke, even if I have been robbed.
I'm glad to hear it. Now I am off, or I will be left behind.
And with a hearty grasp of Robert's hand the would-be actor hurried down the street. Robert gazed after him meditatingly.
I hope his engagement proves all he wishes, he thought. "But I am afraid he is running up against a tremendous disappointment."
Retiring to his room, Robert wrote a long letter to Dick Marden, telling of the receipt of the money orders and of his interview with Herman Wenrich. He also mentioned Le Fevre and Hammerditch and asked for the order from Felix Amberton for the map. At first he thought to put in about the stolen money and the watch, but then reconsidered the matter.
I'll wait, since the map is not to be paid for, he said to himself. "Perhaps the police will catch the sharpers. If the worst comes to the worst I guess I can scrape up enough money to take me to Timberville without applying to Mr. Marden for more."
The letter finished, Robert went down to the post-office to post it. There now seemed nothing to do but to wait, and he returned to his boarding house worn out with the exertions of the day.
A good sleep made the youth feel much better, and while he was eating his breakfast he began to deliberate upon what to do during the time in which he would have to wait for an answer from his miner friend.
The front door bell rang, and presently he heard somebody ask to see the landlady of the house.
Please, mum, a gentleman to see you, said Mary, coming into the dining room.
Mrs. Gibbs, the landlady, went into the parlor at once, thinking the newcomer might be somebody for board.
This is the landlady? asked the man, bowing.
Yes, I am Mrs. Gibbs.
I am looking for a nice, quiet boarding place, went on the newcomer. "Have you any vacant rooms?"
I have one room vacant, but it is on the third floor.
Is it a nice, quiet room?
It is in the rear and looks out on a small private garden. I think you will find it quiet enough.
I cannot stand a noise. I used to board on the other side of the city, but there was a factory in the neighborhood and the rumble set me wild.
We have no noises of that kind here.
And what do you ask for board and room?
With one person in the room my charges are ten dollars per week. If two gentlemen take the room together the rate is eight dollars each.
I prefer to be alone, madam.
I will show you the room, said Mrs. Gibbs, moving toward the door. "I am sure you will find it as nice as any for the price."
I think so myself—for the house shows it, replied the man, with a glance around at the well-kept parlor.
Mrs. Gibbs led the way into the hall. As she did so Robert came out of the dining room.
The man glanced carelessly at our hero and then fell back as if he had received a shock.
Then Robert uttered a cry of amazement.
You! he gasped, and rushing forward caught the man by the arm.
Let go of me, young man! cried the man savagely.
I will not, answered Robert firmly. "I know you, and I am going to hand you over to the police."
At these words Mrs. Gibbs uttered a little shriek.
Oh, Mr. Frost, what can this mean? she demanded.
It means that this man is a thief, declared Robert. "I met him in the post-office yesterday, where he saw me cash several money orders. After that he and a confederate robbed me of both money and my watch."
At these words the face of Andy Cross—for it was really he—became a study.
The sharper had not dared to go back to his former boarding house. He had calculated to find some new victim and to keep "shady" by pretending to be too ill to leave his room for several days. Now his little game was knocked completely in the head.
He is a thief? ejaculated the landlady. "Oh, my! and to think I was going to take him in to board!"
And the good old lady appeared ready to faint.
There is some strange mistake here, said Andy Cross. "Young man, how dare you call me a thief!"
I dare to because it is the truth.
Do you know who I am?
You are what I just called you.
I have a strong inclination to knock you down, but I will try to curb my temper, as all Christian people should. I am Ralph Goodwill, the son of the Reverend Amos Goodwill, of Denver. I have come to Chicago to complete my studies for the ministry.
You'll have to turn over a new leaf before you become a minister, answered Robert.
Evidently you do not believe me.
Why should I? You are a thief, and you cannot humbug me into believing otherwise.
Mr. Frost, there may be some mistake, put in the landlady timidly.
There is no mistake, Mrs. Gibbs. Did you ever see a seminary student sporting such a suit of clothing.
Well—er—I don't know as to that.
The suit is one I picked up in the slums, said Andy Cross glibly. "I have been doing some work there, assisted by some Salvation Army people. You can work better among the poor, lost ones if you are dressed like them," he added softly.
Yes, yes, I presume that is so, said Mrs. Gibbs, who was somewhat interested in slum work herself.
He is an out and out fraud, said Robert, as firmly as ever. "Mrs. Gibbs, will you send Mary to call a policeman? I will be responsible for the arrest."
But if there is a mistake——
Haven't I said that I will be responsible? I am not going to let him escape if I can help it.
At that moment the front door opened, to admit one of the lady boarders. Robert stepped back to let her pass, and as he did so Andy Cross wrenched himself free and leaped for the door.
Stop! cried Robert. "Stop!"
Go to blazes! snarled the sharper, and pulling the door back, he leaped out on the piazza.
Our hero's blood was up and he was determined that Cross should not escape him again.
He, too, leaped for the doorway, and as the sharper gained the piazza Robert put out his foot to trip him up.
The movement was far more successful than anticipated.
Down went Andy Cross on his knees, and before he could recover he went down the steps, bump! bump! bump! to the sidewalk.
The wind was knocked completely out of him, and he was sadly bruised about the head, while the blood spurted from his nose in a stream.
Oh! oh! I'm killed! he moaned, as he sat up.
If you were, you wouldn't be able to groan over it, answered Robert. "Stay where you are, if you know when you are well off."
Don't have me arrested, pleaded the sharper. The unexpected fall had taken all his self-possession from him.
At that moment a policeman showed himself at the corner, and Robert called to him to come up.
What's the trouble? demanded the officer of the law.
Seeing to it that Andy Cross did not get away, Robert told his story.
Yes, I have the report of the robbery, said the policeman. "You were lucky to fall in with him."
In vain the sharper protested that he was innocent. The policeman marched him off to the nearest station house.
Here he was examined and searched, and fifty dollars of Robert's money was found in the envelope which our hero had obtained at the post-office.
What of the rest of the money and the watch? asked Robert.
Seeing there was no help for it, Andy Cross made a confession. He stated that Jim Huskin had kept both the timepiece and the rest of the money, and left Chicago the night before.
And where did he go? asked Robert.
He took a steamer for Muskegon, Michigan, answered Andy Cross.
Muskegon! cried our hero. And then he said no more. But he was filled with interest, for he had thought to journey to Timberville by way of a steamer to the town named and then by railroad for the balance of the journey.
