The conference between Colonel Johnson and Travers was apparently of great interest to the latter. It is important that the reader should be made acquainted with its nature.
"I take it for granted, Mr. Travers," said the colonel, after their potation, "that you are ready to undertake a job if there is money in it."
"That's as true as you live," said Travers emphatically.
"Am I also right in concluding that you are not squeamish as to how the money is earned? You are not overburdened with conscientious scruples, eh?"
"Not much! They're all nonsense," returned Travers.
"Good! I see you are the sort of a man I took you for. Now you must, to begin with, promise that you will regard as confidential what I am about to say to you."
"Tom Travers can be relied upon, colonel. He's safe every time."
"Good again! Then I shall not hesitate to unfold to you my little plan. I believe you have a bank in the village?"
"Yes; but, colonel, I am a stranger here. I only know one person here—my friend Brandon."
"Is he—the same kind of a man as yourself?" inquired Johnson.
"The same identical kind, colonel. What is it Shakespeare, or some other poet, says:
"I compliment you on your knowledge of poetry, Mr. Travers. I didn't think it was in you."
Travers looked complimented.
"I've had an education, colonel," he said complacently, "though circumstances have been against me for the last four years. As for my friend Brandon, he's one you can rely upon."
"I shall probably require his services as well as yours," said Johnson. "Now let me proceed. You agree with me that bank capitalists are grasping monopolists, that they grind down the poor man, and live in luxury at the expense of the poor laborer."
"Just my notion, colonel!"
"And whatever we can get out of them is what they richly deserve to lose?"
"Just so!"
"Well and good! I see you agree with me. And now, friend Travers, I will tell you what I have in view, and why it is that I need the services of two gentlemen like you and your friend. The fact is"—here Johnson dropped the mask, being assured of the character of his listener—"there's a good haul to be made within three days—a haul which, if successful, will make all three of us easy in our circumstances for years to come."
"Go ahead, colonel. I'm with you, and my friend Brandon, too. I'll answer for him. We both need a lift mightily."
"I learn—no matter how"—said Johnson, lowering his voice, "that a messenger from the bank goes to Boston day after to-morrow with a package of thirty thousand dollars in government bonds. He's to carry them to the Merchant's National Bank in Boston. These bonds are not registered, but coupon bonds, and can easily be sold. They are at a premium of fifteen or sixteen per cent., which would bring up the value to nearly or quite thirty-five thousand dollars."
Travers listened with eager interest. He began to understand the service that was expected of him, but it did not apparently shock him.
"Well?" he said.
"My plan," continued Colonel Johnson, "is for you and your friend to follow this bank messenger, and between here and Boston to relieve him of this package. You will meet me at a spot agreed upon in or near the city, and I will take the package."
"You will take the package?" repeated Travers blankly.
"Yes, but I will reward you liberally for your service. You and Brandon will each receive from me, in case the affair succeeds, the sum of five thousand dollars."
"I thought we would share and share alike," said Travers, in a tone of disappointment.
"Nonsense, man! Isn't it my plan? Am I to reap no benefit from my own conception? Besides, shall I not have the care and responsibility of disposing of the bonds? This will involve danger."
"So will our part involve danger," objected Travers.
"That is true, but your hazard is small. There will be two of you to one bank messenger. Besides, I take it for granted that you will be adroit enough to relieve the messenger without his knowing anything about it. When he discovers his loss you will be out of sight. It strikes me you will be rewarded very handsomely for the small labor imposed upon you."
Travers made a further effort to secure better terms, but his new acquaintance was firm in refusing them. The result was, that Travers unconditionally accepted for himself and Brandon.
"When shall you see your friend Brandon, as you call him?" inquired the colonel.
"This very afternoon," answered Travers promptly.
"Good! I like your promptness."
"That is, if I can," continued Travers, a shade doubtfully, for he remembered the summary manner in which he had been ejected from the house of his congenial companion and friend.
"Very well. Then we will postpone further debate till you have done so. I shall stay at the tavern here, and you can readily find me."
"I will stay there, too. I was staying with my friend Brandon, but his wife and her son did not treat me well, and I left them. They want to separate us—old friends as we are."
"They are jealous of you," suggested Johnson, smiling.
"Just so, but I'll euchre them yet."
The two walked together to the road, and there they separated, Johnson suggesting that it might be prudent for them not to be seen together too much.
Travers assented, and turned back in the direction of the house he had recently left under rather mortifying circumstances.
"The boy'll be gone to his boat," he thought, "and I don't care for the old lady. She doesn't like me, but I can stand that. I must see my friend Brandon, if I can."
Although Travers decided that Grit had returned to his boat, he approached the house cautiously. He thought it possible that Grit might still be on guard with the formidable pistol which he had pointed at him an hour or more earlier, and he did not like the looks of the weapon.
"It might go off!" he thought. "That plaguy boy is awfully reckless, and he wouldn't mind shooting a gentleman, if he felt like it. I'd like to pitch him into the water, pistol and all," he ejaculated fervently, in conclusion.
As I have said, Travers approached the little cottage with cautious steps. Drawing near, he listened to see if he could hear any sound of voices that would betray the presence of the boy he wished to avoid.
