Grit lost no time in prosecuting his journey. In Portland he found that he should need to stay over a few hours, and repaired to the United States Hotel. He left word to be called early, as he wished to take a morning train to Boston.
At the breakfast-table he found himself sitting next to a man of swarthy complexion and bushy black whiskers.
"Good morning, my young friend," said the stranger, after a scrutinizing glance.
"Good morning, sir," said Grit politely.
"Are you stopping at this hotel?"
"For the present, yes," answered the young boatman.
"Are you going farther?"
"I think of it," said Grit cautiously.
"Perhaps you are going to Boston," proceeded the stranger.
"I may do so," Grit admitted.
"I am glad of it, for I am going, too. If agreeable, we will travel in company."
"I suppose we shall go on the same train?" said Grit evasively.
"Just so. I am going to Boston on business. You, I suppose, are too young to have business of any importance?"
"Boys of my age seldom have business of importance," said Grit, resolved to baffle the evident curiosity of the stranger.
"Exactly. I suppose you have relations in Boston?"
"I once lived in that neighborhood," said Grit.
"Just so. Are you going to stay long in the city?"
"That depends on circumstances?"
"Do you live in this State?"
"At present I do."
The man looked a little annoyed, for he saw that Grit was determined to say as little about himself as possible. He decided to set the boy an example of frankness.
"I do not live in Maine," he said; "I am a manufacturer in Fall River, Mass. I suppose you have heard of Fall River?"
"Oh, yes!"
"It is a right smart place, as a Philadelphian would say. You never heard of Townsend's Woolen Mill, I dare say?"
"No, I never have."
"It is one of the largest mills in Fall River. I own a controlling interest in it. I assure you I wouldn't take a hundred thousand dollars for my interest in it."
"You ought to be in very easy circumstances," said Grit politely, though it did occur to him to wonder why the owner of a controlling interest in a large woolen mill should be attired in such a rusty suit.
"I am," said the stranger complacently. "Daniel Townsend's income—I am Daniel T., at your service—for last year was twelve thousand three hundred and sixty-nine dollars."
"This gentleman seems very communicative," thought Grit.
"Your income was rather larger than mine," he said.
"Ho, ho! I should say so," laughed Mr. Townsend. "Are you in any business, my young friend?"
"I am connected with navigation," said Grit.
"Indeed?" observed Townsend, appearing puzzled. "Do you find it a paying business?"
"Tolerably so, but I presume woolen manufacturing is better?"
"Just so," assented Townsend, rather absently.
At this point Grit rose from the table, having finished his breakfast.
"Mr. Townsend seems very social," thought our hero, "but I think he is given to romancing. I don't believe he has anything more to do with a woolen mill in Fall River than I have."
Grit reached the station in time, and took his seat in the train. He bought a morning paper, and began to read.
"Ah, here you are, my young friend!" fell on his ears just after they passed Saco, and Grit, looking up, saw his breakfast companion.
"Is the seat beside you taken?" asked Mr. Daniel Townsend.
Grit would like to have said "yes," but he was compelled to admit that it was unengaged.
"So much the better for me," said the woolen manufacturer, and he sat down beside our hero.
He had with him a small, well-worn valise, which looked as if in some remote period it had seen better days. He laid it down, and, looking keenly about, observed Grit's parcel, which, though commonplace in appearance, contained, as we know, thirty thousand dollars in government bonds.
"It is rather a long ride to Boston," said Mr. Townsend.
"Yes; but it seems shorter when you have something to read," answered Grit, looking wistfully at his paper, which he would have preferred reading to listening to the conversation of his neighbor.
"I never care to read on the cars," said Mr. Townsend. "I think it is injurious to the eyes. Do you ever find it so?"
"I have not traveled enough to be able to judge," said Grit.
"Very likely. At your age I had traveled a good deal. My father was a rich merchant, and as I was fond of roving, he sent me on a voyage to the Mediterranean on one of his vessels. I was sixteen at that time."
"I wonder whether this is true, or not," thought Grit.
"I enjoyed the trip, though I was seasick on the Mediterranean. It is really more trying than the ocean, though you might not imagine it. Don't you think you would enjoy a trip of that sort?"
"Yes; I am sure I would," said Grit, with interest.
"Just so; most boys of your age are fond of traveling. Perhaps I might find it in my way to gratify your wishes. Our corporation is thinking of sending a traveler to Europe. You are rather young, but still I might be able to get it for you."
"You know so little about me," said Grit sensibly, "that I wonder you should think of me in any such connection."
"That is true. I don't know anything of you, except what you have told me."
"That isn't much," thought Grit.
"And it may be necessary for me to know more. I will ask you a few questions, and report your answers to our directors at their meeting next week."
"Thank you, sir; but I think we will postpone discussing the matter this morning."
"Is any time better than the present?" inquired Townsend.
Grit did not care to say much about himself until after he had fulfilled his errand in the city. He justly felt that with such an important charge it was necessary for him to use the greatest caution and circumspection. Still, there was a bare possibility that the man beside him was really what he claimed to be, and might have it in his power to give him a business commission which he would enjoy.