We will look this matter up and telegraph to the authorities at Muskegon, said the officer who was examining Cross. "If we learn anything we will let you know."
This ended the matter for the time being, and Andy Cross was locked up. Robert returned to his boarding house, feeling lighter in both heart and mind than he had a couple of hours before.
It had made James Talbot feel very bitter to think that should his wife die the Frost fortune would go entirely to his step-son.
He doesn't deserve a cent of it—with his impudence to me and his running away from home, he said to himself. "The money ought to come to me."
The more he thought over the matter the more bitter did he become. He tried to think of some way by which he could alter the conditions of Mr. Frost's will, but nothing came to his mind that was satisfactory.
Of course he did not dare show his wife his real feelings. She was still angry over the lost letter, and he was afraid of causing an open rupture.
He concluded to do everything he could to win her good graces, and then question her again about the will and the property. Perhaps he might be able, he thought, to get control of the money lying in the bank, which amounted to about thirty thousand dollars.
Once I get control of that, he told himself, "Robert can whistle for his share. I'll run away to Europe before I'll give it up."
The first thing he did was to buy Mrs. Talbot a new bonnet, since he had heard that a woman will be pleased over a new bonnet, if over nothing else. The lady, however, received the gift rather coldly.
It is very nice, she said. "But I do not need it, James."
Never mind, my love, I want my wife to look as good as or better than any lady in Granville.
Thank you, but I never tried to set the fashion.
I know that. But you should—with so much money behind you.
The money is for Robert, not for me. And Mrs. Talbot sighed as she thought of her son, and wondered how he was faring.
Always the boy, thought James Talbot savagely. "Will she never forget him?"
There is going to be a play at the opera house to-night, he said sweetly. "I would like you to go. You can wear the new bonnet, if you will."
Thank you. What is the play, James?
'All for Love,' a romance of high life in New York. The newspaper says it is a good play.
The newspapers cannot always be depended upon. Do you know anything of the company?
It is the Dixon Combination Comedy Company of Chicago.
I never heard of it.
I am afraid, my love, that you do not keep very good track of theatrical affairs.
I like to read about the good ones in the papers.
This company has some very good advertising. One of the bills says they carry ten star actors and actresses. I am sure you will like the play.
I will go if you wish me to, answered Mrs. Talbot, although she was doubtful if she would enjoy the performance. During the time Mr. Frost had been living, husband and wife had gone to both the theater and to the concert, but only to the very best. But Mr. Talbot had no taste for such things, and an ordinary performance pleased him about as well as one which was far superior.
There had been no show in Granville for over two weeks. Consequently when the doors of the opera house were opened that night, the fair-sized hall became crowded in short order.
The Dixon Combination Comedy Company was entirely unknown, and for good reason—it had never existed until two weeks previous to the opening at Granville.
Jack Dixon, the manager, had been a "hanger-on" among theatrical people for several years, and having received several hundred dollars through the death of a rich aunt, had at once set to work to put a company of his own on the road.
The man meant well, but he knew very little about the business, as was proved by his hiring Livingston Palmer and several others who were no better actors.
Rehearsals had been backward and unsatisfactory from the start, and the combination would have done much better had it held back for another week for practice before appearing in public.
But everyone was anxious to make a hit, and nobody thought failure possible.
We will carry the town by storm, said the leading man, a fellow by the name of Caster. He had been on the boards for several years, but had never before risen to a position higher than that of being a member of a stock company attached to a dime museum.
Yes, we will show them what real acting is, answered Livingston Palmer. "To-morrow the newspapers will be full of complimentary notices."
At quarter to eight the orchestra, consisting of a piano player, a violinist, a flutist, and a cornetist, struck up on the overture, and at eight o'clock sharp the curtain went up on the first act of "All for Love."
The scene represented Fifth avenue, in New York—at least, so the programme said,—although it is doubtful if anybody living on that fashionable thoroughfare would have recognized the locality. People were coming and going, and doing this as if their lives depended upon it, the same person appearing and disappearing every half minute or so.
In the crowd was a girl who was supposed to be a companion to a rich old lady. As she stood waiting for something, the villain of the play, a fashionably-dressed man, came up and tried to tempt her into stealing the rich lady's jewels. While this was going on the butler of the lady's mansion appeared and overheard the plot.
The acting was crude from the start, but at the opening of a play few people pay much attention, and it was not until Livingston Palmer appeared as the spying butler that the audience began to grow attentive.
Ha, what is this I hear! cried Palmer, as he peered forth from behind a dry goods box set up against a building marked Hotel. "She is plotting to rob my mistress. Base woman that she is, I will—will—will——"
Palmer should have said, "I will expose her to Mrs. Ulmer and have her arrested," but the words would not come, for he had caught sight of the hundreds of faces in the audience and become stage-frightened in consequence.
I will—will—I will—— he stammered, trying again.
Will you? came a voice from the gallery. "All right, Willie!"
There was a laugh and then a hiss.
I will expose her, whispered the prompter, who stood in the prompter's box with the book of the play in his hand.
I will—will expose her! burst out Livingston Palmer. "I will expose her, base—I mean—I will expose her to be arrested—to—by—I mean—Mrs. Ulmer shall arrest her!" and then he fell back out of sight, and all but overcome.
At once the prompter ran up to him.
You fool! he whispered wildly. "That wasn't right. You've ruined the scene."
Have I? asked Palmer, in awe-stricken tones. "Oh, I—I—something slipped my mind. But—but I'll be all right in the next scene."
I hope so. Better study your lines before you go on.
I will, answered the would-be actor, and began to study as never before.
In the meantime the scene went on, the actors reciting their lines without a break, but with so little dramatic action that scarcely anyone in the audience was interested.
Do you like it, my love? asked James Talbot, who sat beside his wife in one of the orchestra rows.
No, it is very stupid so far, answered Mrs. Talbot.
The next act may be better, Sarah. The best plays rarely start well.
That young man missed his part entirely, was Mrs. Talbot's comment.
The second act of the play represented the drawing room of Mrs. Ulmer's mansion. There was at first a love scene which promised very well. But the lover in the play was as nervous as he might have been in real life, and when he started to kiss his lady-love good-by, he smacked her so warmly that his false mustache fell off into her lap.
Oh! she cried, and there was a roar of laughter from the audience.
The lover snatched the mustache up in a trice and hurried off as if he was leaving an enemy, instead of her whose heart he was supposed to have won.
The rich old lady came in, supported on the arm of her nephew, a captain of the regular army. The captain was wearing his sword, but he was not used to the weapon, and it got tangled up between his legs more than once, and came near to upsetting him.