All was still. Nothing was to be heard but the deep breathing of Brandon, who still lay on the floor in a stupor. Grit was back at his boat, and Mrs. Brandon had already left the house and gone to spend the remainder of the afternoon with her neighbor. Brandon was, therefore, the only occupant of the cottage.
"I hear my friend Brandon," said Travers to himself. "I can hear nothing of the boy. He must be away."
By way of ascertaining definitely, Travers moved round to the window and peered in. He caught sight of the prostrate figure of Brandon, but could see no one else.
"It's all right," he said to himself, in a satisfied tone.
He tried the door, and found it unlocked.
He entered, and stooping over, seized Brandon by the shoulder, and called him loudly by name.
"I say, Brandon, wake up!"
"Go away, Grit," said Brandon drowsily.
"It isn't Grit. It's I—your friend Travers," said that gentleman.
"Thought my friend Travers was gone," muttered Brandon, opening his eyes.
"So I did go, but I've come back. I want to see you on important business."
"'Portant business?" repeated Brandon.
"Yes, very important business. Do you want to earn five thousand dollars?"
"Five thousand dollars!" said Brandon, roused by this startling inquiry. "'Course I do."
"Then rouse yourself, and I'll tell you all about it. Here, let me bring you some water, and you can dip your face in it. It will bring you to yourself sooner than anything else."
Brandon acceded to the proposal, and was soon in a clearer state of mind.
Travers proceeded to unfold his plan, after learning that Mrs. Brandon was out; but he had a listener he did not know of. Grit had come home for something he had forgotten, and, with his ear to the keyhole, heard the whole plot. He listened attentively. When all was told, he said to himself:
"I'll foil them, or my name isn't Grit!"
When Brandon and Travers had discussed the plan, and decided to accept the terms offered by Colonel Johnson, the latter, looking cautiously about, inquired:
"Where's the boy?"
"Out with the boat, I expect," said Brandon.
"He's a little ruffian. I never saw such a desperate boy of his age."
"He managed you neatly," said Brandon, with a smile.
"Pooh!" returned Travers, who did not like the allusion. "I didn't want to hurt the boy."
"He didn't want to harm you," said Brandon, with an exasperating smile.
"I could wind him round my finger," said Travers disdainfully. "You don't think I'm afraid of that half-grown cub, I hope."
Grit heard this, and smiled to himself at the evident annoyance of Travers.
"As to winding me round his finger," thought the young boatman, "I may have something to say about that."
Brandon did not continue his raillery, not wishing to provoke the friend who had secured him participation in so profitable a job.
"Where's the old lady?" asked Travers, with a glance toward the staircase.
"I believe she's gone out, but I'll see."
Brandon went to the foot of the stairs, and called:
"Mrs. B.!"
There was no response.
"Yes, she's gone, and the coast is clear. Where are you staying, Travers?"
"I s'pose I'll have to stay at the hotel, unless you can provide for me here."
"You'd better go to the tavern, for there might be trouble about keepin' you here. Mrs. B. and the boy don't like you."
"I thought you were master of the house," said Travers, with mild sarcasm.
"So I am," answered Brandon, a little embarrassed, "but I don't want to be in hot water all the time."
"You don't want me to stay to supper, I reckon."
"Well, I guess not to-night. Fact is, I don't know when we shall have supper. Mrs. B. ought to be here gettin' it ready."
"Come out and have a walk, Brandon. I will introduce you to Colonel Johnson, and we can talk this thing over."
"All right. That'll take up the time till supper."
The two men walked over to the tavern, and Colonel Johnson walked out with them. They had a conference together, but it is not necessary to give the details here.
A little after six o'clock Brandon directed his steps homeward.
"I'll be a little late to supper," he said to himself, "but Mrs. B. will save some for me. I feel confoundedly hungry. Must be in the air. There's nothing like country air to give a man a good appetite."
Brandon opened the door of the cottage, and went in. All was quiet and solitary, as he had left it.
"Well. I'll be blowed!" he ejaculated. "What does all this mean? Where's Mrs. B., and where's supper?"
He sat down, and looked about him in surprise and bewilderment.
"What has become of Mrs. B.?" he thought. "She hasn't gone and left me, just when I've come home after an absence of five years? That boy can't have carried her off, can he?"
Brandon did not have long to debate this question in his own mind, for the door opened, and Grit and his mother entered. Brandon was relieved, but he could not forbear expressing his vexation.
"Well, Mrs. B.," he said, "this I call pretty goings on. Are you aware that it is nearly seven o'clock, ma'am?"
"I supposed it was," answered his wife quietly.
"And you've left me to starve here, ma'am! This is a strange time for supper."
"We've had supper," answered Grit coolly.
"Had supper!" ejaculated Brandon, looking about him. "I don't see any signs of supper."
"You won't see any signs of it here," continued Grit.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that mother and I have engaged board at Mrs. Sprague's. We have just had supper there."
"You have! Well, that's a new start. It doesn't matter much, though. I'll go over and get mine."
"We haven't made any arrangements for you," said Grit. "I shall pay for mother's board and mine. You can make any bargain you like for your board."
"Well, if that isn't the meanest treatment I ever received!" exclaimed Brandon, in wrath and disgust. "You actually begrudge me the little I eat, and turn me adrift in the cold world!"