"If you will call on me at the Parker House this evening," said Grit, "I will speak with you on the subject."
"Whom shall I inquire for?" asked the Fall River manufacturer.
"You need not inquire for any one. You will find me in the reading-room at eight o'clock."
"Very well," answered Mr. Townsend, appearing satisfied.
The conversation drifted along till they reached Exeter.
Then Mr. Townsend rose in haste, and, seizing Grit's bundle instead of his own, hurried toward the door.
Grit sprang after him and snatched the precious package.
"You have made a mistake, Mr. Townsend," he said, eyeing his late seat companion with distrust.
"Why, so I have!" ejaculated Townsend, in apparent surprise. "By Jove! it's lucky you noticed it. That little satchel of mine contains some papers and certificates of great value."
"In that case I would advise you to be more careful," said Grit, who did not believe one word of the last statement.
"So I will," said Townsend, taking the satchel. "I am going into the smoking-car. Won't you go with me?"
"No, thank you."
"I have a spare cigar," urged Townsend.
"Thank you again, but I don't smoke."
"Oh, well, you're right, no doubt, but it's an old habit of mine. I began to smoke when I was twelve years old. My wife often tells me I am injuring my health, and perhaps I am. Take the advice of a man old enough to be your father, and don't smoke."
"That's good advice, sir, and I shall probably follow it."
"Well, good day, if we don't meet again," said Townsend.
Mr. Townsend, instead of passing into the smoking-car, got off the train. Grit observed this, and was puzzled to account for it, particularly as the train started on, leaving him standing on the platform.
A few minutes later the conductor passed through the train, calling for tickets.
Grit looked in vain for his, and, deciding that he should have to pay the fare over again, he felt for his pocketbook, but that, too, was missing.
He began to understand why Mr. Townsend left the train at Exeter.
The conductor waited while Grit was searching for his ticket. He was not the same one who started with the train, so that he could not know whether our hero had shown a ticket earlier in the journey.
"I can't find my ticket or my money," said Grit, perplexed.
"Then you will have to leave the train at the next station," said the conductor suspiciously.
"It is very important that I should proceed on my journey," pleaded Grit. "I will give you my name, and send you the money."
"That won't do, youngster," said the conductor roughly. "I have heard of that game before. It won't go down."
"There is no game about it," said Grit. "My ticket and pocketbook have been stolen."
"Of course," sneered the conductor. "Perhaps you can point out the thief."
"No, I can't, for he has left the train. He got out at Exeter."
"Very likely. You can take the next train back and find him."
"Do you doubt that I had a ticket?" asked Grit, nettled by the conductor's evident incredulity.
"Yes, I do, if you want the truth. You want to steal a ride; that's what's the matter."
"That is not true," said Grit. "I am sure some of these passengers have seen me show my ticket. Didn't you, sir?"
He addressed this question to a stout old gentleman who sat in the seat behind him.
"Really, I couldn't say," answered the old gentleman addressed. "I was reading my paper, and didn't take notice."
The conductor looked more incredulous than ever.
"I can't waste any more time with you, young man," he said. "At the next station you must get out."
Grit was very much disturbed. It was not pleasant to be left penniless at a small station, but if he had been left alone he would not have cared so much. But to have the custody of thirty thousand dollars' worth of government bonds, under such circumstances, was certainly embarrassing. He could not get along without money, and for a tramp without money to be in charge of such a treasure was ample cause of suspicion.
What could he do?
The train was already going slower, and it was evident that the next station was near at hand.
Grit was trying in vain to think of some way of securing a continuation of his journey, when a stout, good-looking lady of middle age, who sat just opposite, rose from her seat and seated herself beside him.
"You seem to be in trouble," she said kindly.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Grit. "My ticket and money have been stolen, and the conductor threatens to put me off the train."
"So I heard. Who do you think robbed you?"
"The man who sat beside me and got out at Exeter."
"I noticed him. I wonder you didn't detect him in the act of robbing you."
"So do I," answered Grit. "He must be a professional. All the same, I am ashamed of being so taken in."
"I heard you say it was important for you to reach Boston."
"It is," said Grit.
He was about to explain why, when it occurred to him that it would not be prudent in a crowded car, which might contain suspicious and unprincipled persons, to draw attention to the nature of his packet.
"I can't explain why just at present," he said; "but if any one would lend me money to keep on my journey I would willingly repay the loan two for one."
At this point the train came to a stop, and the conductor, passing through the car, addressed Grit:
"Young man, you must get out at this station."
"No, he needn't," said the stout lady decidedly. "Here, my young friend, pay your fare out of this," and she drew from a pearl portemonnaie a ten-dollar bill.
Grit's heart leaped for joy. It was such an intense relief.
"How can I ever thank you?" he said gratefully, as he offered the change to his new friend.
"No," she said; "keep the whole. You will need it, and you can repay me whenever you find it convenient."
"That will be as soon as I get home," said Grit promptly. "I have the money there."