Take it off! cried a voice from the gallery. Of course a laugh followed the bit of advice.
The captain was about to conclude an important interview with his rich aunt, when the butler walked in with a tray, on which were a bottle supposed to contain wine, and two glasses.
Be careful there, Willie, or you'll drop the tray! cried the voice from the gallery.
Will—he? said another voice, with an attempt at a pun.
Ah, so this is honest John! exclaimed the captain, turning to the butler. "John, what have you to say to the captain who used to go horseback riding on your foot?"
I'm glad to see you, sir, said Livingston Palmer. "Very glad, sir." Then he took a deep breath, and started again, so that his next lines might not escape him. "Mrs. Ulmer, Ihavea secret to tell." He meant, "I have a secret to tell," but some of his words ran one into another.
A secret, John. What can it be?
You'retoberobb'd, yes, madam, youretobe robb'd.
Robbed!
Yes, madam, robb'd. Oneyou have fondly robbed intendsto loveyou.
A shout went up at this, a shout that speedily became a roar. Of course Palmer meant to say, "One you have fondly loved intends to rob you," but he was hopelessly bewildered, and hardly knew what he was doing. For once his self-confidence had entirely left him.
Go! I will not believe it! cried the rich lady. "Leave my sight!"
Yes, madam, Iwillgo, but—but—— Livingston Palmer stared around wildly. He wanted to add, "I can prove what I have to say," but the words became mixed as before. "Icansay—whatIcanprove—I mean, I provetosay what I can—I can say what Icansay——"
Then go and say it! yelled somebody from the gallery. "Say it, and give somebody else a chance to talk."
Say, but this is a bum company, added somebody else.
Worst I ever saw! came from a third party. And then followed a storm of hisses. In the midst of this Palmer hurried from the stage. At once Dixon collared him.
Palmer, what do you mean by this? demanded the manager. "Have you lost your wits?"
No, but—but—it's awful to have so many folks staring at you, and cat-calling, too.
You spoiled both acts.
I did my best, pleaded Livingston Palmer.
Then you'll never make an actor if you live to be a hundred years, responded Jack Dixon, and with this cold cut he walked off, leaving Palmer the picture of misery and despair.
But the scene was not yet ended, and scarcely had Dixon turned away when there came another roar and a hiss. The unfortunate captain had fallen down with his sword between his feet. In trying to pick himself up he had upset a small table, scattering the books thereon in every direction. His wig came off, and when he managed to gain his feet once more it was found that his coat was split up the back for a foot and over.
They are a disgrace to the opera house! came the cry.
They are no good!
Let us give 'em something to remember us by!
The last suggestion was greeted with a wild assent, and soon half a dozen different articles landed on the stage, including the core of an apple and a half-decayed orange. In the midst of the uproar a number of the audience started to leave and the drop curtain came down with a bang.
Among the first to leave the opera house were Mrs. Talbot and her husband.
I have had quite enough of this, said the lady to James Talbot. "The company and the play are both very poor."
Perhaps you are right, he admitted. "I must say I looked for something much better myself. That poor butler couldn't act at all."
He was dumstruck, said Mrs. Talbot, and felt compelled to laugh. "Poor fellow, he ought to go at some other line of work."
They were soon on the way home. Mr. Talbot had ordered a carriage to come for them when the performance was over, but this was not at hand, so they were forced to walk.
I didn't make much by taking her out to-night, said the schemer to himself. "Next time I'll have to make sure that I am taking her to something that is really first-class."
When the pair reached home James Talbot wished his wife to come into the sitting-room, to talk over their business affairs. The fact of the matter was, he was running short of money, and he desired his wife to make him an advance.
I have something of a headache, James, she said. "I think I had better retire early."
I will not detain you long, my love, he answered.
Soon they were in the sitting-room and the lady dropped into an easy chair. He could not sit down, but began to walk up and down nervously.
I hate very much to mention the matter to you, Sarah, he began, "but the fact is, a remittance from a man in Chicago who owes me quite some money has been delayed, and this has cut me short."
Do you want money?
If you can spare it, I would like to have a hundred dollars or so until the remittance comes.
Very well, you can have it in the morning, answered Mrs. Talbot quietly.
James Talbot had told her before they were married that he was fairly well-to-do, but since they had become man and wife she had not seen a dollar of his money.
It was true, he had a little money, or had had it, but the amount was less than a thousand dollars, and it was now tied up in a speculation that promised little or no return. James Talbot had no head for business, and even his wife was beginning to find that out. He could be miserly, but miserliness is not true economy. He pretended to deal in real estate, but he was too shiftless and lazy to apply himself to steady work.
I will be all right as soon as the money comes, went on Talbot cheerfully. "After this I trust I shall never have to trouble you again."
How is the real estate business progressing? she asked.
Fairly well. Granville is not a booming town.
I know that.
I am half of a mind to try my luck in Chicago. That is where they make fortunes in real estate every year.
Perhaps; but they have to have a large capital to start on.
Exactly, my love. But with a large capital it is a dead sure thing, for it cannot burn up, cannot be stolen from you, and constantly increases in value. What do you think of my plan to start in Chicago?
I am sure I have no objection, although I am comfortably situated here.
You could keep this home if you wished—at least, at first, and I could come out every Saturday afternoon and remain until Monday. The trouble is, the venture would require quite some capital.
I presume it would.
If I had five or ten thousand dollars to spare, I would start at once.
Haven't you that much, James? she asked, with interest.
Not in ready money. My cash is tied up in investments. But you could loan me the amount, couldn't you, my love?
Mrs. Talbot's face flushed, and her eyes sought the floor. She had been afraid that this was what was coming.
I—I suppose so, she faltered, hardly knowing what to say.
Of course you would be secured. I would see to that.
Yes, James, I would want that. For the money is to go to Robert, you know.
His face fell. "The boy always!" he thought. "Oh, I wish he would never be heard from again!"
But if I make a barrel of money out of my investments, that must go to you, he said aloud.
No, you shall keep the money, she replied. "I have as much as I will ever need."
In a few minutes more Mrs. Talbot retired. James Talbot walked the sitting-room floor with considerable satisfaction.
Ten thousand dollars will be a nice sum, he mused, rubbing his horny hands together. "Robert, eh? Well, he'll never see the cash, I'll give James Talbot's word on that! It will be several years before he becomes of age, and who knows how much more of the fortune will come my way before that time?"