"That's one way of looking at it, Mr. Brandon," said Grit. "Here's the other: You are a strong man, in good health, and able to work. Most men in your position expect to support a family, but you come to live upon my earnings, and expect me not only to provide you with board, but with money for the purpose of drink. That isn't all! You bring home one of your disreputable companions, and expect us to provide for him, too. Now, I am willing to work for mother, and consider it a privilege to do so, but I can't do any more. If you don't choose to contribute to the support of the family, you must at least take care of yourself. I am not going to do it."
"How hard and unfeeling you are, Grit!" said Brandon, in the tone of a martyr. "After all I have suffered in the last five years you treat me like this."
"As to the last five years, Mr. Brandon," said Grit, "I should think you would hardly care to refer to them. It was certainly your own fault that you were not as free as I am."
"I was a victim of circumstances," whined Brandon.
"We won't discuss that," said Grit. "You had a fair trial, and were sentenced to five years' imprisonment. About the unkindness. I should like to know what you think of a man who deliberately takes away the means of earning a living from his stepson, who is filling his place, and supporting his family, in order to gratify his miserable love of drink."
"You drove me to it, Grit."
"How did I drive you to it?"
"You would not give me from your overflowing hoards, when I felt sick and in need of a mild stimulus. You had sixty dollars, and would not spare me one."
"So you sold my boat for half price, and squandered nearly the whole proceeds in one forenoon!" exclaimed Grit scornfully. "Mr. Brandon, your reasoning is altogether too thin. We have decided to leave you to support yourself as you can."
Here the glowing prospects offered by the plan suggested by Colonel Johnson occurred to Brandon, and his tone changed.
"You may find you have made a mistake, Grit, you and Mrs. B.," said Brandon pompously. "You have snubbed and illtreated me because you looked upon me as a poor, destitute, friendless man. It's the way of the world! But you may regret it, and that very soon. What will you say when I tell you that I have a chance to earn five thousand dollars in the next five days, eh?"
Mrs. Brandon looked surprised, for Grit had not thought it wise to confide to his mother what he had heard of the conversation between Travers and his stepfather. Grit, on the other hand, was immediately interested, for the compensation offered was one of the things he had not overheard.
"Five thousand dollars!" he repeated, appearing to be surprised.
"Yes, five thousand dollars!" repeated Brandon complacently. "That's a thousand dollars a day! Perhaps you won't be so anxious to get rid of me when I am worth my thousands."
"That's pretty good pay," said Grit quietly. "What have you got to do?"
"That would be telling," said Brandon cunningly. "It's a joint speculation of my friend Travers and myself—my friend Travers, whom you treated so badly. It's he that's brought me this fine offer, and you insult and order him out of the house. You were just as bad as Grit, Mrs. B."
"You are welcome to all you make, Mr. Brandon," said Grit. "Neither my mother nor myself will ask a penny of the handsome sum you expect to make. You can spend it all on yourself if you like. All we ask is, that you will take care of yourself, and leave us alone."
"I mean to do so," said Brandon independently, "but, as I shan't get the money for three or four days, I should like to borrow five dollars, and I'll repay you double within a week."
"That's a very generous offer," said Grit, "but I don't lend without better security."
"Isn't there anything to eat in the house, Mrs. B.?" asked Brandon, changing the subject. "I'm famished."
"You will find some cold meat, and bread, and butter in the pantry."
Brandon went to the pantry, and satisfied his appetite as well as he could. He then went out, and Grit soon followed.
"Mother," he said, "I have an important call to make, but will be back soon."
It will be remembered that Mr. Courtney had formerly been president of the bank, but proving unpopular in consequence of his disposition to manage it in his own interest, Mr. Philo Graves, a manufacturer, was put in his place. To the house of Mr. Graves Grit directed his steps.
Mr. Graves was at home, but he was not alone. Mr. Courtney had dropped in, and as he was still a director of the bank, it was natural that the conversation should turn upon affairs of the bank in which he and Mr. Graves had a common interest. Though no longer president, Mr. Courtney was still anxious to control the affairs of the bank, and to make it of as much service to himself as possible. He had recently become interested in certain speculative securities, through a firm of Wall Street brokers, and finding himself rather cramped for money, desired to obtain a loan on them from the bank. To this end he had sought a preliminary interview with Mr. Graves, previous to making a formal application to the full board of directors.
"You are aware, Mr. Courtney," said the president, "that to grant your request would be contrary to the general usage of the bank."
"I ought to know the usage of the bank, having served as president for three years," said Mr. Courtney. "In my time such loans were made."
Mr. Graves was aware of this, but he was also aware that such loans had been made on the former president's sole authority, and either to himself or some one of his friends, and that it was on account of this very circumstance that he had been removed from office.
"I know that such loans were made, but I am equally certain that such a course would not meet the approval of the directors."
"But," insinuated Mr. Courtney, "if you openly favored it, and my vote as director was given, we could probably influence enough other votes to accomplish our object."
"I cannot say whether this would or would not follow," said Mr. Graves, "but I am bound to say for myself that I cannot recommend, or vote for, granting such a loan."
