At length the little party reached Sacramento. This was already a place of some importance, as it was in the neighborhood of the mining region, and it was here that mining parties obtained their outfits and came at intervals to bring their gold dust and secure supplies. Situated, as it was, on the Sacramento River, with communication with San Francisco by water, it was, besides, the starting-point of numberless lines of stages bound for the different mines. For a town of its size the activity seemed almost incredible. The party went to a hotel, where, for very indifferent accommodations, they were charged five dollars a day. To the blacksmith, accustomed to village prices, this seemed exorbitant.
“We needn’t engage board till night,“ suggested 133Tom. “We’ll take our meals at a restaurant till then.”
They were all hungry, and this suggestion seemed a good one. Looking about, Tom found a small, one-story building, on the front of which was this sign:
METROPOLITAN HOTEL AND RESTAURANT.
“What do you ask for breakfast?” inquired Tom, entering.
“A dollar a head!”
“A dollar!” repeated Mrs. Cooper, in dismay.
“Tom,” said Mr. Cooper, “I haven’t had a civilized meal or sat down at a table for months. No matter what it costs, I’m going to have breakfast now.”
“All right, father! I guess I can do my share of eating.”
Grant listened with dismay to the announcement of prices. Of all the money he had brought with him he had but ten dollars left. How long would it last?
“Grant, are you going to join us?” asked Tom.
134“I don’t know as I can afford it,” answered Grant anxiously.
“We can’t any of us afford it,” returned Mr. Cooper. “Sit down, boy, and we’ll borrow trouble afterward.”
“Now,” said Mr. Cooper, as he rose from the table, “I’ll take a turn round the town and see what information I can gain. I’ll turn in the wagon into the yard alongside. Mrs. Cooper, will you keep your eye on it while the rest of us go on a tour of inspection? I don’t think the oxen will be likely to run away,” he added jocosely.
“All right, father.”
Mr. Cooper, Tom, and Grant set out in different directions.
Grant started on his walk feeling sober, if not depressed. Here he was, two thousand miles from his old home, with only nine dollars in his pocket, and the prices for living extortionate. How was he to get to the mines? Before he could get ready to leave Sacramento his money would be exhausted. Since he left home, four months before, Grant hadn’t felt so perplexed and disturbed.
135He had walked only five minutes, when he found himself in front of the Sacramento Hotel, the largest in the place.
Half a dozen stages were in the street outside, each drawn by four horses, and each bearing the name of some mining camp to which it proposed to carry passengers. The drivers were calling lustily for recruits. This was what Grant heard—“All aboard for Hangtown! Only four seats left! Who’s going to Gold Gulch? Now’s your chance! Get you through in six hours. Start in fifteen minutes for Frost’s Bar! Richest diggings, within fifty miles!”
“I wonder what they charge,” thought Grant. “I’ll ask.” He went up to the stage bound for Weaver Creek, and inquired the fare.
“Carry you through for ten dollars,” was the reply. “Jump aboard. We’ll start in half an hour.”
“No,” answered Grant slowly. “I shan’t be ready by that time. Besides, I have only nine dollars.”
“I’ll take you to Frost’s Bar for that,” said the driver of the Frost’s Bar stage.
136“I suppose you will,” interposed the Weaver Creek driver with a sneer. “Your regular charge is only seven dollars. You want to cheat the boy out of two dollars.”
This led to an altercation between the rival drivers, in which some blows were exchanged, but neither was hurt. Before they had finished Grant had passed on. He knew that, with his limited capital, he could not afford to go to either place and arrive at the mines without a penny.
An hour later Grant was surprised to come across Tom sawing and splitting wood in front of a restaurant.
“What are you doing, Tom?” he asked, in surprise.
“Earning some money,” answered Tom complacently.
“How much will you get for the job?” asked Grant.
“Three dollars and my dinner. It won’t take me more than three hours to finish up the job. What do you think of that?”
“I’d like a job like it. I’m getting alarmed at the high prices here in Sacramento. I don’t know what I am going to do.”
“How much have you got left?”
“Only nine dollars, and it will cost me that to get to the nearest mines.”
138“That’s bad!” said Tom, looking perplexed. “Perhaps father’ll lend you some.”
Grant shook his head.
“I don’t want to borrow of him,” he said. “He will have all he can do to look out for himself and your mother.”
“I don’t know but he will.”
“I guess I’ll get along somehow,” said Grant, with assumed cheerfulness.
“If I can help you, Grant, I will; but it isn’t like being out on the plains. It didn’t cost so much there for living.”
At this point a stout man came to the door of the restaurant. It was the proprietor.
“How are you getting on with the wood?” he asked Tom.
“Pretty well.”
“Whenever you want your dinner you can stop short and come in.”
“Thank you. I took a late breakfast, and will finish the job first.”
“Who is the boy—your brother?”
“No; it’s a friend of mine.”
“Do you want a job?” asked the proprietor, turning to Grant.
139“Yes, if it’s anything I can do.”
“One of my waiters has left me and gone to the mines. The rascal left without notice, and I am short-handed. Did you ever wait in a restaurant?”
“No, sir.”
“Never mind, you’ll soon learn. Will you take the job?”
