“You'd better go upstairs and get that money, or I will go up myself,” said the tramp, boldly.
“I will go,” said Mrs. Cole, terrified.
It was at this time that Tom Tripp, looking in at the window, got an idea of the situation, but he was unobserved. The river bank was near, and he ran down to it, hoping, but not expecting, to see some one who could interfere with the impudent robber. We have already seen that he was luckier than he anticipated.
Meanwhile Mrs. Cole went upstairs, not knowing how to save the money from being carried away. She wished heartily that her husband had taken it with him. One hundred dollars, as she well knew, would be a serious loss to her husband, who was only moderately well to do. She thought it possible that the tramp might know how large a sum there was in the house, but could not be sure. She resolved, however, to make an effort to save the larger part of the money. From the wallet she took two five-dollar bills, and then, removing it from the drawer, put it between the beds. She lingered as long as she dared, and then went downstairs with the two bills in her hand.
“Well, have you got the money?” growled the tramp.
“Don't take it,” she said; “be satisfied with the breakfast I have given you.”
“You're a fool!” said the tramp, rudely. “How much have you got there?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars!” said the tramp, disdainfully. “What do you take me for?”
“It is a large sum of money to me and my husband, sir,” said the poor woman, nervously.
“It isn't enough for me! You have got more money in the house. Don't lie to me! You know you have.”
“I am not used to be talked to in that way,” said Mrs. Cole, forgetting her timidity for the moment.
“I can't help what you are used to; you'd better not trifle with me. Go upstairs and bring down the rest of the money—do you hear?”
“Oh, sir!”
“'Oh, sir!'” repeated the tramp, impatiently. “I can't stay here all day. Are you going to do as I tell you?”
“I suppose I must,” said the poor woman.
“That's sensible. You'll find out after a while that nothing is to be gained by trying to fool me. I'll give you just three minutes to find that money and bring it down.”
“You'll leave the spoons, then?”
“No; I want them, as I've already told you. Come, two minutes are passed. I don't want to kill you, but—”
Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from just outside the window.
“Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian shall not harm you.”
It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and stared in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert.
“What business is it of yours?” he demanded, in a blustering tone.
“We make it our business to defend this lady from your thievish designs,” said Melville.
“You!” exclaimed the tramp, contemptuously. “Why, I could twist either of you round my little finger.”
“You'd better not try it!” said Melville, not showing the least trepidation. “Mrs. Cole, has this man anything of yours in his possession?”
“He has my spoons and I have just handed him ten dollars.”
George Melville turned to the tramp.
“Be kind enough to lay the spoons on the table,” he said, “and give back the ten dollars Mrs. Cole handed you.”
“You must think I'm a fool!” said the tramp.
“No; but I think you are a prudent man. If you do as I say we will let you go; if not—”
“Well, if not?” blustered the tramp.
“If not, you may regret it.”
All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice, and the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with him. For himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill at ease, notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He was rather disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for he could not understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a man of twice his size and strength.
“I don't care for the spoons,” he said, “but I will take the money.”
“No, you will return the money,” said Melville, calmly.
“Who will make me?” demanded the tramp, defiantly.
“I will.”
“We'll see about that!” said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and stood only six feet distant.
“Stay where you are!” exclaimed Melville, resolutely, and he drew a pistol, which he leveled at his formidable antagonist.
“That settles it, stranger!” said the tramp, “You've got the advantage of me this time. Just wait till we meet again.”
“I am willing to wait for some time,” said Melville, shrugging his shoulders. “I have no desire to cultivate your acquaintance, my friend.”
“There are the spoons!” said the tramp, throwing them down on the table.
“Now for the money!”
The tramp looked at George Melville. Melville still held the pistol in his hand leveled at his breast. The thief was a large man, but he was not a brave one. He cowered before the resolute glance of his small opponent.
“Won't you interfere with me if I give back the money?” he asked.
“No.”
“Will you let me go without firing at me?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you won't keep your agreement,” suggested the tramp, nervously.
“I am a man of my word,” said Melville, calmly.