The morning paper contained a long and semi-humorous account of the performance of "All for Love." It said the actors and actresses were probably well-meaning amateurs who had yet much to learn before they would become successful in their profession. They advised the butler in the play to perfect himself in the part of a stuttering comedian! By the account it was evident that the play had come to a conclusion in a perfect uproar, and that many in the audience had demanded their money back.
James Talbot had gone off to his real estate office, to perfect his plans for opening up in Chicago, when the door-bell rang and Jane announced a visitor to see Mrs. Talbot.
He gives his name as Livingston Palmer, said Jane.
Livingston Palmer? mused the lady of the house. "Why, where have I heard that before? Oh, I remember now. It was on that theatrical programme," and she looked it up to make sure. "He was that butler who started all the trouble. What can he want of me?"
She descended to the parlor to greet her visitor. Livingston Palmer was seated on the edge of a chair, his face far more careworn than ever before, and his clothing much soiled and torn.
Good-morning, he said humbly. "This is Mrs. Talbot, who used to be Mrs. Frost, I believe."
Yes, she answered.
I am a stranger to you, madam, but I come from Chicago, and I am well acquainted with your son Robert.
Indeed! cried Mrs. Talbot, and her whole manner changed. "Is Robert in Chicago?"
He is—or at least he was when I left there, two days ago.
Can you tell me what he is doing?
He and I were clerks in a cut-rate ticket office. But a fire threw us both out of employment.
And you joined a theatrical company, added Mrs. Talbot.
How do you know that?
I was at the opera house last night and saw you on the stage.
For once in his life Livingston Palmer's face grew as red as a beet.
You—er—witnessed that unfortunate affair, he stammered. "I—I——"
I thought you were new at acting, said the lady candidly. "It was, as you say, unfortunate."
The people used us meanly, exclaimed Palmer. "I was struck in half a dozen places, and my coat was nearly torn from my back, and in the struggle to get away I lost my money and could not find it again."
When was this? I came away at the conclusion of the second act.
It was after the play was over. A regular mob congregated around the stage door, and we could scarcely escape with our lives. I never shall go on the stage again, never! And Palmer shook his head bitterly. He meant what he said, and let it be recorded here that he kept his word.
Mrs. Talbot saw plainly that Livingston Palmer was suffering, both from humiliation and from the manner in which he had been treated physically, and her heart was touched.
I am very sorry for you, Mr. Palmer, she said. "If there is anything I can do for you I will do it willingly. But I would first like to hear something of my son."
I will tell you all I know, answered the young man quickly. "I was in hope that Robert's mother might aid me. We have been good friends. He's a splendid lad."
Yes, Robert is a good boy and always was. Is he well?
Perfectly well, and was, as I said before, doing finely, until the fire threw us both out.
How much was he getting a week?
Five dollars.
I do not call that very good, cried Mrs. Talbot. "He cannot live very well on that in such a city as Chicago."
He told me he had an allowance besides.
An allowance? Mrs. Talbot looked puzzled. "I can't understand that. I made him no allowance, for he would not permit it. He said he was going to make his own way in the world."
Well, I can only tell you what he said, returned Livingston Palmer.
Will you give me his address, so that I can write to him?
Why, haven't you his address? I am sure he wrote to you.
I never got the letter. And then Mrs. Talbot's face flushed, as she remembered about the letter her husband had destroyed. Had she been deceived in the matter, after all?
Then I will write the address down for you, said Palmer, and did so.
A long talk followed, and the young man told Mrs. Talbot all he knew about Robert, and also mentioned Dick Marden, but not in such a way that the lady suspected the allowance Robert received came from the miner.
Palmer frankly admitted that he was without means of any sort.
If I were in Chicago, this would not matter so much, he added. "But in Granville I know nobody but you and the members of our company, or rather the company to which I belonged. I was discharged, and Dixon refuses to even give me my carfare back to the city."
I shall be pleased to give you what you need, replied Mrs. Talbot. "I am overjoyed to learn that Robert is well. I am going to pay Chicago a visit soon, and then if he will not come to me I will go to him."
He will come to you fast enough, madam. It is only his step-father whom he dreads.
Yes, yes, I know. Mrs. Talbot thought best to change the subject. "Will you not have breakfast with me, Mr. Palmer?"
With pleasure, answered the young man. "But I—er—I would like to brush and wash up first."
To be sure. Mrs. Talbot surveyed him critically. "I really believe some of Robert's clothing would fit you. At least his coat would."
Yes, his coat would.
Then I can perhaps replace that torn garment you are wearing.
Mrs. Talbot was as good as her word, and half an hour later Livingston Palmer came down from the room Robert had occupied, thoroughly brushed and washed and wearing a coat and vest which had belonged to the boy. They were rather tight, it is true, but they were almost new, and a vast improvement over the ragged garments Palmer had worn upon presenting himself.
A substantial breakfast followed, of fish, omelet, hot rolls, and coffee, and it is perhaps needless to say that Palmer did full justice to all that was set before him. And small wonder, for he had eaten nothing since the afternoon of the day before.
It was nearly noon before the young man prepared to take his departure, with twenty dollars in his pocket, which he had insisted should be a loan only, to be paid back as soon as the opportunity afforded.
I am very grateful to you, Mrs. Talbot, he said, on parting. "You have treated me like a king. Why Robert should leave such a home and such a mother I can't understand."
Mrs. Talbot was visibly affected.
It was entirely on his step-father's account, Mr. Palmer. Robert is high spirited and would not bend as Mr. Talbot wished.
Then let me be bold enough to say that I imagine Robert was in the right.
To this Mrs. Talbot made no reply. But she begged Palmer to keep an eye on her son, and if anything went wrong to let her know by sending her a letter in care of the postmaster, and marked for personal delivery only. Then Palmer hurried away, to catch the first train he could for the great city by the lakes.
When her visitor was gone Mrs. Talbot sat down to review the situation in her mind. Her thoughts were not pleasant ones. Her second marriage was proving to be anything but agreeable. She realized that her husband was not the man she had imagined him to be.
Dinner was on the table at twelve, for Mr. Talbot insisted on having his main meal at mid-day. Yet the man did not come in until nearly half an hour later, and then he appeared to be much put out about something.
I understand you had a visitor this morning, he began, as he and his wife sat down to the table, and Jane brought on the food.
Yes.
Some friend of that reckless son of yours, went on Mr. Talbot. "What did Robert send him for, money?"
Mrs. Talbot was surprised.
How did you learn my visitor was a friend of Robert? she asked.