“How much do you pay?”
“Three dollars a day and board.”
“I’ll take it,” said Grant promptly.
“Come right in, then.”
Grant followed his new employer into the Eldorado restaurant, and received instructions. It may seem easy enough to wait on guests at an eating-house, but, like everything else, an apprenticeship is needful. Here, however, it was easier than in a New York or Chicago restaurant, as the bill of fare was limited, and neither the memory nor the hands were taxed as severely as would have been the case elsewhere. Grant was supplied with an apron, and began work at once. When Tom got through his job, and came in for dinner it was Grant who waited upon him.
140Tom smiled.
“It seems queer to have you waiting upon me, Grant,” he said. “How do you like it as far as you’ve got?”
“There’s other things I would like better, Tom, but I think I’m lucky to get this.”
“Yes; yours is a more permanent job than mine. I’m through.”
“Just tell your father and mother where I am,” said Grant. “I hear I’m to sleep in the restaurant.”
“That’ll save the expense of a bed. How long do you think you’ll keep at it, Grant?”
“A month, perhaps, if I suit well enough. By that time I’ll have money enough to go to the mines.”
“Then you haven’t given that up?”
“No; I came out to California to dig gold, and I shan’t be satisfied till I get at it.”
When meal hours were over that afternoon Grant started out for a stroll through the town. As he was passing the Morning Star saloon a rough, bearded fellow, already under the influence of liquor, seized him by the arm.
“Come in, boy, and have a drink,” he said.
141Grant shrank from him with a repugnance he could not conceal.
“No, thank you!” he answered. “I don’t drink.”
“But you’ve got to drink,” hiccoughed his new acquaintance.
In reply Grant tried to tear himself away, but he could not release the strong grip the man had on his coat-sleeve.
“Come along, boy; it’s no use. Do you want to insult me?”
“No, I don’t,” said Grant; “but I never drink.”
“Are you a temperance sneak?” was the next question. “Don’t make no difference. When Bill Turner wants you to drink, you must drink—or fight. Want to fight?”
“No.”
“Then come in.”
Against his will Grant was dragged into the saloon, where half a dozen fellows were leaning against the bar.
“Couple of whiskeys—straight—for me and the kid,” ordered Grant’s companion, as he came to a standstill in front of the bar.
“None for me!” said Grant quickly.
But, all the same, two glasses were set out, and the bottle placed beside them.
“Pour it out!” said the miner to the barkeeper. “I’m afraid the boy will get away.”
The barkeeper, with a smile, followed directions, and the two glasses were filled.
The miner tossed his off at a single gulp, but Grant left his standing.
“Why don’t you drink, boy?” demanded his companion, with an oath.
“I told you I wouldn’t,” said Grant angrily.
“We’ll see if you won’t,” said the miner, and, seizing the glass, he attempted to pour it 143down Grant’s throat, but his arm was unsteady from the potations he had already indulged in, and the whiskey was spilled, partly on the floor, and partly on the boy’s clothes. Grant seized this opportunity to dash out of the saloon, with the miner after him. Fortunately for him, Bill Turner, as he called himself, tripped and fell, lying prostrate for a moment, an interval which Grant improved to so good purpose that, by the time the miner was again on his feet, he was well out of harm’s way.
“I thought the drinking habit was bad enough at home,” thought Grant; “but no one ever tried to make me drink before.”
And now we will go back and see how it fared with Mr. Cooper.
Some quarter of a mile from the Metropolitan Hotel and Restaurant his attention was drawn to a blacksmith’s shop. That was his own line of business, and he felt a curiosity to interview his California brother-workman.
Entering, he saw a stout, black-bearded man in the act of shoeing a horse.
“Good-morning, friend,” he said.
144“Good-morning, stranger.”
“I thought I’d take a look in, as you are in my line of business.”
“Is that so?” asked the blacksmith, looking up with interest. “How long since you arrived?”
“Just got in this morning.”
“Going to stay in Sacramento?”
“I am ready for anything that will bring money. I suppose I shall go to the mines.”
“Humph! Why not buy me out, and carry on your old business in Sacramento?”
“Do you want to sell?” asked Jerry Cooper, surprised.
“Yes; I want a little change. I might go to the mines myself.”
“Can’t you make money blacksmithing?” asked Cooper cautiously.
“Yes; that isn’t my reason. I haven’t seen anything of the country yet. I bought out this shop as soon as I reached Sacramento, and I’ve been at work steady. I want a change.”
“How well does it pay you?”
“I get big prices. A dollar for a single shoe, 145and I have all I can do. Why, how much money do you think I have made since I took the shop, a year since?”
“I can’t tell.”
“I’ve laid up three thousand dollars, besides paying all expenses.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the blacksmith, impressed.
“Yes; I shan’t make as much money at the mines probably, but it’ll be a change, and not so hard work.”
“Then you want to sell out?”
“Yes.”
“What will you take?”
“A thousand dollars. That buys the shop, too. It’s dirt cheap.”
“It may be, but I haven’t the money.”
“I will take half cash, and a mortgage for the balance.”
“Suppose I bought, is there a house near by where I can live?”