His calm, resolute tone, free from all excitement, impressed the tramp with confidence. He drew the notes from his vest pocket, where he had thrust them, and threw them on the table.
“Now, may I go?” he said.
In answer, George Melville, who stood between him and the door, drew aside, still, however, holding the pistol in position, and the tramp passed out, not sorry, it may be said, to get out of range of the weapon.
They watched him striding through the yard, and when he was fairly gone Mrs. Cole said:
“Oh, how can I thank you for saving me from this wretch?”
“I am glad to have been the instrument of deliverance,” said Melville, politely.
“It was fortunate you had the pistol with you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert.
“Well, yes, perhaps it was,” said Melville, smiling.
“Pray, put it up, Mr. Melville,” said the farmer's wife, “it always makes me nervous to see a loaded pistol.”
Melville bowed, and put back the pistol in his pocket.
“As your unpleasant visitor has gone,” he said, “I may as well relieve your fears by saying that the pistol is not loaded.”
“Not loaded!” exclaimed Herbert and Tom Tripp in concert.
“No; it has not been loaded to my knowledge for a year.”
“Then how could you stand up against that man?” asked the farmer's wife, in wonder.
“He thought it was loaded!” replied Melville, “and that answered the purpose. I should be very reluctant to use a loaded pistol, for I have a high idea of the sacredness of human life, but I have no objection to playing upon the fears of a man like that.”
Melville and Herbert remained at the farmhouse for half an hour, till the return of the farmer, when they resumed their river trip. They returned about noon. When they were walking through the main street, Herbert saw the town constable approaching with the air of a man who had business with him.
“Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Bruce?” he asked.
“Yes, Herbert. I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“For my arrest!” exclaimed Herbert, in amazement. “What for?”
“On complaint of Eben Graham, for abstracting postage stamps and money from the post office last evening.”
Herbert stared at the constable in blank amazement.
“I am charged with stealing stamps and money from the post office?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Who makes the charge?” demanded Herbert, in great excitement.
“Eben Graham.”
“I don't know what it means,” said our hero, turning to George Melville.
“It means,” said Melville, “that the fellow is envious of you, and angry because he cannot supersede you with me. He evidently wants to do you an injury.”
“It must be so; but I did not imagine that Eben could be so mean. Mr. Bruce, do you believe that I am a thief?”
“No, I don't, Herbert,” said the constable, “and it was very much against my will that I started out to arrest you, you may be sure.”
“When do you want me to go with you?” asked Herbert.
“You will go before Justice Slocum at two o'clock.”
“Is it necessary for me to go to the lockup?” asked Herbert, shrinking, with natural repugnance, from entering the temporary house of tramps and law breakers.
“No, Herbert,” answered the constable, in a friendly tone. “I'll take it upon myself to let you go home to dinner. I will call for you at quarter of two. Of course I shall find you ready to accompany me?”
“Yes, Mr. Bruce, I am impatient to meet Eben Graham, and tell him to his face that he has been guilty of a mean and contemptible falsehood, in charging me with theft. Not a person in the village who knows me will believe it.”
“I will also call at your house, Herbert,” said George Melville, “and accompany you to the office of the justice. I shall ask leave to give the details of Eben Graham's visit to me last evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, “I am glad you do not believe a word of this story.”
“I am not so easily deceived, Herbert. It is quite possible that stamps and money have been stolen, but, if so, it is your false friend and accuser who is guilty.”
Of course Herbert had to tell his mother what had happened. She was agitated and alarmed, but became calmer when Herbert told her what was Eben's probable motive in making the charge.
“How can he behave so shamefully!” exclaimed the indignant parent.
“I didn't think him capable of it, myself, mother, although I had a poor opinion of him.”
“Suppose that you can't prove that you are innocent, Herbert?” said Mrs. Carr, anxiously.
“It is for him to prove that I am guilty, mother,” answered Herbert, who knew this much of law.
At a quarter of two Constable Bruce and Mr. Melville walked to the house together.
The door was opened for them by Herbert himself.