"Perhaps you think I am not responsible," said Mr. Courtney, irritated.
"I presume you are, but that ought not to be considered, when the question is about violating our fixed usage."
"It seems to me, considering my official connection with the bank, that a point might be strained in my favor."
"That is not my view, Mr. Courtney; although I am now president, I should not care to ask any special favor of the bank. I prefer to be treated like any other customer."
Mr. Courtney mentally voted Graves slow and behind the times. In his views, one great advantage of holding a high financial position was to favor himself and his own interests, without special regard to the welfare of the corporation or stockholders.
"You wouldn't find many bank presidents agree with you, Mr. Graves," said Courtney impatiently.
"I am sorry to hear it," returned the president gravely. "It seems to me that I owe a duty to the stockholders of the bank which ought to override any personal considerations."
"You are very quixotic in your ideas," said Courtney coldly.
"I am sure I am right, at any rate," returned Graves firmly.
"I consider your refusal unfriendly—nay, more, I think it is calculated to throw suspicion on my financial position."
"Not at all. I have no reason to doubt your financial stability, and as to the unkindness, when I distinctly state that I would not ask such a favor for myself, you will see that I am disposed to treat you as well as myself."
"It may be so," sneered Courtney, "but I presume you are not at present in need of a personal loan, and—circumstances alter cases, you know."
"If you mean that I shall at any future time ask favors for myself, which, I am not disposed to grant to you, you are mistaken," said the president.
"My financial position is as strong as yours," said Courtney rather irrelevantly.
"Very probably you are a richer man than I am, but as I said, that is not in question."
At this point a servant entered, and said to the president:
"Mr. Graves, there is a boy outside who says he wants to see you."
"What boy is it?"
"Grit Morris."
"Very well; you can bring him in."
"The young boatman," said Courtney contemptuously. "I wouldn't allow a boy like that to take up my time."
"He may have something of importance to communicate. Besides, I don't set so high a value on my time."
This will illustrate the difference between the two men. Mr. Graves was pleasant and affable to all, while Mr. Courtney was stiff, and apparently always possessed of a high idea of his own importance and dignity. In this respect, his son Phil was his counterpart.
Into the presence of these two gentlemen Grit was admitted.
"Good morning, Grit," said the president pleasantly. "Take a seat. Margaret tells me you wish to see me."
"Yes, sir, I wish to see you on a matter of importance."
"Perhaps he wants a loan from the bank," suggested Mr. Courtney scornfully.
"If Grit wanted a loan, he would not need to apply to the bank," said Mr. Graves, in a friendly manner. "I would lend him, myself."
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," said Grit gratefully, "but I don't wish any loan for myself. My business relates to the bank, however."
Both gentlemen were rather surprised to hear this. They could not understand what business Grit could have with the bank.
"Go on, Grit," said Mr. Graves. "Mr. Courtney is one of our directors, so that you may speak freely before him."
"I understand," commenced Grit, coming at once to the point, "that you are intending to send up thirty thousand dollars in government bonds to the Merchants' Bank, in Boston."
Mr. Graves and Mr. Courtney looked at each other in surprise. This was a bank secret, and such matters were generally kept very close with them.
"How did you learn this?" asked the president, in surprise, "and if so, what can you have to say in regard to it?"
"Perhaps he wants to be the messenger," said Mr. Courtney, with a derisive smile.
Grit took no notice of this, for his mind was occupied with the plan of the would-be robbers.
"I will tell you at once," he said. "There is a plan to waylay the messenger, and relieve him of the bonds."
Here was a fresh surprise. Mr. Graves began to find Grit's communication of absorbing interest.
"How do you know this?" he asked cautiously.
"Because I overheard the robbers discussing their plan."
"You say the robbers. Then there are more than one?"
"Yes, there are two."
"Are you willing to tell me who they are, Grit?"
"That is what I came to tell you. I am sorry to say that one is my stepfather, as I am obliged to call him, Mr. Brandon."
"Mr. Brandon? I thought he was——" Here Mr. Graves paused, out of delicacy.
"He has been in prison until a few days since," said Grit, understanding what the president of the bank intended to say, "but now he is free."
"And where is he?"
"He is living at our house. Since he got back, he has given my mother and myself a great deal of trouble. Not content with living on us, he has spent what money he could get at the tavern, and because I would give him no more, he sold my boat without my knowledge."
"That was bad, Grit. To whom did he sell it?" asked Mr. Graves.
"To Mr. Courtney's son Phil!" answered Grit.
"My son's name is Philip," said Mr. Courtney stiffly.
"We boys generally call him Phil," said Grit, smiling. "However, that doesn't matter."
"My son had a right to purchase the boat," said Mr. Courtney.
"I have nothing to say as to that, at any rate now," returned Grit. "I only mention it to show how Mr. Brandon has treated us."
"Who was the other conspirator, Grit?" asked Graves.
"A companion of Mr. Brandon's, named Travers. I understand they are to be employed by a third person, now staying at the hotel, a man named Johnson."
"One thing more, Grit, how did you come to hear of their plan?"
Grit answered this question fully. He related how he had overheard the conference between his stepfather and Travers in the afternoon.