"That will be entirely satisfactory."
"Let me know your name and address, madam," said Grit, taking out a small memorandum-book, "so that I may know where to send."
"Mrs. Jane Bancroft, No. 37 Mount Vernon Street," said the lady.
Grit noted it down.
"Let me tell you mine," he said. "My name is Harry Morris, and I live in the town of Chester, in Maine."
"Chester? I know that place. I have a cousin living there, or, rather, I should say, a cousin of my late husband."
"Who is it, Mrs. Bancroft?" asked Grit. "I know almost everybody in the village."
"Mr. Courtney. I believe he has something to do with the bank."
"Yes, he is a director. He was once president."
"Exactly. Do you know him?"
"Yes, ma'am. I saw him only a day or two before I left."
"I presume you know his son Philip, also."
"Oh, yes, I know Phil," said Grit.
"Is he a friend of yours?" asked the lady curiously.
"No, I can't say that. We don't care much for each other."
"And whose fault is that?" asked the lady, smiling.
"I don't think it is mine. I have always treated Phil well enough, but he doesn't think me a suitable associate for him."
"Why?"
"Because I am poor, while he is the son of a rich man."
"That is as it may be," said the lady, shrugging her shoulders. "Money sometimes has wings. So you are not rich?"
"I have to work for a living."
"What do you do?"
"I ferry passengers across the Kennebec, and in that way earn a living for my mother and myself."
"Do you make it pay?"
"I earn from seven to ten dollars a week."
"That is doing very well for a boy of your age. What sort of a boy is Phil? Is he popular?"
"I don't think he is."
"Why?"
"He is your nephew, Mrs. Bancroft, and I don't like to criticize him."
"Never mind that. Speak freely."
"He puts on too many airs to be popular. If he would just forget that his father is a rich man, and meet the rest of the boys on an equality, I think we should like him well enough."
"That is just the opinion I have formed of him. Last winter he came to make me a visit, but I found him hard to please. He wanted a great deal of attention, and seemed disposed to order my servants about, till I was obliged to check him."
"I remember hearing him say he was going to visit a rich relative in Boston," said Grit.
Mrs. Bancroft smiled.
"It was all for his own gratification, no doubt," she said. "So your name is Harry Morris?"
"Yes, but I am usually called Grit."
"A good omen. It is a good thing for any boy—especially a poor boy—to possess grit. Most of our successful men were poor boys, and most of them possessed this quality."
"You encourage me, Mrs. Bancroft," said our hero. "I want to succeed in life, for my mother's sake especially."
"I think you will; I have little knowledge of you, but you seem like one born to prosper. How long are you going to stay in Boston?"
"Till to-morrow, at any rate."
"You will be in the city overnight, then. Where did you think of staying?"
"At the Parker House."
"It is an expensive hotel. You had better stay at my house."
"At your house?" exclaimed Grit, surprised.
"Yes; I may want to ask more questions about Chester. We have tea at half-past six. That will give you plenty of time to attend to your business. I shall be at home any time after half-past five. Will you come?"
"With pleasure," said Grit politely.
"Then I will expect you."
Mrs. Bancroft returned to her seat. Our hero mentally congratulated himself on making so agreeable and serviceable a friend.
"What will Phil say when he learns that I have been the guest of his fashionable relatives in Boston?" thought he.
In due time the train reached Boston, and Grit lost no time in repairing to the bank.
When Grit had delivered the bonds at the bank, a great load seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. Especially after he had been robbed on the train, he realized the degree of risk and responsibility involved in the custody of so valuable a packet.
The officials at the bank seemed surprised at the youth of the messenger, but Grit felt at liberty to explain why he was selected as a substitute for the regular messenger.
Leaving our hero for a time, we go back to Chester to speak of other characters in our story.
Ephraim Carver, the bank messenger, went to the bank at the hour of opening to receive the package of bonds which he expected to convey to Boston. He had no suspicion that his negotiations of a previous evening had been overheard and reported to the president. He felt somewhat nervous, it is true, for he felt that a few hours would make him a rich man. Then the risk involved, though he did not consider it to be great, was yet sufficient to excite him.
He was admitted into the president's room, as usual.
Mr. Graves was already in his office, but his manner was his ordinary one, and the messenger did not dream that the quiet official read him through and through and understood him thoroughly.
"You know, I suppose, Mr. Carver," said President Graves, "that you are to go to Boston by the next train."
"Yes, sir."
"The packet you will carry is of unusual value, and requires an unusual degree of care and caution."
"Yes, sir."
"It contains thirty thousand dollars in government bonds," said the president, laying his hand on the prepared packet, which was in the usual form. "That is a fortune in itself," he added, closely scrutinizing the face of the messenger. He thought he detected a transient gleam of exultation in the eyes of the bank messenger.
"Of course," he proceeded, "if it were known that you carried a packet of such value, there would be great danger of your being robbed. Indeed, you might be in some personal danger."
"Yes, sir."