“So you haven't taken leg bail, Herbert,” said the constable, jocosely.
“No, Mr. Bruce, I am on hand; I am in a hurry to meet Mr. Eben Graham and see whether he can look me in the face after his shameful behavior.”
“Oh, Mr. Bruce, I never thought you would call at my home on such an errand,” said Mrs. Carr, on the point of breaking down.
“Don't worry, Mrs. Carr,” said the constable; “anybody may be charged with theft, however innocent. Your son has good friends who won't see him treated with injustice.”
Herbert's mother was desirous of accompanying them to the office of the justice, but was persuaded to remain behind. Herbert knew that in her indignation she would not be able to be silent when she saw Eben Graham.
Justice Slocum was an elderly man, with a mild face and gray hair. When Herbert entered he greeted him in a friendly way.
“I am sorry to see you here, my boy,” he said, “but I am sure there is some mistake. I have known you ever since you were a baby, and I don't believe you are guilty of theft now.”
“I submit, Judge Slocum,” said Eben Graham, who sat in a corner, his mean features looking meaner and more insignificant than usual, “I submit that you are prejudging the case.”
“Silence, sir!” said Judge Slocum, warmly. “How dare you impugn my conduct? Though Herbert were my own son, I would give you a chance to prove him guilty.”
“I hope you'll excuse me, judge,” said Eben, cringing. “I am as sorry as you are to believe the boy guilty of stealing.”
“Do your worst and say your worst, Eben Graham!” said Herbert, contemptuously, “but be very careful that you do not swear falsely.”
“I don't need any instructions from you, Herbert Carr, considering that you are a criminal on trial,” said Eben, maliciously.
“You are mistaken, sir,” said George Melville. “To be under arrest does not make a man or boy a criminal.”
“I am sure I am much obliged for the information, Mr. Melville,” said Eben, spitefully. “You've chosen a nice companion.”
“There you are right,” said Melville, gravely. “I have done much better than if I had hired you.”
Eben winced, but did not reply.
George Melville whispered to Herbert:
“Are you willing to accept me as your lawyer? I am not much of one, to be sure, but this case is very simple.”
“I am very grateful for your offer, and accept it,” said Herbert.
I do not propose to record the whole scene in detail, but only to give a general idea of the proceedings.
Eben Graham was sworn as a witness, and deposed that he had left Herbert in charge of the post office the previous evening. On his return he examined the stamps and contents of the money drawer, and found, to his surprise, that five dollars in money and six dollars' worth of stamps were missing.
“How did you know they were missing?” asked Melville.
“Because I knew precisely how much money was in the drawer and how many stamps were there.”
“Then you counted them just before you went out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That was rather a singular time to make the count, was it not?”
“I don't know that it was, sir.”
“I should suppose the end of the day would be a more appropriate time.”
“I don't think so,” answered Eben, shortly.
“Were you led to make the count because you suspected Herbert's honesty?” asked Mr. Melville.
“That was the very reason I did it,” said Eben, with a malicious glance at Herbert.
“Isn't it a little curious that you should have selected a boy whose honesty you doubted, to fill your place?” asked George Melville, carelessly.
“There wasn't anybody else; he knew all about post-office work.” answered Eben.
“Very good! Now, Mr. Graham, if you have no objection, will you tell why you wanted to get away from the post office last evening?”
Eben fidgeted, for he saw what was coming, and it made him nervous.
“I wanted a little rest,” he answered, after a pause.
“Where did you go?”
“Why do you ask me that question?” asked Eben, moving about uneasily.
“Because I desire an answer.”
“You know where I went,” returned Eben, sullenly.
“Yes, but I wish you to tell me.”
“Answer the question, witness!” said the judge, briefly.
“I went to the hotel,” replied Eben, evasively.
“On whom did you call?”
“On you!” answered Eben, reluctantly.
“We have come to it at last. Now, what was your business with me?”
“To tell you that Herbert would not suit you as a companion,” said the witness, who thought this answer rather a clever one.
“Whom did you recommend in his place?” pursued the questioner, relentlessly.