"This information is of great importance, Grit," said the president. "If, as you say, there are three conspirators, there would be a very good chance of their succeeding in overpowering any messenger, and abstracting the bonds. As it happens, the bonds do not belong to the bank, but to an individual depositor, but it would be very unpleasant and mortifying to have them taken from our messenger. It might lead to a supposition on the part of some that we didn't keep our secrets well, but suffered a matter as important as this to become known outside. Mr. Courtney, what would you advise to be done in such an emergency?"
Courtney always looked important when his advice was asked, and answered promptly:
"It is a very simple matter. Put the messenger on his guard. Supply him with a revolver, if need be, and if he is on the watch he can't be robbed."
Mr. Graves looked thoughtful, and appeared to be turning over this advice in his mind.
"If Mr. Courtney will excuse me," Grit said, "I think there is a better plan than that."
Courtney's lip curled.
"Ask the boy's advice, by all means, Mr. Graves," he said, with a palpable sneer. "It must be very valuable, considering his experience and knowledge of the world."
"Let me hear your idea, Grit," said Mr. Graves courteously.
"I have little experience or knowledge of the world," said Grit, "as Mr. Courtney says, or means to say, but it occurs to me to ask whether you have full confidence in your messenger?"
"Of course we have," said Mr. Courtney. "What foolish idea have you got in your head?"
"Tell me why this question occurs to you, Grit?" asked the president.
"I thought it possible that this Colonel Johnson, who employs the conspirators, as you call them, may have learned from the messenger that he was to be entrusted with a valuable package of bonds."
"Why on earth should the messenger reveal this news to a stranger?" demanded Mr. Courtney sharply.
"Because," said Grit quietly, not allowing himself to be disturbed by the sneering tone of the ex-president, "he might be well paid for doing so."
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Courtney, but the president of the bank said thoughtfully:
"There may be something in that."
"I am sure the messenger is faithful," asserted Mr. Courtney positively, but it may be remarked that his confidence sprang rather from a desire to discredit Grit's suggestion than from any real belief in the integrity of the bank messenger.
"It isn't best to take this integrity for granted in a matter where a mistake would subject us to serious loss," observed President Graves. "I hope he is reliable, but I do not shut my eyes to the fact that such a price as he might demand for conniving with these conspirators would be a strong temptation to a poor man like Ephraim Carver."
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Courtney. "For my part I am free to confess that I attach very little importance to the astounding discovery of this young man, who knows a good deal more, I presume, about managing a boat than managing a bank."
"You are right there, Mr. Courtney," said Grit good-naturedly. "I don't want Mr. Graves to attach any more importance to my suggestion than he thinks it deserves."
"Whatever your suggestion may be worth, Grit," said the president of the bank, "there can be no doubt that you have brought me news of great importance. I shall not forget the obligation the bank is under to you."
Mr. Courtney shrugged his shoulders.
"The story looks to me very improbable," he said. "If I were still president of the bank, I should probably dismiss it as an idle fabrication."
"Then, Mr. Courtney," said Mr. Graves emphatically, "permit me to say that you would be wanting in your duty to the bank and its interests."
"I understand the duties of a bank president at least as well as you, Mr. Graves," said Mr. Courtney stiffly. "After that remark you will not be surprised if I bid you good evening."
"Good evening!" said the president quietly, not attempting to call back or placate the offended director.
"Perhaps I had better go, too," said Grit, rising from his chair.
"No, Grit, stay a few minutes longer; I wish to inquire further into this affair."
"Certainly, Mr. Graves, I will stay, with pleasure."
Mr. Courtney heard this fragment of conversation, and it led him to say with pointed sarcasm, as he stood with the knob of the door in his hand:
"Perhaps I had better resign my position, and suggest this young boatman as bank director in my place."
"I doubt whether Grit would consider himself competent to discharge the duties of a director," said Mr. Graves, smiling. "It may come in time."
Mr. Courtney shut the door hastily, and left the room.
"Mr. Courtney is rather a peculiar man; you needn't mind him, Grit," said Mr. Graves, when the ruffled director was gone.
"He doesn't like me very much, nor Phil, either," said Grit. "It is lucky you are president of the bank now, and not he, for there is no humbug about the news I bring you."
"I consider it highly important," said Mr. Graves, "as I have already stated. I am a little puzzled as to what I ought to do in the matter. As you say, the messenger himself may be in the plot. By the way, what put that idea into your head?"
"I didn't know how otherwise Colonel Johnson could have learned about the bonds being sent up to Boston."
"Frequently the messenger himself is ignorant of the service he is to render, but in this particular instance it happened that I told Mr. Carver that I should have occasion to send him to Boston this week, and for what purpose."
"I am sorry that one who is in any way connected with our family should be concerned in such a plot," said Grit.
"Of course; that is natural. Still, you did your duty in telling me of it. Whatever consequences may follow, you have done right."
"I can't take much credit to myself for that," said Grit, "since I don't like Mr. Brandon, and it would be a great relief both to my mother and myself if he were away."
"As I have already consulted you on this matter, Grit," said the bank president, after a pause, "I am disposed to consult you further. Have you any advice to offer as to the best course to pursue?"