“What family have you?”
“A wife and son; but I suppose Tom will want to go to the mines.”
“There is a cabin across the street with 146three rooms. It is empty. You can hire it for fifty dollars a month, likely.”
“Fifty dollars a month for a cabin with three rooms!” ejaculated Cooper.
“Yes; or you can buy it for five hundred dollars, I expect.”
“Seems to me prices are pretty steep in Sacramento.”
“So they are; but you can get rich faster than at home, in spite of the high prices.”
“Well, that’s a consideration, certainly. How much time will you give me to consider your offer?”
“Till to-morrow.”
“I’ll let you know by that time.”
Jerry Cooper walked away in a state of excitement. He felt that he would rather stay in Sacramento and carry on his own old business, with which he was thoroughly acquainted, than undertake gold-mining, of which he knew nothing. He was a man of fifty, and was not so enterprising as he had been when half the age.
“It seems a good chance,” he reflected. “But how will I get the money?”
147He had five hundred dollars left, perhaps more; but all this would have to be paid down for the shop, without leaving anything to provide for his family in the interval before he got to earning an income.
“If I only had the money I would take the shop,” he said to himself. “I wonder if I could borrow any. I might send home for some, but it would come too late.”
He walked slowly back to the hotel and restaurant.
In front of it Mrs. Cooper was waiting for him.
“I’m glad you’ve come, father,” she said. “I was afraid you would be gone all day.”
“Were you discontented, mother?”
“No; it isn’t that; but I’ve had an offer for the wagon and oxen.”
“You have?”
“Yes; quarter of an hour after you went away a man came in and inquired of the landlord who owned the team. He was referred to me, and asked me if I wanted to sell. I told him I didn’t know what your plan might be, but finally he offered me eight hundred 148dollars, or a thousand if Dobbin were thrown in.”
“You should have accepted,” exclaimed her husband excitedly.
“I didn’t dare to. I didn’t know what you would say. But he’s coming back again, and—there he is!”
Fifteen minutes later the bargain was struck and the money paid, cash down.
“That settles it!” decided the blacksmith. “Mother and I will stay in Sacramento.”
The next morning, as Grant was enjoying a few minutes’ rest, breakfast being over, he was surprised by the entrance of Giles Crosmont. It seemed pleasant to see a familiar face.
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Crosmont,” he said warmly. “Will you have breakfast?”
“No; I am staying at the hotel and have already breakfasted. I have come in to see you.”
“I am glad to see you, sir. I was afraid we would not meet again. How did you know where to find me?”
“I met Tom Cooper on the street early this morning.”
“Tom has gone to the mines.”
“So he told me. That is, he told me he was to start this morning. You intended to go to the mines, did you not?”
150“Yes, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you go?”
“I hadn’t money enough,” answered Grant candidly.
“That needn’t have prevented your going.”
Grant looked inquiringly at Mr. Crosmont.
“I mean that I would have lent you a hundred dollars. That would have been enough, wouldn’t it?”
“It would have been ample. You are very kind, Mr. Crosmont.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I have more money than I know what to do with.”
“But I might never have been able to repay you.”
“I would have taken the risk of that. Besides, to be frank, I should have intended the money as a gift, not a loan.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Grant gratefully. “I never met such kindness before.”
“Do you wish to give up your situation, and go to the mines at once?”
“No, sir. I enjoy feeling that I am so well paid for my labor. You see I never earned 151much before; Mr. Tarbox only gave me my board.”
“And how much are you paid for your services here?”
“Three dollars a day and my board,” answered Grant proudly.
“That is indeed high pay for a boy of your age. If you will let me advise you, don’t let it make you extravagant. Don’t form the habit of gambling. I notice there are several gambling saloons here.”
“No, sir, I won’t. I know nothing about cards.”
“You could soon learn.”
“Thank you for your advice, Mr. Crosmont.”
“I give it because I feel an interest in you, Grant. I can’t explain why, for I have met a good many young persons in my travels, and never was drawn to any one as I am drawn to you.”
“I am glad to have so good a friend, Mr. Crosmont,” said Grant earnestly.
“And I am glad to have found some one in whom I can feel an interest. I begin to feel that there is some object in living.”
152“Are you going to remain in Sacramento, Mr. Crosmont?”
“No, I start this afternoon for San Francisco.”
Grant’s countenance fell. Just as he had ascertained how true and reliable a friend Mr. Crosmont was, he was destined to part with him.
“Then I shall not see you again,” he said soberly.
“I hope you will, Grant,” returned Mr. Crosmont, with a friendly smile. “Indeed, I mean that you shall. I don’t propose to lose sight of you. How long do you think you shall remain in your present employment?”
“One month, and possibly two. I would like to get a good sum of money together before I start. I shall need to buy a few things.”
“What things?”
“Some underclothing, a new pair of shoes, and a new suit. The clothes I have on were pretty well worn out by the trip across the plains.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that. I will 153take your directions on the size, and send you what you need from San Francisco.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Crosmont. It will save me a good deal of money.”
“You will need all the money you can earn. Now I will give you my address in San Francisco, and if you have any occasion to ask help or advice write unhesitatingly. I shall travel a part of the time, but I shall always answer your letters as soon as I receive them.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You have no father. Look upon me as a father or guardian, whichever you please. This will be my address.”