Eben hesitated, but his cleverness came again to his aid.
“I told you that I would be willing to come just to oblige you,” he said.
“Did Herbert know that you were going to make this proposal?”
“No.”
“You asked him, then, to remain in the post office while you absented yourself with a view of depriving him of the position he had just secured in my employ?”
“I would have got father to take him again in the store and post office,” said Eben, defending himself from the implied charge of treachery.
“Yes, you told me so.”
Eben nodded triumphantly. Even Melville had to admit that he was not treating Herbert meanly.
“By the way,” said Melville, “isn't it rather strange that you should have been ready to recommend in your place a boy whose honesty you doubted?”
“I didn't know he was a thief,” said Eben, somewhat abashed.
“No, but you suspected his honesty. That was your reason for counting the money and stamps before you left the office. At least, that is the reason you have given.”
“He had been in the office before I was there,” said Eben, uneasily.
“While he was there, were any stamps missing? Was he suspected of taking any stamps or money?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Now, Mr. Graham, what answer did I make to your application?”
“What application?”
“To take you into my employ instead of Herbert.”
“You wanted to keep him,” said the witness, sullenly.
“Precisely. Having failed, then, in your application, you went home and discovered that some money and stamps had been stolen.”
“Yes, sir. I was very much surprised—”
“That will do, sir. Your discovery was remarkably well-timed. Herbert having obtained the position you sought, you straightway discovered proof of his dishonesty.”
Eben colored, for the insinuation was plain enough for even him to understand.
“The two things had nothing to do with each other!” he said.
“That may be, but I call the attention of the judge to a very remarkable coincidence. Have the missing stamps or money been found on the person of the defendant?”
“He hasn't been searched.”
“I will take it upon me to say that he is ready to submit to an examination,” said Melville.
Herbert said, emphatically, “I am.”
“Oh, it isn't likely you'd find anything now.” said Eben, with a sneer.
“Why not?”
“He has had plenty of time to put 'em away.”
“I am willing to have my mother's house searched,” said Herbert, promptly.
“Oh, they ain't there!” said Eben, significantly.
“Where are they, then?”
Eben's answer took Herbert and his lawyer, and the judge himself, by surprise.
“I guess they're—a part of them—inside this letter,” he said.
As he spoke he produced a letter, stamped and sealed, but not postmarked. The letter was addressed:
“Messrs. Jones & Fitch,
“—-Chestnut Street,
“Philadelphia.”
“What makes you think this letter contains money or postage stamps, Mr. Graham?” asked George Melville.
“Because I've seen an advertisement of Jones & Fitch in one of the weekly papers. They advertise to send several articles to any address on receipt of seventy-five cents in postage stamps.”
“Very well. What inference do you draw from this?”
“Don't you see?” answered Eben, in malicious triumph. “That's where part of the stamps went. This letter was put into the post office by Herbert Carr this morning.”
“That is not true,” said Herbert, quietly.
“Maybe it isn't, but I guess you'll find Herbert Carr's name signed to the letter,” said Eben.
“Have you seen the inside of the letter, Mr. Graham?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how do you know Herbert Carr's name is signed to it?”
“I don't know, but I am pretty sure it is.”
“You think Herbert Carr wrote the letter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If there is no objection,” said Melville, “I will settle the matter by opening it.”
“That's what I want you to do.” said Eben Graham.
“And I also,” said Herbert.
Mr. Melville deliberately cut open one end of the envelope with a small penknife, and drew out the folded sheet which it contained. As he did so, a small sheet of postage stamps fell upon the floor.
“There, do you see that?” said Eben in triumph.
The sheet of stamps contained twenty-five three-cent stamps, representing in value seventy-five cents.
“Shall I read the letter, sir?” asked Melville, of the judge.
“If there is no objection.”
Melville read it aloud, as follows:
“WAYNEBORO, August 2lst. MESSRS. JONES & FITCH: I inclose seventy-five cents in stamps, and will be glad to have you send me the articles you advertise in the Weekly Gazette. Yours truly,
“HERBERT CARR.”