I got it from Sproggens at the depot. He was talking with the fellow while he was waiting for a train. I hope you didn't encourage him, Sarah. If the boy sees fit to run away and stay away, let him make his own way.
That is just what Robert is doing, James, cried the lady, her face flushing.
Then why did Robert send that young man here?
He didn't send him here.
Humph! James Talbot was on the point of saying that he did not believe the statement, but cut himself short. If he angered his wife now he might have trouble in getting the five or ten thousand dollars she had said she would loan him.
The young man belonged to that theatrical company we went to see, continued Mrs. Talbot. "He knew Robert and so he thought he would call here and see me."
What did he have to say about the boy?
He said Robert had been doing very well, but a fire burnt out the office in which he was employed.
And what is the boy doing now?
Nothing, just at present.
He won't find it easy to get another opening.
Mr. Palmer said Robert might go up to Michigan in a few days. He had to do something for a man interested in some timber lands in the upper part of that State.
Humph! I shouldn't wonder if the boy came home soon. He'll get tired of roughing it.
Robert has a stout heart, Mr. Talbot, and I doubt if he ever comes home so long as you are here.
And with these words Mrs. Talbot arose and swept from the dining room, hardly having touched a mouthful of the food Jane had taken so much pains to prepare.
James Talbot finished his meal in silence, and ate as heartily as ever, for seldom did anything interfere with his appetite. From the kitchen Jane eyed him in a manner which was anything but agreeable.
The old gorilla, she said to herself, as she rattled the pans angrily. "He ought to be thrown out of the house. If it wasn't for the poor mistress, sure and I wouldn't stay another minute. I wish the victuals would choke him." And then she vowed that the next time she fixed the dessert she would make Mr. Talbot's portion so bad that he could not eat it.
Robert waited for two days for a letter from Dick Marden. In the meantime he went down to the police station twice to learn if anything had been found out about Jim Huskin.
We telegraphed to Muskegon and several other points, said the officer in charge. "But so far no one has seen the rascal."
In the evening mail of the second day came two letters for the boy, both of which he perused with great interest.
The first was from his mother, telling of the meeting with Livingston Palmer, and of what the would-be actor had told her.
"I am glad to hear that you have not suffered so far, Robert," she wrote. "But I am afraid that the fire may prove an unexpected set-back for you, and so I enclose twenty dollars, which may come in useful. So far I have received no letter from you, although Mr. Palmer says you have written. When you write again send it in care of the postmaster, and mark it for personal delivery only. Then I am sure Mr. Blarcomb will give it to me and to nobody else."
It may be imagined that Robert was indignant.
I'll wager old Talbot stole that letter, he told himself. "And I guess mother thinks as much. Oh, what a mistake she made in marrying that man! I'll write her another letter this very night." And he did so, and posted it before retiring. In the communication he told her to beware of his step-father and not trust him in money matters, as she might be very sorry for it.
It's best to open her eyes, he reasoned, "even if it does cause her pain."
The second letter was from Dick Marden, enclosing the order from Felix Amberton for the map. In this the old miner urged Robert to obtain the document at the earliest possible moment.
"Our enemies are hedging us in and intend to proceed against us in the county court in a day or two," he added. "As soon as we get the map we will know just where we stand, and our lawyer will know exactly what claims he can make. My uncle is of the opinion that the other side is making a big bluff in the hope that we will offer to compromise."
I'll go and get the document the first thing in the morning, Robert told himself. "And if all goes well I'll be on my way to Timberville by noon."
With the money recovered from Andy Cross, and with what his mother had sent to him, he now had ample funds for the trip. After writing the letter to his parent, he packed his valise, that nothing might delay his start.
A surprise awaited him the next morning just after he had left the dining room, and while he was telling Mrs. Gibbs that he intended to go away, to be gone an indefinite time.
A gentleman to see Mr. Frost, announced the girl, and entering the parlor Robert found himself confronted by his step-father.
Good-morning, Robert, said James Talbot, smiling affably and extending his hand.
Good-morning, Mr. Talbot, replied our hero coldly. He pretended not to see the outstretched hand.
I suppose you are surprised to see me here, began Mr. Talbot awkwardly.
I am surprised. How did you learn my address?
Never mind that now, Robert. I came to see how you are getting along.
You ought to know. You got my letter, even if my mother didn't, answered Robert bitterly.
I got no letter, my lad, upon my honor I did not. I came out of pure friendliness to you.
Then let me tell you that I am doing very well.
I heard something about your being out of work on account of a fire.
Did Mr. Gray tell you?
Never mind who told me. James Talbot cleared his throat. "As you are out of work I thought perhaps that you would like to come to work for me."
Work for you!
Exactly. I don't mean for you to go back to Granville. I am going to open a real-estate office in Chicago, and I shall want a clerk. I understand that you take to that sort of thing.
I don't believe I'll take to clerking for you, returned Robert bluntly.
Ahem! That is rather harsh of you, Robert. I mean to do well by you. Why not take a fresh start? I am sure we shall get along very well together.
Are you going to give up the office you opened in Granville?
Not just yet. But I may in the future—after the office here is in full blast. I expect to make a big thing of the business here.
A big business here means the investment of a lot of money, said the boy shrewdly. "Where is that to come from?"
Never mind about the money. It will be forthcoming as it is needed.
Is my mother going to let you have some of her money?
If she did, it would be no more than right that she should depend upon her husband in her investments.
I wouldn't advise her to depend upon you. With your own money you can do as you please, but I don't think you ought to touch any of her funds.
You are decidedly plain-spoken, boy! cried James Talbot, frowning.
Because one must speak plainly to such a man as you, Mr. Talbot. I don't know why my mother married you, but I think I know why you married my mother.
And why?
To get hold of her money.
James Talbot leaped from the chair upon which he had been sitting. He was enraged, but quickly calmed himself.
You are entirely mistaken, boy, entirely mistaken. Why, I have all the money I want.
I saw you borrow fifty dollars from my mother once.
Merely a bit of accommodation because I didn't have the cash handy. Why I can draw my check for twenty or thirty thousand dollars if I wish to.
Robert did not believe the statement. Yet as he had no way to disprove it, he remained silent on the point.
Then you are going to use your own money entirely in this real estate venture in Chicago?
Well—er—most likely. Of course I may become pushed for ready cash at times and will then look to your mother to help me out a little. Every man, no matter how well off, gets pushed at times, when he cannot turn his securities into ready cash, you know.
I shall advise my mother to keep her fortune in her own hands.
You will! James Talbot became more enraged than ever. "Don't you dare to interfere between my wife and myself."