"But as it is only known to you and the officers of the bank, there is no special danger. Still, I advise you to be more than usually vigilant, on account of the value of your charge."
"Oh, yes, sir, I shall take good care of it," answered Carver, reaching out his hand for the packet.
"Let me see, how long have you been in the employ of the bank?" asked the president.
"Nearly three years, sir."
"You have found it a light, easy position, have you not?"
"Yes, sir, though, if you will allow me to say so, the salary is small."
"True; but the expenses of living in Chester are small, also. However, we will not discuss that question now. Possibly at the end of the year, if they continue satisfied with you, the directors may increase your salary slightly. There cannot be a large increase."
"I may not need an increase then," thought Carver. "With five thousand dollars to fall back upon, I shall feel independent."
"You will report to me when you return," said Mr. Graves, as the messenger left the bank parlor.
"Yes, sir, directly."
The president fixed his eyes upon the vanishing figure of the messenger, and said to himself:
"My friend, you have deliberately planned your own downfall. Greed of money has made you dishonest, but your plans are destined to miscarry, as this time to-morrow you and your confederates will be made aware."
"Now," thought the bank messenger, as he bent his steps toward the railway station, "the path is clear. Here is what will completely change my fortunes, and lift me from an humble dependent to a comfortable position in life."
Then he thought, with some dissatisfaction, that he was to receive but one-sixth of the value of the bonds, and that the man who employed him to betray his trust would be much more richly paid. However, in his case, there would be no risk of being personally implicated. No one could prove that he had allowed himself to be robbed. Even if suspicion fastened upon him, nothing could be proved. So, on the whole, perhaps it was better to be content with one-sixth than to incur greater risk, and the dread penalty of imprisonment for a term of years.
On the railroad platform Carver glanced furtively about him. He easily recognized Brandon and Travers, who stood side by side, each having provided himself with a ticket. They on their side also glanced swiftly at him, and then turned away with a look of indifference. But they had not failed to notice the important packet which the bank messenger carried in his hand.
"It is all right!" was the thought that passed through their minds.
There was another passenger waiting for the train, whom they did not notice. He was a small, quiet, unpretentious-looking man, attired in a suit of pepper and salt, and looked like a retail merchant in a small way, going to Portland or Boston, to order goods. They would have been very much startled had they known that it was a Boston detective, who had been telegraphed for by Mr. Graves, and that his special business was to follow them and observe their actions.
When the train reached the station Carver got in, and took a seat by himself in the second car. Just behind him sat the two confederates, Brandon and Travers, and in line with them, on the opposite side of the car, sat the quiet man, whom we will call Denton.
Ten minutes before the train reached Portland Ephraim Carver left his seat, and very singularly forgot to take the parcel, of which he had special custody, with him. It was a remarkable piece of forgetfulness, truly.
But his oversight was not unobserved. Travers sprang from his seat, took the parcel, and following the messenger overtook him at the door of the car.
He tapped Carver on the shoulder, and the latter turned round.
"I beg pardon," said Travers, "but you left this on the seat."
As he spoke he handed a packet to Carver.
"A thousand thanks!" said the messenger hurriedly. "I was very careless. I am very much indebted to you."
"I thought the packet might contain something valuable," said Travers.
"At any rate, I should not like to lose it," said the messenger, who appeared to be properly on his guard.
"Oh, don't mention it," said Travers politely, and he walked back and resumed his seat beside Brandon.
The quiet man, to whom we have already referred, noted this little piece of acting with a smile of enjoyment.
"Very well done, good people," he said to himself. "It ought to succeed, but it won't."
His sharp eyes had detected what the other passengers had not—that Travers had skilfully substituted another package for the one he had picked up from the seat vacated by Carver.
Carver passed on into the next car, and Denton now concentrated his attention upon Brandon and Travers.
He noticed in both traces of joyful excitement, for which he could easily account. They thought they had succeeded, and each mentally congratulated himself on the acquisition of a neat little fortune.
"They will get out at Portland," thought Denton, "and take account of their booty. I should like to be there to see, but I am instructed to follow my friend the bank messenger to Boston, and must, therefore, forego the pleasure."
At Portland, Brandon and Travers got out of the cars, and took a hack to the Falmouth Hotel.
They went to the office, and, calling for the hotel register, carefully scanned the list of arrivals.
The afternoon previous they found entered the name of Colonel Johnson.
"Is Colonel Johnson in?" asked Brandon.
"We will ascertain," was the reply.
The bell-boy who was despatched to inquire returned with the message that Colonel Johnson would see the gentlemen.
They followed the attendant to a room on the third floor, where they found their employer pacing the room in visible excitement.
"Give me the parcel," he said, in a peremptory tone.
He cut the strings, and hastily opened the coveted prize.
But his eager look was succeeded by black disappointment, as, instead of the bonds, he saw a package of blank paper of about the same shape and size.
"Confusion!" he ejaculated; "what does all this mean? What devil's mess have you made of the business?"
Johnson's hasty exclamation was heard with blank amazement by his two confederates.
"What do you mean, Colonel? Ain't the bonds there?" asked Travers.