He took a card from his pocket, and wrote upon it, under his name, “Care of C.D. Vossler, Jeweler, Market St., San Francisco.”
“Mr. Vossler is an old friend of mine,” he said, “and he will take care of any letters that come directed in this way. I don’t know where I shall put up, so that it will be best always to address me, when you write, in his care.”
“Thank you, sir. I will remember.”
154“Yes; don’t lose the card.”
Mr. Crosmont left the restaurant, and Grant did not again see him before his departure. He felt cheered to think he had found such a friend. Two thousand miles from home, it was worth a good deal to think that, if he were sick or got into trouble he had a friend who would stand by him, and to whom he could apply for help or advice.
The next day, in an hour which was given him during the time when business was slack, Grant went round to see Mr. Cooper.
He found the blacksmith busy in his shop. He had bought the little cabin opposite, and his family had already moved in.
“It didn’t take me long to get established, Grant,” he said with a well-satisfied smile.
“No, sir. I was quite taken by surprise to hear it.”
“I did a good thing in coming to California. I am convinced of that. Why, Grant, how much do you think I took in for work yesterday?”
“Ten dollars,” suggested Grant.
“Better than that—seventeen! Why, at 155this rate, I shall be able to buy back my old place in a year out of my savings.”
“I am glad to hear of your good luck, Mr. Cooper.”
“You have got employment, too, Grant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How much are you paid?”
“My board and three dollars a day.”
“Why, that’s fine, and you only sixteen years old, too. I shall be well pleased if Tom does as well at the mines.”
“If he does well, I expect to join him in a month or two.”
“I don’t know as it’s wise. Perhaps you had better stay where you are.”
“I might not make as much money, but I should not be satisfied to come to California and not go to the mines.”
“That’s just exactly what I am going to do. Me and mother are better off in Sacramento. However, you are young, and that makes a difference.”
“I must leave you now, Mr. Cooper, and get back to business.”
“Are you a good deal confined?”
156“Yes, that’s the worst of it. I have to be at the restaurant in the evening till ten o’clock, but I can get off for an hour every afternoon.”
“Well, come out and see us often. I would invite you to come and take supper some night, but I suppose you couldn’t accept.”
“No, Mr. Cooper, thanking you just the same.”
“You haven’t been homesick yet, Grant, have you?”
“No; except the first day, when I didn’t know how I was coming out.”
“And you wouldn’t like to be back on Mr. Tarbox’s farm again?”
“Not much; but I should like to see mother again, if only for a few minutes.”
“If you do well, and carry home a good sum of money, you can make things comfortable for her, you know.”
“That’s what I am thinking of all the time.”
Grant took leave of the blacksmith and went back to work. He was glad to think he had some one to call upon who reminded him of home. He worked long hours, though the 157labor could not be considered hard. There was one other waiter beside himself, a young man of twenty-five, named Albert Benton. He was thin and dark-complexioned, and Grant, without being able to explain why, conceived a dislike to him. He saw that Benton was inclined to shirk work, though he received higher pay than his young associate. He was paid five dollars per day and had a room outside. Mr. Smithson, the proprietor of the restaurant, had desired him to sleep in a small room over the restaurant, but he had declined to do so. Upon this the same request was made of Grant, and he complied, glad to save the price of lodging elsewhere. When the restaurant closed at ten o’clock, frequently Grant would go out for a short walk, as it was a relief to breathe the fresh outside air after being confined in the close atmosphere of the eating-house during the day and evening. Generally he and Benton went out together, but his companion soon left him, finding a simple walk entirely too slow and unexciting for his taste.
It struck Grant as strange that his fellow waiter, though he received five dollars a day, never seemed to have any money on hand. More than once he had borrowed a couple of dollars of Grant, which, however, he always repaid.
“What can he do with his money?” thought Grant. “He gets very little chance to spend it, for he is confined in the restaurant from twelve to fourteen hours a day.”
The mystery was solved when, one night, he saw Benton entering a notorious gambling saloon not far from the restaurant.
“So that is where he disposes of his money,” reflected Grant. “I wish I could venture to give him a hint. But probably he would pay it no attention, as I am a boy considerably younger than he.”
159He did, however, find occasion for speaking soon afterward.
“Have you ever been to the mines, Mr. Benton?” he asked.
“No.”
“Don’t you ever expect to go?”
“I would go in a minute if I had money enough.”
“I should think you might save money enough in a month or two. You get good pay.”
“It’s tiresome saving from one’s daily pay. I want to make a strike. Some day I shall. I might win five hundred dollars in the next week. When I do I’ll bid the old man good-by, and set out for the mines.”
“I believe in saving. A friend of mine, now in San Francisco, warned me to keep clear of the gambling-houses, and I would be sure to get on.”
Albert Benton regarded Grant suspiciously.
“Does the boy know I gamble, I wonder?” he said to himself.
“Your friend’s an old fogy,” he said, contemptuously.
160“Don’t you think his advice good?”
“Well, yes; I don’t believe in gambling to any extent, but I have been in once or twice. It did me no harm.”