I will do all I can to keep her money out of your reach.
Perhaps you want it yourself? sneered Talbot.
No, I want her to keep it and enjoy it as long as she lives. I don't believe you are any kind of a business manager, and if she put the money in your care she might be a beggar in a year or two.
Boy, boy, this to me! me, your father! cried Talbot.
You are not my father, Mr. Talbot, and you need not call yourself such. My father was a far better man than you are, I can tell you that. He made his own way in the world, just as I am trying to do, and ask no favors from anybody.
You are impertinent—a thorough good-for-nothing! howled James Talbot, hardly knowing what to say. "I want to do you a kindness, and this is the way you receive me. I will not speak to you longer. But don't you dare to set my wife against me, or there will be trouble, mind that—there will be trouble!"
And thus talking he left the parlor, clapped his silk hat on his head, and dashed from the boarding house.
He's in a rage, it's easy to see that. I wonder what he will do next?
Such was the mental question Robert asked when he found himself once more alone.
James Talbot had tried a little plan of his own, and it had failed and left him in a worse position than before.
He had hoped by offering Robert a good salary—to be paid out of Mrs. Talbot's money—to get the youth under his thumb. But our hero had refused to have anything to do with him and had threatened to do all he could to induce Mrs. Talbot to keep her fortune in her own control.
He's a regular imp, muttered James Talbot, as he hurried down the street, so enraged that he scarcely knew where he was walking. "If he writes home to his mother it will be harder than ever to do anything with her. I wish he was at the bottom of the sea!"
His soliloquy was brought to a sudden and unexpected termination when he passed around a corner and ran full tilt into another individual. Both went sprawling, and both were for the instant deprived of their wind.
Who—what—? spluttered James Talbot, as he picked himself up.
You fool, you! panted the other individual. "What do you mean by driving into me in this fashion?"
I—I didn't see you, answered Talbot.
You must be blind, stormed the party who had been knocked down.
I'm not blind. I—I—was in a tremendous hurry. James Talbot looked at the other man curiously. "I—er—I—think I've met you before."
I don't remember you.
Isn't your name Livingston Palmer?
It is.
I saw you in Granville—at the theater, and later on at the railroad station.
Palmer, for it was really he, flushed up.
Perhaps you belonged to that mob that assaulted our troupe, he sneered. "Your actions here are in the same line."
No, I had no fault to find with the theatrical company, returned James Talbot slowly. The meeting had surprised him greatly, and he began to wonder how he might turn it to account. "I wonder if you know who I am?" he added, after a pause.
I can't say that I do.
I am James Talbot, the husband of the lady upon whom you called.
Oh! Then you are Robert Frost's step-father, exclaimed Livingston Palmer.
I am. May I ask what induced you to call upon my wife?
Again Palmer flushed up.
I think, Mr. Talbot, that that was my affair.
Do you mean to say you refuse to tell?
Well, if you must know, I will tell you—so that Mrs. Talbot may not get into trouble over it. Your townpeople treated me so shabbily that I called upon your wife for a small loan, so that I might get back to Chicago.
Humph! Then Robert didn't send you to see her?
No, Robert knew nothing about my going to Granville.
I thought you and he were great friends?
So we are, but he didn't know where I was going when we separated.
A likely story, sneered James Talbot. "I believe that boy sent you to my wife with a message."
You can think as you please, cried Palmer hotly. "I have told you the plain truth. But I guess Robert will have to send a private messenger, since his letters don't reach his mother."
The shot told, and James Talbot grew pale for the moment. Then he recovered himself.
I won't stand any of your slurs, young man. I reckon you are no better than Robert.
I don't want to be any better than Robert. He's a first-rate fellow.
He is an impudent cub.
That is only your opinion.
I am his step-father, and in the eyes of the law I am as a real father to him. Yet instead of minding me he openly defies me.
I don't know but what I would do the same, answered Palmer coolly.
I want to do what is right by him—make something of him—but he won't let me do it.
He is able to take care of himself.
No, he is not. Sooner or later he'll be going to the dogs.
He told me all about how you had treated him. I don't blame him for leaving home, although it may be possible that he would have done better by sticking to his mother.
Do you mean to insinuate that his mother may need him?
I don't wonder if she does, Mr. Talbot. As I understand the matter she is rich.
Well?
It would be a great temptation for some husbands to try to get that money in their own hands.
James Talbot grew crimson.
You insult me! he ejaculated.
Livingston Palmer shrugged his shoulders.
You can take it as you please. I didn't stop you. You ran into me and knocked me down.
Where are you going?
That is my affair.
You are going to call upon Robert.
Perhaps I am.
If you do, let me warn you not to talk about me and my wife. Did she send the boy a message?
If she did I shan't deliver it to you, answered Livingston Palmer, and proceeded on his way. James Talbot gazed after him in anger and disappointment.
Another who is against me, he muttered. "I must hurry my schemes, or it will be too late to put them through."
Livingston Palmer had just reached Mrs. Gibbs' boarding house when he met Robert coming out, on his way to see Herman Wenrich about the map.
Robert! cried the former clerk. "I'm glad I caught you."
Why, Livingston, I thought you were on the road, returned Robert, as he shook hands.
Not much! No more theatrical life for me, said Palmer.
What, have you had enough already?
Yes, and got it in your native town, too.
In Granville?
Exactly. We opened in Granville and we busted in Granville, said Palmer, and in such a dubious fashion that our hero could scarcely keep from laughing outright.
What, has the Dixon Combination Comedy Company gone to pieces?
It has—at least so far as I am concerned. Dixon isn't going to show again until the performers have rehearsed for another couple of weeks.
Palmer did not wish to go into the details of his bitter experience, so without delay he began to tell of his visit to Mrs. Talbot and of what she had done and said, and then before Robert could interrupt him he told of the meeting with James Talbot.
Yes, my step-father was here, said Robert. "I am satisfied that he is not to be trusted. I shall write my mother a long letter about him as soon as I can get the chance. But now I must be off, as I have some important business to attend to for Mr. Marden. What are you going to do?"
I am going to call upon Mr. Gray and see if he intends to open up again, answered Livingston Palmer. "After this office life will be good enough for me."
Less than an hour later found Robert at Herman Wenrich's modest home. A ring at the door bell brought Nettie Wenrich, who smiled pleasantly upon seeing our hero.
My father is much better, thank you, said the girl, in reply to Robert's question concerning her parent's health. "I was afraid he would not get well before, but now I am sure he will."
I am glad to hear that, answered the boy.