"Do you call these bonds?" demanded Johnson savagely, as he pointed to the neatly folded brown paper. "You must have brought back your own parcel, and left the genuine one with the bank messenger."
"No," said Travers, shaking his head; "our package was filled with old newspapers. This is different."
"It is evidently only a dummy. Was it the only parcel Carver had?"
"Yes, it was the only one."
"Is it possible the villain has fooled us?" said Johnson, frowning ominously. "If he has, we'll get even with him—I swear it!"
"I don't know what to think, colonel," said Travers. "You can tell better than I, for you saw him about this business."
"He didn't seem like it, for he caught at my suggestion greedily. There's another possibility," added Johnson, after a pause, with a searching glance at his two confederates. "How do I know but you two have secured the bonds, and palmed off this dummy upon me?"
Both men hastily disclaimed doing anything of the kind, and Johnson was forced to believe them, not from any confidence he felt in them, but from his conviction that they were not astute enough to think of any such treachery.
"This must be looked into," he said slowly. "There has been treachery somewhere. It lies between you and the messenger, though I did not dream that either would be up to such a thing."
"You don't think the bank people did it, do you?" suggested Brandon.
"I don't know," said Johnson slowly. "I can't understand how they could learn what was in the wind, unless one of you three blabbed."
Of course, Travers and Brandon asseverated stoutly that they had not breathed a word to any third party.
Johnson was deeply perplexed, and remained silent for five minutes.
At length he announced his decision.
"We can do nothing, and decide upon nothing," he said, "till we see Carver. He went on to Boston, I conclude?"
"Yes, sir."
"He will be back to-morrow. We must watch the trains, and intercept him."
Leaving this worthy trio in Portland, we follow Ephraim Carver to Boston. As the cars sped on their way, he felt an uneasy excitement as he thought of his treachery, and he feared he should look embarrassed when he was called to account by the Boston bank officials. But there was a balm in the thought of the substantial sum he was to receive as the reward of his wrongdoing. That, he thought, would well repay him for the bad quarter of an hour he would pass in Boston.
"Five thousand dollars! Five thousand dollars!" This was the burden of his thoughts as he considered the matter. "It will make me independent. If I can keep my post, I will, and I can then afford to be faithful to the bank. If they discharge me, I will move away, for my living without work, and having money to spend, would attract suspicion if I continued to live in Chester. Somewhere else I can go into business for myself. I might stock a small dry-goods store, for instance. I must inquire into the chances of making a living at that business."
So, in spite of his treachery, Ephraim Carver, on the whole, indulged in pleasing reflections, so that the railroad journey seemed short.
Arrived in Boston, he found that he had just time to go to the bank and deliver his parcel within banking hours.
"I may as well do it, and have it over with," he said to himself.
So, with a return of nervousness, which he tried to conceal by outward indifference, he made his way to the bank to which he was commissioned.
He had been there before, and was recognized when he entered.
He was at once conducted into the presence of the president.
To him he delivered the parcel of bonds.
"That will do, Mr. Carver," said the president. "You may go outside while I examine them."
He was ushered into the ordinary room, and waited five minutes. He was trying to brace himself for an outburst of surprise, perhaps of stormy indignation, and searching cross-examination, when the president presented himself at the door of his private office.
"That will do," he said. "You can go, Mr. Carver."
Carver stared at him in blank amazement. This was precisely what he did not expect.
"Have you examined the bonds?" he asked.
"Of course," answered the president.
"And you find them all right?" continued the messenger, with irrepressible surprise.
"I suppose so," answered the president. "I will examine more carefully presently."
"Then you don't wish me to stay?" inquired Carver.
"No; there is no occasion to do so."
Ephraim Carver left the bank in a state of stupefaction.
"What can it all mean?" he asked himself. "The man must be blind as a bat if he didn't discover that the package contained no bonds. I don't believe he opened it at all."
So Carver was left in a state of uncertainty. On the whole he wished that the substitution had been discovered, so that the president could have had it out with him. Now he felt that a sword was impending over his head, which might fall at any time. This was unpleasant, for he did not know what to expect.
He went back to Portland by a late train, however, as he had arranged to do.
At the depot he met Colonel Johnson. He was puzzled to find that Johnson did not look as jubilant as he anticipated, now that their plot had succeeded. On the other hand, he looked grave and stern.
"Well, colonel, how goes it?" he asked.
"That is for you to say," returned Johnson. "You have seen Brandon and Travers, I suppose?"
"Yes, I have seen them."
"Then it's all right, and the parcel is in your hands."
"He takes it pretty coolly," thought Johnson. "I can't understand what it means. I must get to the bottom of this thing. Well, how did they take it at the bank?" he added, aloud. "Did they make any fuss?"
"No," answered the bank messenger. Johnson was surprised.
"They didn't question you about the parcel you brought them?"
"No; they told me it was all right, and let me go."
"Then they must have got the bonds," said Johnson hastily.
"What! haven't you got them?" asked the messenger, in genuine surprise.