Herbert listened to the reading of this letter in amazement.
“I never wrote that letter,” he said, “and I never heard of Jones & Fitch before.”
“That's a likely story!” sneered Eben Graham. “I submit to Judge Slocum that I have proved my case. I haven't found out when all the stamps left, but I have shown where some are. One who will steal seventy-five cents' worth of stamps will steal six dollars' worth.”
“I agree with you there, Mr. Graham,” said George Melville. “Will you be kind enough to sit down at that table, and write to my dictation?”
“What should I do that for?” asked Eben, suspiciously.
“Never mind. Surely you can have no objection.”
“Well, no; I don't know as I have, though I think it's all foolishness.”
He sat down, and a pen was handed him.
“What shall I write?” he asked.
“Write 'Messrs. Jones & Fitch.'”
“What for?” demanded Eben, looking discomposed.
“That's my affair. Write.”
Eben wrote the words, but he seemed to find some difficulty in doing so. It was clear that he was trying to disguise his handwriting.
“What next?” he asked.
“'I inclose seventy-five cents in stamps,'” proceeded George Melville.
“Do you want to throw suspicion on me?” asked Eben, throwing down the pen.
“Keep on writing!” said the judge.
Eben did so, but was very deliberate about it, and seemed very particular as to how he penned his letter.
“Very well!” said Melville. “Now, I wish Herbert Carr to take the pen, and I will dictate the same letter.”
Herbert readily took the seat just vacated by Eben, and rapidly wrote the words dictated to him.
When he had finished his task, Mr. Melville took the two copies, and, first examining them himself, handed them, together with the original letter, to Justice Slocum.
“I have only to ask your honor,” he said, “to compare these three notes and decide for yourself whether the original was written by Herbert Carr or Mr. Eben Graham, the witness against him.”
Eben Graham looked very ill at ease, flushing and paling by turns while the examination was going on.
“I submit,” he said, “that this is a very extraordinary way of treating a witness.”
Justice Slocum, after a pause, said: “I find that Mr. Eben Graham's copy is unmistakably in the same handwriting as the original letter, purporting to be written by Herbert Carr.”
“It's not so!” faltered Eben.
“Then,” said George Melville, triumphantly, “as it seems clear that my young client is the victim of a base conspiracy, engineered by the man who has brought this charge of dishonesty against him, I have only to ask that he be honorably discharged.”
“The request is granted,” said Justice Slocum. “Herbert, you can go. It is clear that you are innocent of the charge made against you.”
“I protest,” began Eben Graham.
“As for you, Mr. Graham,” said the justice, severely, “I have no words to express my scorn and detestation of your conduct in deliberately contriving a plot to ruin the reputation of an innocent boy, who has never done you any harm. Should Herbert Carr desire it, he is at liberty to sue you for having him arrested on a false charge trumped up by yourself.”
Eben began to look frightened.
“I do not wish to punish Mr. Graham,” said Herbert. “It is enough for me that my honesty has been vindicated.”
“Go, then,” said the justice to Eben. “It is fortunate for you that this boy is so forbearing.”
Eben Graham slunk out of the justice's office, looking meaner and more contemptible than ever, while Herbert was surrounded by his friends, who congratulated him upon the happy issue of the trial.
Ebenezer Graham had taken no stock in his son's charge against Herbert. He was not prejudiced in favor of Herbert, nor did he feel particularly friendly to him, but he was a man of shrewdness and common sense, and he knew that Herbert was not a fool. When Eben made known to him the fact that the stamps and money were missing, he said keenly: “What has become of 'em?”
“I don't know,” answered Eben, “but I can guess well enough.”
“Guess, then,” said his father, shortly.
“You know Herbert Carr took my place last evening?”
“Well?”
“There's no doubt that he took the stamps and money.”
“That isn't very likely.”
“I feel sure of it—so sure that I mean to charge him with it.”
“Well, you can see what he says.”