Those men were here again, went on Nettie. "They are very anxious to get the map, and they offered my father fifty dollars for it."
They offered two hundred dollars, came from the bedchamber, for Robert and Nettie were ascending the stairs, and old Herman Wenrich had overheard the talk. "The fifty dollar offer was only their first."
The old lumberman shook hands cordially.
But you have the map, haven't you? questioned Robert eagerly.
To be sure I have, my lad. Herman Wenrich's word is as good as his bond.
You know I am authorized to give you a hundred dollars, went on Robert.
And didn't I say I didn't want a cent from Felix Amberton? cried the old man. "All I want is that order, to make certain that I am not going astray—not but what you look honest enough."
Here is the order, just received by mail, and Robert handed it over.
Herman Wenrich had his daughter bring spectacles and he perused the paper with great care.
That's all right—I know Amberton's signature well—saw it on many a check he gave me. You shall have the map. Nettie, bring me my tin box.
I will, father, answered the daughter, and left the room.
What did those men have to say when you told them that I had said they were not working for Felix Amberton's interest? asked Robert while she was gone.
I didn't tell them anything about it. I merely told them to hold off for a day or two, and I would consider their offer.
They'll be mad when they learn the truth.
I shall show them this order for the map. They probably know Amberton's signature as well as I do.
Perhaps so.
I suppose you are going to send that to Timberville by the first mail.
I am going to take it up myself. Mr. Marden wants to come up.
You will find it a wild section of the country—a good bit different from around here.
I shan't mind that—in fact, I think I'll rather like the change.
It's a good place for a fellow who is strong and healthy. There are fortunes in the lumber business.
I've no doubt of it.
I went into the district a poor man, and worked at cutting lumber at a dollar and a half a day. Inside of fifteen years I came out something like twelve thousand dollars ahead. Of course that isn't a fortune, but you must remember that I lost about ten thousand dollars by two spring freshets which carried off nearly all I at those times possessed. If I had remained there I would have been better off. But I came to Chicago and speculated, and now my fortune amounts to very little, I can tell you that.
By this time Nettie came back with a long tin box painted black. It was locked, and the key was in a pocketbook under the sick man's pillow. Soon the box was opened and Herman Wenrich took out a paper yellow with age.
This is the map, he said. "If I were you I would be very careful of how I handled it, or it may go to pieces. Nettie, haven't you a big envelope in which to place it?"
I think I have, father, she replied, and went off to hunt up the article.
During her absence Robert looked over the document, and found that it contained not only a map but also a long written description of several lumber tracts, including that which Felix Amberton had once purchased from a man named Gregory Hammerditch.
This must be some relative to the Hammerditch I met, said our hero.
It was an uncle. The trouble started through this Gregory Hammerditch and the Canadian, Jean Le Fevre. They claimed the land was never paid for, I believe.
At that moment came a ring at the front door bell.
It is those two men! cried Nettie, who stood close to the window.
You mean the Canadian and the Englishman? asked Robert.
Yes.
Do you wish to meet them? questioned Herman Wenrich. "If so, I have no objection."
I would like to hear what they have to say, sir.
You can go into the back bedroom, if you wish.
The idea struck Robert as a good one, and while Nettie went below to let the visitors in our hero entered the rear apartment, leaving the door open several inches.
Soon he heard Hammerditch and Le Fevre ascending the stairs.
Good-morning, said both, as they came in and sat down close to Herman Wenrich's bedside.
Good-morning, replied the old lumberman shortly.
Well, I trust you have decided to sell us the map, continued the Englishman.
I have decided not to do so.
Indeed. The faces of both men fell. "The map is of no use to you, Mr. Wenrich," went on Hammerditch.
That may be true.
And it is no more than right that we should have it.
Dat is so, said the Canadian. "Ze map should be ours."
You said Mr. Amberton had sent you for the map, said Herman Wenrich.
So he did, answered Hammerditch, and Le Fevre nodded.
Did he give you a written order?
He did not. He didn't think it was necessary.
I have received a written order—or rather, a written request, for it.
At this both of the visitors were dumfounded.
A written order? gasped Hammerditch.
Yes.
By mail?
No, a young man brought it.
Ze order must be von forgery! came from the French Canadian.
Certainly it must be a forgery, added his companion.
It is no forgery, gentlemen.
The voice came from the rear doorway, and Robert confronted them.
Who are you? demanded Hammerditch roughly.
My name is Robert Frost.
I never heard of you before.
I am a friend to Mr. Richard Marden, the nephew of Felix Amberton.
And you come for ze map? queried Jean Le Fevre.
Yes.
It's an outrage! burst out Hammerditch. "The map belongs to us."
No, it belongs to Mr. Wenrich.
What do you intend to do with it?
I intend to turn it over to Mr. Amberton and Mr. Marden.
It will do them no good.
I think it will.
Amberton shall never have that timber land.
How will you stop him?
Never mind, he shall never have it.
We haf ze other map, said Le Fevre.
There isn't any other map, put in Herman Wenrich.
Yes, there is, said Hammerditch.
Perhaps it's one you had made down to Cresson & Page, said Robert, mentioning the firm of mapmakers, to whom he had applied for a situation.
Both Le Fevre and Hammerditch were amazed.
What do you know of that? demanded the Englishman.
He haf played ze part of a spy! hissed the French Canadian.
I have spied upon nobody. I was at Cresson & Page's place when you came there, and I couldn't help overhear what you said about the map.
Bah, he is a spy, sure enough, ejaculated Hammerditch, in disgust. "Jean, we have played into the hands of our enemies."
Zat is so, but it shall do zem no good, answered the Canadian. "We haf better git back to Timberville as soon as possible," he added, in a whisper.
I reckon you are about right, said Hammerditch. He bowed himself toward the door.
You are going? asked Herman Wenrich.
Yes, we are going. You have played us for a pair of fools, replied the Englishman.
He ran down the stairs, with Le Fevre at his heels. Soon both were outside and stalking up the street rapidly. Robert began to laugh.
They are a pair of rascals, he remarked. "I am awfully glad I outwitted them."
So am I glad, answered Herman Wenrich.
And I am glad, too, said Nettie, with a bright smile. "But if I were you I wouldn't lose any time in getting to Timberville with the map."
I will leave this afternoon, answered the boy.
Robert found that the afternoon boat for Muskegon left at half past three, so there was still time left in which to get back to Mrs. Gibbs' house for a late dinner.
At the boarding house he found a short note from Livingston Palmer.
"Mr. Gray is going to go into business again," it read; "with one office here and another in New York. He is going to take me back and he says you can return too, if you desire."