"No," said Johnson bitterly. "The fools brought me a package stuffed with sheets of brown paper."
Carver stared at him in open-mouthed amazement.
"I don't understand it," he said. "I can't account for any parcel of the kind."
"They couldn't have made the exchange at all. This must have been their own parcel."
"No," said Carver; "theirs was stuffed with old newspapers."
"That was what they said."
"They told the truth. I helped them make up the parcel myself."
"Then it must have been their parcel that is now in the hands of the bank."
"It seems likely."
"Then where are the bonds?" demanded Johnson sternly.
"That is more than I can tell," said the bank messenger, in evident perplexity.
"It's enough to make a man tear his hair to have such a promising scheme miscarry," said Johnson gloomily. "I wish I could lay my finger on the man that's responsible for it."
"I can't understand it at all, colonel. We followed out your instructions to the letter. Everything went off smoothly."
"Can you tell me where are the bonds?" interrupted Johnson harshly.
"No, I can't."
"Then you may as well be silent."
"I will follow your directions," said Carver submissively. "What do you wish me to do?"
Johnson reflected a moment. Finally he said:
"Take the earliest morning train to Chester. I will stay here. So will the other two men."
"Anything further?"
"Only this: Keep your eyes and ears open when you get home. If you hear anything that will throw light on this affair, write or telegraph, or send a special messenger, so that I may act promptly on your information. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. Your directions shall be followed. I am as anxious as you are to find out why we failed."
In sending Grit to Boston instead of the regular messenger, President Graves had acted on his own responsibility, as he had a right to do, since it was a matter to be decided by the executive. He might, indeed, have consulted the directors, but that would have created delay, and might have endangered the needful secrecy. When, however, Grit returned and reported to him that his mission had been satisfactorily accomplished, he informed the directors of what had been done at a special meeting summoned at his own house. All approved the action except Mr. Courtney, who was prejudiced against Grit, and, moreover, felt offended because his own counsel had not been asked or regarded.
"It seems to me," he said, with some heat, "that our president has acted in a very rash manner."
"How do you make that out, Mr. Courtney?" interrogated that official.
"It was actually foolhardy to trust a boy like Grit Morris with a package of such value."
"Why?" inquired Graves.
"Why? He is only a common boy, who makes a living by ferrying passengers across the river."
"Does that prevent his being honest?"
"A valuable package like that would be a powerful temptation to a boy like that," asserted Courtney.
"The package was promptly delivered," said Mr. Graves dryly.
"He says so," sneered Courtney.
"Pardon me, Mr. Courtney, I have had advice to that effect from the Boston bank," said the president blandly.
"Well, I'm glad the danger has been averted," said Courtney, rather discomfited. "All the same, I blame your course as hazardous and injudicious. I suppose the boy was afraid to appropriate property of so much value."
"I think, Mr. Courtney, you do injustice to Grit," said Mr. Saunders, another director. "I am satisfied that he is strictly honest."
"Perhaps you'd be in favor of appointing him regular bank messenger," said Courtney, with a sneer.
"I should certainly prefer him to Ephraim Carver."
"I consider Carver an honest man."
"And I have positive proof that he is not honest," said the president. "I have proof, moreover, that he was actually in league with the man who plotted to rob the bank."
This statement made a sensation, and the president proceeded:
"Indeed, I have called this extra meeting partly to suggest the necessity of appointing in Carver's place a man in whom we can repose confidence."
Here he detailed briefly the conversation which Grit overheard between the bank messenger and Colonel Johnson. It impressed all, except Mr. Courtney.
"All a fabrication of that boy, I'll be bound," he declared. "I am surprised, Mr. Graves, that you should have been humbugged by such a palpable invention."
"What could have been the boy's object in inventing such a story, allow me to ask, Mr. Courtney?"
"Oh, he wanted to worm himself into our confidence," said Courtney. "Very likely he wished to be appointed bank messenger, though that would, of course, be preposterous."
"Gentlemen," said President Graves, "as my course does not seem to command entire approval, I will ask those of you who think I acted with discretion to signify it."
All voted in the affirmative except Mr. Courtney.
"I regret, Mr. Courtney, that you disapprove my course," said the president; "but I continue to think it wise, and am glad that your fellow directors side with me."
Soon after the meeting dissolved, and Mr. Courtney went home very much dissatisfied.
Nothing was done about the appointment of a new messenger, the matter being postponed for three days.
When Mr. Courtney went home he did a very unwise thing. He inveighed in the presence of his family against the course of President Graves, though it was a matter that should have been kept secret. He found one to sympathize with him—his son Phil.
"You don't mean to say," exclaimed that young man, "that Grit Morris was sent to Boston in charge of thirty thousand dollars in bonds?"
"Yes, I do. That is just what was done."
"It's a wonder he didn't steal them and make himself scarce."
"That is in substance what I said at the meeting of the directors, my son."
"I wish they'd sent me," said Phil. "I should have enjoyed the trip."