Ebenezer did not understand that Eben intended to have the boy arrested, and would not have consented to it had he known. But Eben slipped out of the store, and arranged for the arrest without his father's knowledge. Indeed, he did not learn till the trial had already commenced, Eben having made some excuse for his absence.
When Eben returned his father greeted him in a tone very far from cordial.
“Well, Eben, I hear you've gone and made a fool of yourself?”
“I have only been defending your property, father,” said Eben, sullenly. “I thought you'd appreciate it better than this.”
“You've charged an innocent boy with theft, and now all his friends will lay it up agin' us.”
“Were you going to be robbed without saying a word?” asked Eben.
“No, I'm not, Eben Graham; I'm goin' to say a word, and now's the time to say it. You can't pull wool over my eyes. The money's gone, and the stamps are gone, and somebody's got 'em.”
“Herbert Carr!”
“No, it isn't Herbert Carr. It's somebody nearer to me, I'm ashamed to say, than Herbert Carr.”
“Do you mean to say I took them?” asked Eben.
“I won't bring a charge unless I can prove it, but I shall watch you pretty closely after this.”
“In that case, I don't wish to work for you any longer; I throw up the situation,” said Eben, loftily.
“Verv well. When are you going to leave town?”
“I ain't going to leave town at present.”
“Where are you going to board, then?”
Eben regarded his father in dismay.
“You're not going to send me adrift, are you?” he asked, in consternation.
“I'm not going to support you in idleness; if you give up your situation in the store, you'll have to go to work for somebody else.”
“I wish I could,” thought Eben, thinking of the rich young man at the hotel, from whom he had sought a position as companion.
“Then I shall have to leave Wayneboro,” he said; “there's nothing to do here.”
“Yes, there is; Farmer Collins wants a hired man.”
“A hired man!” repeated Eben, scornfully. “Do you think I am going—to hire out on a farm?”
“You might do a great deal worse,” answered Ebenezer, sensibly.
“After being a dry-goods salesman in Boston, I haven't got down to that, I beg to assure you,” said Eben, with an air of consequence.
“Then you will have to work in the store if you expect to stay at home,” said his father. “And hark you, Eben Graham,” he added, “don't report any more losses of money or stamps. I make you responsible for both.”
Eben went back to his work in an uneasy frame of mind. He saw that he had not succeeded in imposing upon his father, and that the clear-sighted old gentleman strongly suspected where the missing articles had gone. Eben might have told, had he felt inclined, that the five-dollar bill had been mailed to a lottery agent in New York in payment for a ticket in a Southern lottery, and that the stamps were even now in his possession, and would be sold at the first opportunity. His plan to throw suspicion upon Herbert had utterly failed, and the cold looks with which he had been greeted showed what the villagers thought of his attempt.
“I won't stay in Wayneboro much longer,” Eben inwardly resolved. “It's the dullest hole in creation. I can get along somehow in a large place, but here there's positively nothing. Hire out on a farm, indeed! My father ought to be ashamed to recommend such a thing to his only son, when he's so well off. If he would only give me two hundred dollars, I would go to California and trouble him no more. Plenty of people make money in California, and why shouldn't I? If that ticket draws a prize—”
And then Eben went into calculations of what he would do if only he drew a prize of a thousand dollars. That wasn't too much to expect, for there were several of that amount, and several considerably larger. He pictured how independent he would be with his prize, and how he would tell his father that he could get along without him, displaying at the same time a large roll of bills. When he reached California he could buy an interest in a mine, and perhaps within three or four years he could return home twenty times as rich as his father. It was pleasant to think over all this, and almost to persuade himself that the good luck had actually come. However, he must wait a few days, for the ticket had not yet come, and the lottery would not be drawn for a week.
The ticket arrived two days later; Eben took care to slip the envelope into his pocket without letting his father or anyone else see it, for unpleasant questions might have been asked as to where he got the money that paid for it, Mr. Graham knowing very well that his son had not five dollars by him.
For a few days Eben must remain in Wayneboro, until the lottery was drawn. If he was unlucky, he would have to consider some other plan for raising money to get away from Wayneboro.