That's nice, thought Robert. "But I'll have to see Dick Marden before I decide upon what's best to do next."
While waiting for dinner he penned a hasty reply to the note, and also a letter to his mother. In the latter he mentioned that he had seen Palmer, and that his step-father had called upon him, and urged her to keep her financial affairs entirely under her own control. He was careful to send the letter in care of Mr. Blarcomb, for personal delivery only.
She'll get that, I know, he said to himself. "And I hope it does some good."
At the proper time our hero went down to the dock and boarded the Arrow, as the steamer was named. He found about two hundred passengers besides himself bound for Muskegon and other points along the Michigan shore. Besides passengers the Arrow carried a large quantity of baggage and freight.
The distance from Chicago to Muskegon is about one hundred and twenty-five miles. The Arrow was rather a slow boat and did not reach the latter point until some time in the early morning, so that Robert must spend a night on board. This being so, he lost no time in obtaining a berth.
He had just turned away from the clerk's office when he saw two men approaching. They were Hammerditch and Le Fevre.
Hullo, they are going too, he thought, and was about to step out of sight, when the Englishman espied him.
Humph! so you are going with us, said the man, with a scowl.
Not with you, answered Robert quietly. "I believe this is a public boat."
You have been following us again.
Excuse me, Mr. Hammerditch, but I never followed you in my life.
Then why are you on this boat?
Because I am going to take a trip in her.
To Muskegon?
That is my affair.
I suppose if we get off at Muskegon you will get off too.
Perhaps I shall.
Don't you know that you may get into a good deal of trouble through following us, young man?
As I said before, I am not following you. I have my own business to attend to and I am attending to it.
Bah, do you think we will believe zat, burst in Jean Le Fevre. "You are von spy. Perhaps you are von—vot you call heem?—von detective."
At this Robert laughed. "No, I am no detective. Only a young fellow out for business."
Zen you are on ze way to Timberville, hey?
If I am that is my business.
At this the French Canadian began to dance around and shook his fist in Robert's face.
I know you! he shouted. "But ve vill see who comes out best! Ha! ve vill see zat!"
Hush! interrupted Hammerditch. "Don't raise a disturbance on the boat," and he led his companion away to the upper deck.
I shall have to keep my eye on them, thought Robert. "That Frenchmen wouldn't like anything better than to get into a fight. I might fight one of them, but I don't think I could get the best of both."
Once on the upper deck and away from observation, Hammerditch began to talk earnestly to his companion.
We made a mistake by quarreling with him, he said.
I cannot see eet, muttered Le Fevre.
If we had made friends with him he might have shown us the map.
Ha! zat is so.
I would give a good lot to get hold of the map, continued the Englishman. "Our false map may help us some, but that real map ought to be out of the way."
At this Le Fevre clutched his companion by the arm.
I haf an idee, he whispered. "Let us see if ze boy has got a stateroom."
We can find that out at the office.
And if he is to sleep alone.
All right.
A little later they went to the office and looked over the register.
Here he is—Robert Frost, room 45, said Hammerditch.
Anybody else in zat room?
They looked over the register, but could find nobody else.
He will haf ze room all to himself, chuckled Jean Le Fevre. "Now if I can find a way to open ze door——"
You mean to search his valise for the map?
To be sure.
A good idea. We must work the plan, by all means, replied Hammerditch.
In the meantime Robert had gone to the bow of the boat and was enjoying the sea breeze.
Presently the clerk of the boat came up, followed by two burly Germans.
I believe this is Mr. Robert Frost, said the clerk.
That's my name, answered Robert, wondering what was wanted.
These gentlemen are brothers and desire a stateroom together, explained the clerk. "If you do not mind I would like to put you in stateroom No. 50, along with a very nice gentleman named Porter, and give these gentlemen No. 45. Otherwise I will have to put one of them with you and one with Mr. Porter. They prefer to be together."
It vill pe a great favor, said one of the Germans politely.
All right, I would just as lief go in with the gentleman you mentioned, answered Robert.
Dank you very mooch, said the German.
You vos very kind, added his brother.
All right then, that's settled, said the clerk. "Mr. Frost, I will have your baggage transferred, if you will give me your key."
I will transfer the baggage myself and take a look at the other stateroom, rejoined Robert.
Our hero and the clerk went below, and Robert took his bag to stateroom No. 50, which was better than the other. Mr. Porter sat outside of the door reading a newspaper, and the clerk introduced the pair. The stranger proved to be a Chicago hardware merchant on his way into Michigan on a business trip.
I am glad to know you, he said, smiling pleasantly. "I hate to travel alone when there is the chance of an agreeable companion."
Thank you! I think I can say the same, replied Robert, with a smile.
The boy retired at ten o'clock, and Mr. Porter with him. Soon Robert was sound asleep.
The Germans had gone to bed early, and both were in the land of dreams and snoring lustily when Jean Le Fevre and Hammerditch stole up to the door of stateroom 45.
This is the one, whispered the French Canadian. "I was lucky to get the pincers, hey?"
Hush, make no noise, the boy may be awake, said the Englishman, warningly.
While Hammerditch stood on guard Le Fevre inserted a small pincers in the key-hole of the door and managed to turn the key, which was stuck in from the other side.
Then the Frenchman opened the door several inches.
Ha! he is snoring loudly—he is fast asleep, he thought, not noticing that two persons were in the stateroom instead of one, for the German in the upper berth happened just then to be silent.
In the dim light the French Canadian made out a valise standing on the floor and grabbed it hastily. Then he came away, shutting the door behind him.
I haf eet! he whispered. "Come!" And he almost ran for the stateroom assigned to him and Hammerditch. Once inside, the pair secured the door and then turned up the light.
It's a mighty rusty-looking bag, was the Englishman's comment. "Have you got the key?"
It ees in ze lock, answered La Fevre.
Soon the valise was opened, and out tumbled a few articles of dirty underwear and a pair of embroidered slippers.
I don't see any map! exclaimed Hammerditch, in disgust.
'Tis ze wrong bag! groaned the French Canadian. "See, ze clothing is too big for a boy, and so are ze slippers."
You've made a mess of it, answered his companion. "Better take that bag back or there'll be a jolly row all for nothing."
Much crestfallen, Le Fevre took the bag back. On his second visit he saw both Germans, and he retreated even more speedily than he had on his first trip to the stateroom.
The cake is dough, announced Hammerditch. "But though we are foiled this time, we must get that map away from the boy, no matter at what cost."