"It would certainly have been more appropriate," said Mr. Courtney, "as you are the son of one of the directors, and not the least influential or prominent, I flatter myself."
"To take a common boatman!" said Phil scornfully. "Why, Mr. Graves must be crazy!"
"He is certainly a very injudicious man," said his father.
"Do you believe Carver to be dishonest, father?"
"No, I don't, though Graves does, on some evidence trumped up by the boy Grit. He wants to supersede him, and it would not at all surprise me if he should be in favor of appointing Grit."
"How ridiculous! What is the pay?" asked Phil.
"Six hundred dollars a year, I believe," said Courtney.
"Can't you get it for me?" asked Phil eagerly.
"I don't think it would be suitable to appoint a boy," returned Courtney. "That is my objection to Grit."
"Surely I would be a better messenger than a common boy like that."
"Of course, you come of a very different family. Still, I prefer a man, and indeed I am in favor of retaining Ephraim Carver."
Phil would really have liked the office of bank messenger. He was tired of studying, and would have found it very agreeable to have an income of his own. He got considerable sums from his father, but not sufficient for his needs, or, rather, his wishes. Besides, like most boys of his age, he enjoyed traveling about, and considered the office a light and pleasant one.
"What a fool Graves must be," he said to himself, "to think of a common boatman for such a place! He'd better stick to his boat, it's all he's qualified for. I'd like to put a spoke in his wheel."
He left the house, and a short distance up the street he met Ephraim Carver, who had come back to town in obedience to Colonel Johnson's suggestion, to learn what he could about the mysterious package.
"I'll see what I can learn from him," thought Phil.
"Good morning, Mr. Carver," he said.
"Good morning, Philip."
"You've been to Boston lately, haven't you?"
"I wonder whether he has heard anything about the matter from his father," thought Carver.
"Yes," he answered.
"You didn't happen to meet Grit Morris there, did you?" asked Phil.
"Grit Morris!" exclaimed Carver, in genuine surprise.
"Yes, didn't you know he had been to Boston?"
"No; what business had he in Boston?" asked the messenger.
"None of his own," answered Phil significantly.
"Did any one send him?"
"You had better ask Mr. Graves," said Phil, telling more than he intended to.
"Why didn't Mr. Graves get me to attend to his business?" asked Carver, still in the dark.
"I didn't say Graves had any business of his own. He is president of the bank, you know."
"But I attend to the bank business. I am the messenger."
"Perhaps you don't attend to all of it," said Phil, telling considerably more than he intended when the conversation commenced.
"Tell me what you know, Phil, about this matter. It is important for me to know," said Carver coaxingly. "I know you don't like Grit, neither do I. If he is trying to curry favor with Mr. Graves, I want to know it, so as to circumvent him."
Before Phil quite knew what he was saying, he had revealed everything to Carver, adding that Grit was after his place.
The bank messenger now understood why the package entrusted to him was a dummy, and who carried the real package. He lost no time in sending information to Colonel Johnson, in Portland.
The gentleman was very much excited when he learned in what way he had been circumvented.
"So it was a boy, was it?" he said savagely. "That boy must be looked after. He may find that he has made a mistake in meddling with affairs that don't concern him."
When Grit returned he found his mother naturally curious to know where he had been and on what errand.
"I should like to tell you everything, mother," he said, "but it may not be prudent just yet."
"It's nothing wrong, I hope, Grit?"
"You may be sure of that, mother; I wouldn't engage in anything that I thought wrong. I feel justified in telling you confidentially that I was sent by Mr. Graves."
"What! the president of the bank?"
"Yes."
"Then it's all right," said Mrs. Brandon, with an air of relief.
"My time wasn't wasted, mother," said Grit cheerfully, as he displayed a ten-dollar note, new and crisp, which Mr. Graves had given him, besides paying the expenses of his trip. "I've only been gone two days, and ten dollars will pay me very well. It's better than boating, at any rate."
"Yes, but it isn't a steady employment."
"No; don't suppose I have any idea of giving up boating, because I have been paid five dollars a day for my trip. It's a help, though."
"Did you see anything of Mr. Brandon while you were gone?" asked his mother apprehensively.
"No, mother. I can't say I was disappointed, either."
"When he went away he spoke mysteriously of some good fortune that was coming to him. He expected to earn a large sum of money, and talked of going to Europe."
"He is welcome to do so," said Grit, smiling. "I hope he will, and then we can resume our old life. I tell you, mother, I feel more sure than ever of getting along. I am certain I can earn considerably more next year than I have ever done before," and the boy's cheeks glowed and his eyes sparkled with cheerful hope.
"I am sure you deserve to, Grit, for you've always been a good son."
"I ought to be, for I've got a good mother," said the boy, with a glance of affection at his mother.
"He pays me for all," thought Mrs. Brandon, as she watched with pride and a mother's love the form of her boy as he walked down to the river. "As long as he lives, I have reason to be grateful to God. Mr. Brandon is a heavy cross to me, but I can bear it while I have Grit."