"Yes, sir," answered Grit. "As long as you don't think it presumption in me, I will tell you of a plan I thought of as I was coming here. In the first place, I would send the messenger as usual, without letting him know that he was suspected."
"But that would involve risks, wouldn't it Grit," objected Mr. Graves. "We can't afford to lose the bonds."
"I did not intend that he should carry the bonds," continued Grit. "I would make up a parcel, filled with old papers, of about the same size, and let him think he was carrying the bonds."
"So far, so good, but what of the bonds? They would still be here, when we want them delivered in Boston."
"I have thought of that," said Grit promptly. "Either a little before or a little afterward, I would send them by another messenger."
"Good, Grit! You're a trump!" said the banker, his face lighting up. "It's a capital plan. But one thing you have forgotten. We shall not in this way ascertain whether the messenger is in collusion with the conspirators—that is, not necessarily."
"I think you can, sir. As I understand, this is the way in which the theft will be accomplished: The conspirators will make up a bundle of the same shape as the messenger's, and slyly substitute it at some point on the route. They will not openly rob him, for there will be no chance of doing so without attracting attention."
"If the messenger is careful, they could not easily substitute a false for the true package."
"That is true, and that is the reason why I think the messenger is in league with them. If he is careless, the change can easily be made. I understand Brandon and Travers are to receive five thousand dollars each for their services, and Colonel Johnson may, perhaps, have offered the same sum to Mr. Carver."
"It would be a great temptation to a man employed on a small salary like Carver," said Mr. Graves thoughtfully.
"What do you think of my plan, Mr. Graves?" asked Grit.
"I think it a capital one. I shall adopt it in every detail. The only thing that remains is to decide whom to employ to carry the genuine package of bonds to Boston. Do you think of any one?"
Grit shook his head.
"No, sir, I don't know of any one."
"I do," said the president.
"Who is it?" asked Grit, with considerable curiosity.
"I mean to send you!" answered Mr. Graves.
Grit listened with incredulous amazement to the words of the bank president.
"You mean to send me?" he ejaculated.
"Yes," answered Mr. Graves, nodding.
"But I am only a boy!"
"That is true; but you have shown a sagacity and good judgment which justify me in selecting you, young as you are. Of course, I shall take care that you are paid for your time. Now, are you willing to go?"
Willing to go to Boston, where he had not been for five years? Grit did not take long to consider.
"Yes," he answered promptly. "If you are willing to trust me, I am willing to go."
"That is well," said the president. "I need hardly caution you to keep your errand a profound secret."
"You must not even tell your mother," continued Mr. Graves.
"But she will feel anxious if I go away without a word to her."
"You mistake me. I would not for the world have you give her unnecessary anxiety. You may tell her that you are employed on an errand which may detain you from home a day or two, and ask her not to question you till you return."
"Yes, I can say that," returned Grit. "Mother will very likely think Mr. Jackson has employed me."
"Mr. Jackson?"
"A gentleman now staying at the hotel. He has already been very kind to me."
If Grit had been boastful or vainglorious, he would have given the particulars of his rescue of little Willie Jackson from drowning. As it was, he said no more than I have recorded above.
"Very well," answered the president. "Your mother will not, at any rate, think you are in any mischief, as she knows you too well for that."
"When do you want me to go, sir?" asked Grit.
"Let me see. To-day is Wednesday, and Friday is the day when we had decided to send the messenger. He was to go by the morning train. I think I will send you off in advance by the evening train of Thursday. Then the bonds will be in the bank at Boston, while the regular messenger is still on the way."
"That will suit me very well, sir."
"The train starts at ten o'clock. You can be at the train at half-past nine. I will be there at the same hour, and will have the bonds with me. I will at the same time provide you with money for the journey."
"All right, sir. Do you want to see me any time to-morrow?"
"No. I think it best that we should not be too much together. Even then, I don't think any one would suspect that I would employ you on such an errand. Still, it will be most prudent not to do anything to arouse suspicion."
"Then, Mr. Graves, I will bid you good night," said Grit, rising. "I thank you very much for the confidence you are going to repose in me. I will do my best, so that you may not have occasion to repent it."
"I don't expect to repent it," said Mr. Graves, shaking hands with Grit in a friendly manner.
When the young boatman left the house of the bank president, it was natural that he should feel a thrill of pride as the thought of the important mission on which he was to be sent. Then again, it was exhilarating to reflect that he was about to visit Boston. He had lived at Chester for five years and more, and during that time he had once visited Portland. That was an exciting day for him; but Boston he knew was a great deal larger than the beautiful city of which Maine people are pardonably proud, and contained possibilities of pleasure and excitement which filled him with eager anticipations.
But Grit knew that his journey was undertaken not for his own enjoyment, but was to be an important business mission, and he resolved that he would do his duty, even if he did not have a bit of fun.
As he thought over the business on which he was to be employed, his thoughts reverted to Ephraim Carver, the bank messenger, and the more he thought of him, the more he suspected that he was implicated in the projected robbery. It was perhaps this thought that led him to make a detour so that he could pass the house of the messenger.