If he had told the truth, he would have said that he went to the gambling-house nearly every evening.
“It’s safest to keep away, I think.”
“Well, yes, perhaps it is, for a kid like you.”
No more was said at the time. But something happened soon which involved both Benton and his associate.
Mr. Smithson, the proprietor, began to find that his receipts fell off. This puzzled him, for it appeared to him that the restaurant was doing as good a business as ever. He mentioned the matter to the senior waiter.
“Benton,” said he, “last week I took in fifty dollars less than usual.”
“Is that so?” asked Benton indifferently.
“Yes; I can’t understand it. Has the trade fallen off any, do you think?”
“Really, I can’t say. It seemed about the same as usual—that is, the number of customers did.”
161“So it seemed to me.”
“Perhaps they ordered less. Now I think of it, I feel sure that they did.”
“That might explain it partially, but not so large a falling off.”
“I suppose you haven’t thought of any other solution of the question?” said Benton, slowly scrutinizing the face of his employer.
“Have you?”
“Well, sir, I have, but I don’t like to mention it.”
“Out with it!”
“I don’t know anything, sir.”
“If you suspect anything, it’s your duty to tell me.”
“Well, perhaps it is, but I might be doing injustice to Grant.”
“Ha! what has Grant to do with it?”
“Nothing that I know of.”
“Good Heavens, man, don’t tantalize me in this way. What do you suspect?”
“Well, sir, the boy always appears to have money.”
“He seems to be economical, and I pay him well. That counts for nothing.”
162“No, sir, but—some one told me that he had seen him entering a gambling-house on the street.”
“Ha! that would account for his needing a good deal of money. By the way, do you ever enter such places?”
“I have entered out of curiosity, sir,” answered Benton, with a burst of candor. “I wanted to see what they were like.”
“Better keep out of them altogether.”
“No doubt you are right, sir.”
“But about the boy—have you ever seen him take anything from the drawer?”
“I couldn’t be sure of it, but once when he was alone I entered suddenly, and saw him near the drawer. He flushed up and came away in a hurry. I couldn’t swear that he took anything.”
However, Benton’s tone implied that he felt sure of it all the same, and so it impressed Mr. Smithson.
“Did you have any recommendations with Grant?” inquired Benton, in an insinuating tone.
“No; but, then, I had none with you, either.”
163“That is true. Still, I hope you have confidence in me.”
“I know of no reason why I should not. Do you know if Grant drinks?”
“I don’t think he drinks much.”
“Does he drink at all?” asked Smithson curtly.
“One evening I saw him coming out of a drinking saloon pretty well loaded. That is the only time, however.”
“It was once too often. Benton, I have been greatly deceived in that fellow. I thought him a model boy.”
“So did I, sir, and I don’t think he is very bad now. Perhaps he has been a little indiscreet.”
“It is very kind of you to excuse him; but if what you say is true, I shall not be able to retain him in my employment.”
“Give him a little more time. Remember that I know nothing positive to his discredit. He may not have taken the money.”
This half-hearted defence of Grant led Mr. Smithson to think that Benton was his friend and spoke against him unwillingly. It never 164occurred to him that his senior waiter was only seeking to divert suspicion from himself.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll keep him on a week longer. Perhaps something may occur in that time to confirm my suspicions or discredit them.”
The result of this conversation was that the restaurant keeper was all but convinced that Grant was a sly young villain and was secretly robbing him. He had a friend, however, who had once been a detective in St. Louis, though now engaged in a different business in Sacramento.
He sought him out and told him the story.
Vincent listened attentively.
“It looks bad for the boy; don’t you think so?” Smithson asked.
“Yes, if all is true that is said against him. But who says it?”
“Albert Benton.”
“The old waiter?”
“Yes.”
“You have never yourself seen the boy drunk, or coming out of a gambling-house?”
“No.”
165“Then all the testimony to that effect is that of the man Benton?”
“Yes.”
“May not Benton have an object in slandering the boy?”
“He seemed very reluctant to say anything against him.”
“That may be all artfulness, and to divert suspicion from himself.”
“You surely don’t think he would rob me?”
“Why not?”
“He has been in my employ for a year.”
“Then he ought by this time to have a good deal of money saved up—that is, if his habits are good.”
“I am sure he has not.”
“What evidence have you on the subject?”
“At one time, three months since, I thought of selling out the restaurant, and asked Benton if he didn’t want to buy it.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“That he hadn’t got fifty dollars in the world.”
“How much do you pay him?”
166“Five dollars a day and his board.”
“Whew! and he spends all that?”
“He seems to.”
“Look here, Smithson, you are on the wrong tack. He is the thief, and not the boy.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Leave the matter in my hands, and I will prove it to you.”
“How!”
“I shall follow Benton in the evening, and see how he spends his time and money. But you must be careful not to let him know that he is suspected. If anything is said of the disappearance of money, tell him that you attribute it to decrease in trade.”
“All right; I will do as you suggest.”
“He doesn’t know me, and will not imagine that I am watching him.”
Two days later Albert Benton, a little anxious to know whether he had himself eluded suspicion, asked his employer: “Have you found out anything about the lost money?”