It was not till the day after the trial and his triumphant acquittal, that Herbert saw Eben. He came to the store to buy some groceries for his mother.
“Good-evening, Herbert,” said Eben.
“Eben,” said Herbert, coldly, “except in the way of business, I don't want to speak to you.”
“You don't bear malice on account of that little affair, do you, Herbert?” said Eben, smoothly.
“That little affair, as you call it, might have been a very serious affair to me.”
“I only did my duty,” said Eben.
“Was it your duty to charge an innocent person with theft?”
“I didn't see who else could have taken the things,” said Eben.
“Probably you know as well as anybody,” said Herbert, contemptuously.
“What do you mean?” demanded Eben, coloring.
“You know better than I do. How much do I owe you?”
“Thirty-three cents.”
“There is your money,” said Herbert, and walked out of the store.
“I hate that boy!” said Eben, scowling at Herbert's retreating figure. “He puts on too many airs, just because a city man's taken him in charity and is paying his expenses. Some time I'll be able to come up with him, I hope.”
Herbert was not of an unforgiving nature, but he felt that Eben had wronged him deeply, and saw no reason why he would not repeat the injury if he ever got the chance. He had at least a partial understanding of Eben's mean nature and utter selfishness, and felt that he wished to have nothing to do with him. Ebenezer Graham was very “close,” but he was a hard-working man and honest as the world goes. He was tolerably respected in Wayneboro, though not popular, but Eben seemed on the high road to become a rascal.
A week slipped by, and a circular containing the list of prizes drawn was sent to Eben.
He ran his eyes over it in a flutter of excitement. Alas! for his hopes. In the list of lucky numbers the number on his ticket was not included.
“I have drawn a blank! Curse the luck!” he muttered, savagely. “The old man needn't think I am going to stay here in Wayneboro. If he won't give me money to go out West, why, then—”
But he did not say what then.
“To-morrow, Herbert,” said George Melville, as they parted for the day, “I shall propose a new excursion to you.”
Herbert regarded him inquiringly.
“I want to go to Boston to make a few purchases, but principally to consult my physician.”
“I hope you are not feeling any worse, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, with genuine concern, for he had come to feel a regard for his employer, who was always kind and considerate to him.
“No, I am feeling as well as usual; but I wish to consult Dr. Davies about the coming winter—whether he would advise me to spend it in Massachusetts.”
“If Mr. Melville goes away, I shall have to look for another place,” thought Herbert, soberly. It was hardly likely, he knew, that he would obtain a position so desirable as the one he now filled.
“I hope he will be able to do so, Mr. Melville,” he said, earnestly.
“I hope so; but I shall not be surprised if the doctor ordered me away.”
“Then you won't want me to come to-morrow?”
“Certainly, unless you object to going to Boston with me.”
“Object?” repeated Herbert, eagerly. “I should like nothing better.”
In fact, our hero, though a well-grown boy of sixteen, had never been to Boston but three times, and the trip, commonplace as it may seem to my traveled young readers, promised him a large amount of novelty and pleasurable excitement.
“I shall be glad of your company, Herbert. I hardly feel the strength or enterprise to travel alone, even for so trifling a trip as going to Boston.”
“At what hour will you go, Mr. Melville?”
“I will take the second train, at nine o'clock. It will afford me time enough, and save my getting up before my usual time.”
Herbert would have preferred going by the first train, starting at half-past seven, as it would have given him a longer day in the city, but of course he felt that his employer had decided wisely.
“It will be quite a treat to me, going to Boston,” he said. “I have only been there three times in my life.”
“You certainly have not been much of a traveler, Herbert,” said George Melville, smiling. “However, you are young, and you may see a good deal of the world yet before you die.”
“I hope I will. It must be delightful to travel.”
“Yes, when you are young and strong,” said Melville, thoughtfully. “That makes a great deal of difference in the enjoyment.”
Herbert did not fail to put in an appearance at the hotel considerably before it was time to leave for the train. George Melville smiled at his punctuality.
“I wish, Herbert,” he said, “that I could look forward with as much pleasure as you feel to our trip to-day.”