It was a small cottage-house, standing back from the street, from which a narrow lane led to it. Connected with it were four or five acres of land, which might have yielded quite an addition to his income, but Mr. Carver was not very fond of working on land, and he let it lie fallow, making scarcely any use of it. Until he obtained the position of bank messenger he had a hard time getting a living, and was generally regarded as rather a shiftless man. He was connected with the wife of one of the directors, and that was the way in which he secured his position. Now he received a small salary, but one on which he might have lived comfortably in a cheap place like Chester. But in spite of this he was dissatisfied, and on many occasions complained of the difficulty he experienced in making both ends meet.
Grit turned down the lane and approached the house.
He hardly knew why he did so. He had no expectation of learning anything that would throw light on the question whether Carver was or was not implicated in the conspiracy. Still, he was drawn toward the house.
The night was quite dark, but Grit knew every step of the way, and he walked slowly up the lane, which was probably two hundred feet long.
He had gone, perhaps, half the distance, when he saw the front door of Carver's house open. Mr. Carver himself could be seen in the doorway with a kerosene-lamp in his hand, and at his side was a person whom with a thrill of surprise Grit recognized as the man staying at the hotel under the name of Colonel Johnson.
"That looks suspicious," thought Grit. "I am afraid the messenger is guilty."
He reflected that it would not do for either of them to see him, as it might render them suspicious. He took advantage of the darkness, and the fact that the two were not looking his way, to jump over the stone wall and hide behind the broad trunk of the lofty elm which stood just in that spot.
"I wish I could hear what they are saying," thought Grit. "Then I should know for certain if my suspicions are well founded."
The two men stood at the door for the space of a minute or more, and then the stranger departed, but not alone. Ephraim Carver took his hat and accompanied him, both walking slowly up the lane toward the main road.
By a piece of good luck, as Grit considered it, they halted beneath the very elm-tree behind which he lay concealed.
These were the first words Grit heard spoken:
"My dear friend," said Johnson, in bland, persuasive accents, "there isn't a particle of danger in it. You have only to follow my directions, and all will be well."
"I shall find it hard to explain how it happened that I lost the package," said Carver.
"Not at all! You will have a facsimile in your possession—one so like that no one need wonder that you mistook it for the original. Undoubtedly you will be charged with negligence, but they can't prove anything more against you. You can stand being found fault with for five thousand dollars, can't you?"
"If that is all, I won't mind. I shall probably lose my situation."
"Suppose you do; it brings you in only six hundred dollars a year, while we pay you in one lump five thousand dollars—over eight times as much. Why, man, the interest of this sum at six per cent. will yield half as much as your annual salary."
"The bank people ought to pay me more," said Carver. "Two months since I asked them to raise me to eight hundred a year, but they wouldn't. There was only one of the directors in favor of it—the man who married my wife's cousin."
"They don't appreciate you, friend Carver," said Johnson. "How can they expect you to be honest, when they treat you in so niggardly a manner?"
"Just so," said Carver, eager to find some justification for his intended treachery. "If they paid me a living salary, I wouldn't do this thing you ask of me."
"As it is, they have only themselves to blame," said Colonel Johnson.
"That's the way I look at it," said the bank messenger.
"And quite right, too! I shouldn't be surprised if you managed to keep your place, after all. They won't suspect you of anything more than carelessness."
"That would be splendid!" returned Carver. "With my salary and the interest of five thousand dollars, I could live as comfortably as I wanted to. How soon shall I receive the money?"
"As soon as we can dispose of the bonds safely. It won't be long."
Here the two men parted, and Carver returned to his house.
Grit crept out from behind the elm-tree when the coast was clear, and made his way home. He had learned a most important secret, but resolved to communicate it only to Mr. Graves.
When Grit explained to his mother that he was going away for a day or two on a journey, she was naturally surprised, and asked for particulars.
"I should like to tell you, mother," said the young boatman, "but there are reasons why I cannot. It is a secret mission, and the secret is not mine."
"That is perfectly satisfactory, Grit," said Mrs. Brandon. "I have full confidence in you, and know I can trust you."
"After I return I shall probably be able to tell you all," said Grit. "Meanwhile, I shall, no doubt, be paid better than if I were ferrying passengers across the river."
"At any rate, I shall be glad to see you back. We have not been separated for a night for years, or, indeed, since you were born."
The next day, Mr. Brandon, taught by experience that he need not look for his meals at home, went over to the tavern to breakfast. He felt unusually independent and elated, for he had money in his pocket, obtained from Colonel Johnson, and he expected soon to receive the handsome sum of five thousand dollars. A shrewder man, in order to avert suspicion, would have held his tongue, at least until he had performed the service for which he was to be so liberally paid; but Brandon could not forego the opportunity to boast a little.
"It is quite possible, Mrs. B.," he said, in the morning, "that I may leave you in a day or two, to be gone a considerable time."
Mrs. B. did not show the expected curiosity, but received the communication in silence.
"You don't inquire where I am going," said Brandon.
"Where do you propose to go?" asked his wife, whose chief feeling was that she and Grit would now be left to their old quiet and peace.
"I may go to Europe," said Mr. Brandon, in an important tone.
"Isn't this a new plan?" asked Mrs. Brandon, really surprised.
"Yes, it is new. I shall go on business, Mrs. B. My friend Travers and I will probably go together. You and Grit made a great mistake when you treated him with rudeness. It is through him that I am offered most remunerative employment."