“I am not sure that any has been lost,” answered Smithson carelessly.
167“Have you watched the boy?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t look to me like a thief. It may be, after all, that we are doing less business.”
“Yes, sir; that’s very likely,” responded Benton, glad that his employer was disposed to regard the matter from this point of view.
“I don’t like to think that any one in my employ would rob me.”
“Very true, sir. It would be a great shame.”
“It’s all right!” thought Benton complacently. “It is better so. I don’t care to have the boy discharged. Some one might succeed him whom I couldn’t hoodwink so easily.”
Judging that his employer’s suspicions were allayed, Benton ventured to take two five-dollar bills from the till before he went out in the evening. Currency was at that time mixed, and bills, as well as gold and silver, were in circulation.
He left the restaurant at the usual time. It so happened that Grant had something to do and did not go out with him. Benton, therefore, went at once to the gambling-house which he was in the habit of frequenting.
“I’m getting tired of being cooped up in the restaurant day after day,” he said impatiently. “Why can’t I make a strike? If I could scoop in four hundred dollars to-night I would leave Sacramento and go to the mines. Then I might strike it rich and carry home ten thousand dollars, as Grant’s friend did.”
Grant had told him the story of John Heywood’s 169good fortune, and it had impressed him.
“If a clodhopper like that can make a fortune, why shouldn’t I?” he asked himself.
So his purpose to go to the mines and try his luck was strengthened. If he had begun six months before to save money, he would have had enough to start before this, but Albert Benton was one of those who despised small and steady savings, and are always on the lookout to “make a strike,” as he termed it.
“That boy won’t spy on me to-night,” he said to himself. “I must be careful. If the old man knew where I spent my evenings he would smell a rat. I wonder how much I’ve taken from the drawer in the last three months. Fully as much as my wages, I expect. Well, he can stand it. He’s making plenty of money, anyhow.”
It was in this way that he excused his thefts. Yet he felt that he would like to leave the restaurant and put himself in the way of making that fortune for which he yearned.
Though Grant was not in the street to see 170where he went, there was another who quietly noticed his movements and followed his steps. This was John Vincent, the ex-detective. From the first he had suspected Benton and doubted Grant’s guilt. He was a man skilled in physiognomy, and he had studied Benton’s face and formed a pretty accurate estimation of his real character.
“If Benton hasn’t robbed my friend Smithson’s till, then I lose my guess,” he said to himself.
He did not, however, say much of his suspicions to the keeper of the restaurant, who, he saw, was disposed to consider Grant the guilty party. He waited till he had some evidence to offer in confirmation of his theory.
When Benton entered the gambling-house Vincent followed close behind him. Benton saw him, but did not know that he was a special friend of Mr. Smithson.
Vincent placed himself at a neighboring table in such a position that he could watch Benton. He saw him take out one of the bills which he had abstracted from the till, and stake it.
171“What do you put down paper for?” asked a man beside him. “Gold is better.”
“Bills are just as good,” said Benton.
“I will give you gold for bills,” said Vincent. “I want to send some money to the East.”
“All right, and thank you,” said Benton. “Here are two fives.”
“And here are two gold pieces,” said Vincent.
There was a secret look of elation on his face as he received the bills, and furtively noticed a red cross on the back of each. They had been secretly marked by himself as a trap to catch the thief, whoever he might be.
“Now I have you, my man,” he thought. “This is the evidence I have been looking for. It settles the question of Benton’s guilt and Grant’s innocence.”
Vincent played two or three times for slight stakes, and rose from the table after a while neither a loser nor a winner.
He did not go immediately, but stayed, like many others, simply as a looker on.
“Won’t you join us?” asked Benton.
172“No; I must go away soon. I want to write a letter. I only dropped in for a few minutes.”
Albert Benton played with unusual good fortune. He had been in the habit of bewailing his poor luck, but to-night the fates seemed to favor him. The little pile of gold before him gradually increased, until he had four hundred and seventy-five dollars.
“Twenty-five dollars more, and then I will stop,” he said. “To-morrow I will give notice to Smithson and get ready to leave Sacramento.”
But instead of winning the sum desired, he began to lose. He lost twenty-five dollars, and in desperation staked fifty. Should he win he would still have five hundred dollars, and then he would leave off. Upon that he was quite determined. But again he lost. He bit his lips, his face flushed, his hands trembled, and there was a gleam of excitement in his eye. He had no thought of leaving off now. It must be five hundred dollars or nothing!
There is no need to follow him through his 173mutations of luck. At the end of an hour he rose from the table without a dollar. He had enough, however, to buy a glass of whiskey, which he gulped down, and then staggered out of the gambling-house.
“I was so near, and yet I lost!” he said to himself bitterly. “Why didn’t I keep the four hundred and seventy-five dollars when I had it, and get the other from the restaurant? I have been a fool—a besotted fool!”
He pulled down his hat over his eyes and bent his steps homeward, where he tossed all night, unable to sleep.
But in the morning his courage returned.
“After all,” he reflected, “I am only ten dollars worse off than when I entered the gambling house, and that was money I took from Smithson. I’ve had a pretty good lesson. The next time fortune smiles upon me I’ll make sure of what I have won, and leave off in time.”