“I wish so, too, Mr. Melville.”
“At any rate, I shall enjoy it better for having a companion.”
The tickets were bought, and they took their places in one of the passenger cars.
Just as the train was ready to start, Herbert saw a young man with a ticket in his hand hurrying along the platform.
“Why, there's Eben Graham!” he said, in surprise.
“Is he entering the cars?”
“Yes, he has just got into the car behind us.”
“I wonder if he is going to leave Wayneboro for good?”
“Probably he is only going to Boston for the day, perhaps to buy goods.”
Herbert thought it doubtful whether Ebenezer Graham would trust his son so far, but did not say so. Eben, on his part, had not seen Herbert on board the train, and was not aware that he was a fellow passenger.
The journey was a tolerably long one—forty miles—and consumed an hour and a half. At last they rolled into the depot, and before the train had fairly stopped the passengers began to crowd toward the doors of the car.
“Let us remain till the crowd has passed out,” said George Melville. “It is disagreeable to me to get into the throng, and it saves very little time.”
“Very well, sir.”
Looking out of the car window, Herbert saw Eben Graham walking swiftly along the platform, and could not forbear wondering what had brought him to the city.
“My doctor's office is on Tremont Street,” said Mr. Melville. “I shall go there immediately, and may have to wait some time. It will be tiresome to you, and I shall let you go where you please. You can meet me at the Parker House, in School Street, at two o'clock.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Do you know where the hotel is?”
“No, but I can find it,” answered Herbert, confidently.
“I believe I will also get you to attend to a part of my business for me.”
“I shall be very glad to do so,” said Herbert, sincerely. It made him feel more important to be transacting business in Boston.
“Here is a check for a hundred and fifty dollars on the Merchants' Bank,” continued George Melville. “It is payable to the bearer, and you will have no trouble in getting the money on it. You may present it at the bank, and ask for fives and tens and a few small bills.”
“Very well, sir.”
Herbert felt rather proud to have so much confidence reposed in him, for to him a hundred and fifty dollars seemed a large sum of money, and he felt that George Melville was a rich man to draw so much at one time.
“Had I better go to the bank at once?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so; of course, I need not caution you to take good care of the money.”
“I'll be sure to do that, sir.”
They walked together to Tremont Street, and Mr. Melville paused at a doorway opposite the Common.
“My doctor's office is upstairs,” he said. “We will part here and meet at the hotel. If you are late, I may go into the dining room; so if you don't see me in the reading room, go to the door of the dining room and look in.”
“Very well, sir; but I think I shall be on time.”
“The bank is open now, and you can cash the check if you go down there.”
Left to himself, Herbert walked slowly along, looking into shop windows and observing with interested attention the people whom he met.
“It must be very pleasant to live in the city,” he thought; “there is so much going on all the time.”
It is no wonder that country boys are drawn toward the city, and feel that their cup of happiness would be full if they could get a position in some city store. They do not always find the reality equal to their anticipations. The long hours and strict discipline of a city office or mercantile establishment are not much like the freedom they pictured to themselves, and after they have paid their board bill in some shabby boarding house they seldom find much left over, either for amusement or needful expenses. The majority of boys would do better to remain in their country homes, where at least they can live comfortably and at small expense, and take such employment as may fall in their way. They will stand a much better chance of reaching a competence in middle life than if they helped to crowd the ranks of city clerks and salesmen. There is many a hard-working clerk of middle age, living poorly, and with nothing laid by, in the city, who, had he remained in his native village, might have reached a modest independence. It was hardly to be expected, however, that Herbert would feel thus. Upon him the show and glitter of the city shops and streets produced their natural effect, and he walked on buoyantly, seeing three times as much as a city boy would have done.
He turned down School Street, passing the Parker House, where he was to meet Mr. Melville. Just before he reached it he saw Eben Graham emerge from the hotel and walk towards Washington Street. Eben did not look behind him, and therefore did not see Herbert.
“I wonder where he is going?” thought our hero, as he followed a few steps behind Eben.