"I don't enjoy the society of your friend," said Mrs. Brandon. "If he is likely to give you a chance to earn something, I am glad, but that does not excuse the rudeness with which he treated me."
"My friend Travers is a gentleman, Mrs. B., a high-toned gentleman, and if you had treated him with the respect which is his due, you would have had nothing to complain of. As it is, you may soon discover that you have made a mistake, and lost a great pleasure. I had not intended to tell you, but I am tempted to do so, that but for your impoliteness to Travers, I might have taken you and Grit with me on a European tour."
Mr. Brandon watched his wife, to see if she exhibited severe disappointment at the dazzling prospect which was no sooner shown than withdrawn, but she showed her usual equanimity.
"Grit and I will be quite as happy at home," she answered.
"Sour grapes!" thought Brandon, but he was wrong. A tour of Europe taken in his company would have no attractions for his wife.
"Very well," said Brandon. "You and Grit are welcome to the charms of Pine Point. As for me, it is too small and contracted for a man of my business capacity."
"I wonder whether there is any truth in what he says," thought Mrs. Brandon, puzzled.
"Your business seems a profitable one," she ventured to remark.
"It is, Mrs. B.," answered her husband. "It is of an unusually delicate nature, and requires business talents of a high order."
"Your friend Travers does not impress one as a man possessed of a high order of business talent," said Mrs. Brandon.
"That is where you fail to appreciate him, but I cannot say more. My business is secret, and cannot be revealed."
So saying, Brandon took his hat, and with a jaunty step walked to the hotel.
"More secrecy!" thought Mrs. Brandon. "Grit tells me that his mission is a secret one, and now Mr. Brandon says he, too, is engaged in something that cannot be revealed. I know that it is all right with Grit, but I do not feel so sure about Mr. Brandon."
The day passed as usual. Grit plied his boat on the river, and did a fair day's work. But about four o'clock he came home.
"You are home early, Grit," said his mother.
"Yes, for I must get ready to go."
He had not yet mentioned to his mother when he was to start.
"Do you go to-morrow morning?" asked Mrs. Brandon.
"I go to-night, and may be away for a couple of days, mother."
Mrs. Brandon uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"I suppose I must not ask you where you are going," said his mother.
"I cannot tell, for it is somebody else's secret. One thing more, will you take care to say as little as possible about my going away? I would rather Mr. Brandon should not know of it."
"I will do as you wish, Grit. By the way, Mr. Brandon tells me he is soon going to Europe."
Grit smiled. He knew where the money was to come from, which his stepfather depended upon to defray the expenses of a foreign journey.
"I don't feel sure about his going, mother," he answered.
"He said he would have taken you and me if we had treated his friend Travers more politely."
"Well, mother, we must reconcile ourselves as well as we can to staying at home."
"Home will be happy while I have you with me, Grit."
"And Mr. Brandon away," added the young boatman.
"Yes; I can't help hoping that he will be able to carry out his purpose, and go to Europe, or somewhere else as far off."
"I think it very likely we sha'n't see him again for some time," said Grit, "though I don't think he will be traveling in Europe."
"As you and Mr. Brandon are both to be engaged in business of a secret nature," said Mrs. Brandon, smiling, "I don't know but I ought to follow your example."
"I have full confidence in you, mother, whatever you undertake," said Grit, with a laugh, repeating his mother's own words.
Evening came on, and Grit stole out of the house early, lest his stepfather might by some chance return home, and suspect something from his unusual journey.
He need not have been alarmed, for Brandon did not leave the tavern till ten o'clock, though he, too, expected to leave town the next morning.
When he returned he didn't inquire for Grit, whom he supposed to be abed and asleep.
"Mrs. B.," he said, "I must trouble you to wake me at seven o'clock to-morrow morning. I am going to take the early train to Portland."
"Very well."
"And as it will be rather inconvenient for me to go out to breakfast, I would be glad if you would give me some breakfast before I go."
"I will do so," said his wife.
"It may be some time before I see you again, as I am to go away on business."
"I hope you may be successful," said Mrs. Brandon.
Brandon laughed queerly.
"If the old lady knew that I was going to steal some government bonds, she would hesitate a little before she wished me success," he thought, but he said:
"Thank you, Mrs. B., your good wishes are appreciated, and I may hereafter be able to show my appreciation in a substantial way. I suppose Grit is asleep."
Mrs. Brandon did not answer, finding the question an embarrassing one.
The next morning Brandon, contrary to his wont, showed considerable alacrity in dressing, and did justice to the breakfast his wife had set before him.
"Well, good-bye, Mrs. B.," he said, as he took his hat and prepared to leave the house. "Perhaps I had better go up-stairs and bid good-by to Grit, as I may not see him again for some time."
"Grit is out," said Mrs. Brandon hastily, for she did not wish her husband to go up to Grit's room, as he would discover that his bed had not been slept in.
"Out already?" said Brandon. "He's made an early start. Well, bid him good-by for me."
"It's very strange," repeated Mrs. Brandon, as she cleared away the breakfast dishes; "there's Grit gone, I don't know where, and now Mr. Brandon has started off on some mysterious business. What can it all mean?"