Vincent went straight from the gambling-house to the house of his friend Smithson. The latter came down stairs half dressed and let him in.
174“What brought you here so late?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Because I have some news for you.”
“What is it? Nothing bad, I hope.”
“Oh, no; it is only that I have found the thief who has been robbing you.”
“It is the boy, then, as I thought,” said Smithson eagerly.
“No, it isn’t the boy.”
“Who, then?”
“Who else is there? It is Albert Benton.”
“Are you sure of this?” asked Smithson, dumfounded.
“Yes; there is no doubt of it.”
“Come in and tell me how you found out.” Vincent entered and sat down on a chair in the front room.
“I will tell you,” he answered. “I took the liberty to go to your money drawer and mark four bills this afternoon. I marked them with a red cross on the right-hand corner of the reverse side. Well, Benton took two of those bills with him this evening when he stopped work.”
“How do you know?”
175“I was near by when he left the restaurant. I followed him at a distance, and saw him enter Poole’s gambling-house.”
“Well?”
“I entered too, and took my place at a neighboring table. He produced a five-dollar bill, when some one suggested that gold was preferable. Upon that I offered to give him gold for bills. He produced two fives, and I gave him two gold pieces for them.”
“Well?”
“Here they are.”
The detective drew from his wallet two bank-notes, and showed Smithson the red cross on the reverse side of each.
“That’s pretty conclusive evidence, isn’t it?” said John Vincent, tapping the marked bills.
“I didn’t dream of it,” said the restaurant keeper.
“I did. I suspected him as soon as you told me he was trying to fasten suspicion upon Grant Colburn.”
“You don’t think the boy had anything to do with the theft?”
“I feel sure of it. The boy is an honest boy. You have only to look in his face to see that. I haven’t been a detective for nothing. I may be mistaken at times, but I can generally judge a man or boy by his face.”
“Does Benton know that you suspect him?”
“No. I wasn’t going to give myself away. By the way, he had quite a stroke of luck tonight.”
177“At the gambling-house?”
“Yes. At one time he was a winner of nearly or quite five hundred dollars.”
“Then he will be able to make up to me the amount he has taken.”
“Don’t flatter yourself! I said he was a winner of that amount at one time. I didn’t say he went out with that sum. As a matter of fact, he lost it all, and left the place probably without a dollar.”
Smithson looked disappointed.
“Then,” he said, “I shan’t get my money back.”
“I am afraid not.”
“He must have taken hundreds of dollars.”
“Quite likely.”
“The villain!” exclaimed the restaurant keeper. “And I have paid him so liberally, too!”
“Well, Smithson, it might have been worse. I suspect you have a pretty tidy sum laid by.”
Smithson’s face changed, and he looked complacent.
“Yes, Vincent,” he said. “I’m worth a little money.”
178“Good! Look upon this as a little set-back that won’t materially affect you, and put it down to the account of profit and loss.”
“Very, good! I will do so. But to-morrow I will give Mr. Benton his walking ticket.”
Albert Benton came to work as usual in the morning. His employer came in half an hour late. By this time the waiter had become resigned to his disappointment of the night previous. He recognized his folly in not making sure of the large sum he had at one time won, and determined to act more wisely in future.
Presently, when he chanced to be unemployed, Smithson beckoned to him.
“Benton,” he said, “you remember my speaking to you about missing money from the till?”
“Yes, sir; but I thought you decided that it was only a falling off in receipts.”
“Yes, I said that; but it seems to me that the deficiency is too great to be accounted for in that way.”
“You may be right, sir. You remember what I told you about the boy?”
“You think he took the money?”
179“I feel about sure of it.”
“And you think he gambles it away?”
“Such is my impression.”
“How am I to find out the truth of the matter?”
“I would suggest that you have the boy searched. I feel sure that you will find that he has a considerable sum of money in his pocket.”
“That may be, but he will say that he has saved it from his wages.”
“Oh, yes; I have no doubt he will say so,” said Benton, nodding his head significantly.
“And it may be true. He doesn’t seem to spend much.”
“He has bought some clothes.”
“True; but he was quite able to do so out of what I pay him and have money left over.”
“Well, I hope it is so. I don’t want to harm the boy, but I thought it only due to you to tell you what I know.”
“You don’t appear to know much. You only suspect. However, I will call Grant and see what he has to say.”
180Grant, being summoned, came up to where they were standing.
“Do you want to speak to me, Mr. Smithson?” he asked.
“Yes, Grant; about an unpleasant matter.”
“Have I done anything wrong? Are you dissatisfied with me?”
“I can’t say. The fact is, for some time past I have been missing money from the drawer.”
Grant’s look of surprise was genuine.
“I am very sorry to hear it,” he said.
“Of course the money could not have disappeared of itself. Some one must have taken it.”
“I hope you don’t suspect me,” said Grant quickly.
“I have always regarded you as honest, but Benton here tells me that you have formed some bad habits.”
“I should be glad to know what Mr. Benton has to say about me,” said Grant, regarding his fellow waiter with indignation. Benton, in spite of his assurance, could not help looking confused and ill at ease.