Mr. Brandon, however, did not show himself. He was at Portland, subject to the orders of Colonel Johnson, who thought it not prudent that he or Travers should return just at present, lest, under the influence of liquor, they might become talkative and betray more than he desired.
It was at this point that he learned from Ephraim Carver that Grit had been sent to Boston in the place of the regular bank messenger.
"It looks as if somebody suspected something," he reflected anxiously. "Is it possible that any part of our plan has leaked out? And if so, how? Then why should a boy like that be selected for so responsible a duty? He must have had some agency in the discovery. Ha! I have it! He is the stepson of this Brandon. I must question Brandon."
"Brandon," he said abruptly, summoning that worthy to his presence, "you have a son named Grit, have you not?"
"Yes—curse the brat!" answered Brandon, in a tone by no means paternal.
"What kind of a boy is he?"
"Impudent and undutiful," said Brandon. "He doesn't treat me with any kind of respect."
"I don't blame him for that," thought Johnson, surveying his instrument with a glance that did not indicate the highest esteem.
"Did you tell him anything of our plans?" he asked searchingly.
"Tell him! He's the last person I'd tell!" returned Brandon, with emphasis.
"He didn't overhear you and Travers speaking of the matter, did he?"
"Certainly not. What makes you ask me that, colonel?"
"Because it was he who carried the genuine package of bonds to Boston—that's all."
"Grit—carried—the bonds!" Brandon ejaculated, in amazement.
"Yes."
"How did you find out?"
"Carver found out. I have just had a despatch from him."
"Well, that beats me!" muttered Brandon. "I can't understand it at all."
"It looks as if Carver were distrusted. I shall find out presently. In the meanwhile, I must see that boy of yours."
"I'll go and bring him here," said Brandon.
"Don't trouble yourself. I can manage the matter better by myself. I shall go to Boston this afternoon."
"Are Travers and I to go, too?"
"No; you can stay here. I'll direct you to a cheap boarding-house, where you can await my orders. I may take Travers with me."
This arrangement did not suit Brandon very well, though it might had he been entrusted with a liberal sum of money. But Colonel Johnson, having lost the valuable prize for which he had striven, was in no mood to be generous. He agreed to be responsible for Brandon's board, but only gave him two dollars for outside expenses, thus enforcing a degree of temperance which was very disagreeable to Brandon.
Grit returned to his old business, but I am obliged to confess that he was not as well contented with it as he had been a week previous. The incidents of the past four days had broadened his views, and given him thoughts of a career which would suit him better. He earned a dollar and a quarter during the day, and this made a very good average. Multiply it by six, and it stood for an income of seven dollars and a half per week. This, to be sure, was not a large sum, but it was quite sufficient to maintain the little household in a degree of comfort which left nothing to be desired.
"It's all very well now," thought Grit, "but it won't lead to anything. I'm so old now"—he was not quite sixteen—"that I ought to be getting hold of some business that I can follow when I am a man. I don't mean to be a boatman when I am twenty-five years old."
There was something in this, no doubt. Still Grit need not have felt in such a hurry. He was young enough to wait. Waiting, however, is a very bad thing for boys of his age. I only want to show how his mind was affected, in order that the reader may understand how it happened that he fell unsuspiciously into a trap which Colonel Johnson prepared for him.
After supper—it was two days later—Grit prepared to go to the village. He had a little errand of his own, and besides, his mother wanted a few articles at the grocery-store. Our hero, unlike some boys that I know, was always ready to do any errands for his mother, so that she was spared the trouble of exacting unwilling service.
Grit had done all his business, when he chanced to meet his friend Jesse Burns, who, as I have already said, was the son of the postmaster.
"How are you, Jesse?" said Grit.
"All right, Grit. Have you got your letter?"
"My letter!" returned Grit, in surprise.
"Yes; there's a letter for you in the post-office."
"I wonder who it can be from?"
"Perhaps it's from your affectionate stepfather," suggested Jesse, smiling.
"I hope not, I don't want to see or hear from him."
"Well, you can easily solve the problem. You have only to take the letter out."
"That's good advice, Jesse. I'll follow it."
Grit called for his letter, and noticed, with some surprise, that it was addressed to him, not under his real name, but under that familiar name by which we know him.
"Grit Morris," said Jesse, scanning the envelope. "Who can it be from?"
The letter was postmarked Boston, and was addressed in a bold, business hand.
Grit opened the envelope, read it through hastily, and with a look of evident pleasure.
"What's it all about, Grit?" asked Jesse.
"Read it for yourself, Jesse," said the young boatman, handing the letter to his friend.
This was the letter:
"Dear Sir: I need a young person on whom I can rely to travel for me at the West. I don't know you personally, but you have been recommended to me as likely to suit my purpose. I am willing to pay twelve dollars per week and traveling expenses. If this will suit your views, come to Boston at once, and call upon me at my private residence, No. ——, Essex Street.
"Yours truly,
"Solomon Weaver."
"What are you going to do about it, Grit?" asked Jesse, when he had finished reading the letter.
"I shall go to Boston to-morrow morning," answered Grit promptly.