“He tells me that you are in the habit of visiting gambling saloons.”
181“He has told you a falsehood,” said Grant boldly.
“I told you he would deny it, Mr. Smithson,” said Benton, determined to face it through.
“Has he seen me in a gambling-house?” demanded Grant.
“I have seen you coming out of one.”
“That’s false. If he can find any one to confirm his false charge, I will not object to your believing it.”
“I have no doubt a good many have seen you there.”
“Is there any other charge he brings against me, Mr. Smithson?”
“He says he has seen you under the influence of liquor.”
“That also is false. He has invited me to go into a saloon and take a drink, but I always refused.”
“Oh, you are an angel!” sneered Benton.
“I don’t pretend to be an angel, but I am honest and temperate, and I never drink.”
“I think, Mr. Smithson, if you will search the boy you will find a good sum of money in his pocket.”
182“Is that true, Grant?” asked the restaurant keeper.
“Yes, sir. I have about a hundred dollars in my pocket.”
“I told you so,” said Benton triumphantly.
“I never knew there was anything wrong in saving money,” retorted Grant. “I am anxious to get together money enough to warrant me in going to the mines.”
“There is nothing wrong in that,” said Smithson kindly. “And now, Grant, that we have had Benton’s testimony against you, I want to ask you what you know against him.”
“I would rather not tell,” answered Grant.
“That is very creditable to you; but you must remember that you have a duty to me, your employer. Have you seen him enter a gambling-house?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant reluctantly.
“I told you, sir, that I had looked in once or twice,” said Benton, ill at ease.
“Only once or twice?”
“Well, I won’t be precise as to the number of times.”
183“Were you in a gambling-house last night?”
“Yes; I looked on.”
“How long did you stay?”
“A few minutes.”
“Did you play?”
“No,” answered Benton hesitatingly.
“I wish I knew how much he knows,” thought Benton. “Somebody must have been telling him about me.”
“What, then, was your object in going in?”
“I was wakeful, and thought I would while away a few minutes there. When I felt sleepy, I withdrew.”
Just then Vincent entered, as previously arranged between him and Smithson.
“Mr. Vincent,” said the proprietor, “did you see either of my waiters in a gambling house last evening?”
“I saw him,” pointing to Benton.
“He admits that he went in, but says he did not play.”
“He seems to be forgetful,” said Vincent coolly. “He played for a considerable time, and had a great run of luck.”
184Benton said nothing. He looked very much discomposed, but waited to see how much Vincent could tell.
“So he was a winner?”
“He won nearly five hundred dollars.”
“That doesn’t look as if he were the novice he claims to be.”
“But he didn’t keep his winnings. He kept on playing till he lost all he had won.”
“You must remember, sir,” interrupted Benton, “that a green hand is often luckier than a practiced gambler.”
“So I have heard.”
“And if I did play, that doesn’t convict me of having stolen money from your till.”
“That is true.”
“I was foolish, I admit, and I mean to give up the practice.”
“You said you didn’t play.”
“Because I thought it would make you think I was guilty of theft.”
“On that point I have other evidence.”
“What is it? If Grant says he saw me take anything he lies.”
185“I have not said it, Mr. Benton.”
“Then I should like to know what evidence you can bring against me.”
“Do you remember these two bills?” asked Vincent, taking out his wallet and producing two five-dollar notes.
“Well, what about them?” asked Benton doggedly.
“I gave you two gold pieces for them last evening.”
“Yes; I believe you did.”
“You took them from the money drawer before you left the restaurant.”
“That is false!”
“Do you see the cross, in red ink, on the reverse side of the bills?”
“Well, what of it?”
“I marked the bills in that way, so as to be able to trace them.”
“Well,” said Benton faintly.
“They were put into the drawer at three o’clock yesterday afternoon. They must have been taken out some time between that hour and the time when you produced them in the gambling-house.”
186“I am the victim of a conspiracy,” said Benton, turning pale.
“If it is a conspiracy to put my friend here on your track,” said Smithson, “then you have some color for your statement. Mr. Vincent is an old detective.”
Albert Benton was silenced. Ingenious as he was, there was nothing left for him to say.
“Now, Benton,” said Mr. Smithson, “how much have you taken from me during the time you have been in my employment?”
“Perhaps a hundred dollars,” answered Benton sullenly.
“I am very much mistaken if the amount is not four or five times as great. Are you prepared to make restitution?”
“I have no money.”
“Then I shall feel justified in ordering your arrest. Your guilt is aggravated by your seeking to throw the blame on Grant.”
“I have a valuable diamond at home. I will turn that over to you,” said Benton, with a sudden thought.
“How much is it worth?”
“I paid three hundred dollars for it.”
187“You can go and get it.”
Benton took off his apron, put on his hat, and left the restaurant.
Half an hour—an hour—passed, and he did not return.
“Mr. Smithson,” said Vincent, “the fellow has given us the slip. He won’t come back, nor will you ever see anything of his diamond. I don’t believe, for my part, that he had any.”
The detective was right. Benton managed to borrow fifteen dollars of a friend, and within an hour he had left Sacramento for good.