Tony set to work with rapid hands to tie the prostrate
tramp hand
and foot.—(See page 73)
It was not until after Rudolph's seizure that Ben, who had followed the extemporized police, discovered the bags of gold in the hands of the tramp.
"Give me my money!" he shrieked, in excitement and anguish. "Don't let him carry it off."
"It's safe, Ben," said one of the captors. "But who would have supposed you had so much money?"
"It isn't much," faltered the old man.
"The bags are pretty heavy," was the significant rejoinder. "Will you take two hundred dollars apiece for them?"
"No," said the old man, embarrassed.
"Then it seems there is considerable after all. But never mind. Take them, and take better care of them hereafter."
Ben advanced with as much alacrity as he could summon in his weakness, and stooped to pick up the bags. He had got hold of them when the tramp, whose feet were unconfined, aimed a kick at him which completely upset him.
Even though he fell, however, he did not lose his grip of the bags, but clung to them while crying with pain.
"Take that, you old fool!" muttered the tramp. "It's the first instalment of the debt I owe you."
"Take him away, take him away! He will murder me!" exclaimed old Ben, in terror.
"Come along. You've done mischief enough," said his captors, sternly, forcing the tramp along.
"I'll do more yet," muttered Rudolph.
He turned to Tony, who stood at a little distance watching the fate of his quondam companion.
"I've got a score to settle with you, young traitor. The day will come for that yet."
"I'm sorry for you, Rudolph," said Tony; "but you brought it on yourself."
"Bah! you hypocrite!" retorted the tramp. "I don't want any of your sorrow. It won't save you when the day of reckoning comes."
He was not allowed to say more, but was hurried away to the village lockup for detention until he could be conveyed to more permanent quarters.
Doctor Compton was among the party who had been summoned by Tony. He lingered behind, and took Ben apart.
"Mr. Hayden," he said, "I want to give you a piece of advice."
"What is it?" asked the old man.
"Don't keep this gold in your house. It isn't safe."
"Who do you think will take it?" asked Ben, with a scared look.
"None of those here this morning, unless this tramp should escape from custody."
"Do you think he will?" asked the old man, in terror.
"I think not; but he may."
"If he don't, what danger is there?"
"It will get about that you have money secreted here, and I venture to say it will be stolen before three months are over."
"It will kill me," said Ben, piteously.
"Then put it out of reach of danger."
"Where?"
"I am going over to the county town, where there is a bank. Deposit it there, and whenever you want any, go and get it."
"But banks break sometimes," said Ben, in alarm.
"This is an old, established institution. You need not be afraid of it. Even if there is some danger, there is far less than here."
"But I can't see the money—I can't count it," objected Ben.
"You can see the deposit record in a book. Even if that doesn't suit you as well, you can sleep comfortably, knowing that you are not liable to be attacked and murdered by burglars."
The old man vacillated, but finally yielded to the force of the doctor's reasoning. A day or two later he rode over to the neighboring town, and saw his precious gold deposited in the vaults of the bank. He heaved a sigh as it was locked up, but on the whole was tolerably reconciled to the step he had taken.
We are anticipating, however.
When the confusion incident to the arrest was over, Tony came forward.
"Mr. Hayden," he said, "you are so much better that I think you can spare me now."
"But," said the old man, startled at the boy's question, "suppose Rudolph comes back."
"I don't think he can. He will be put in prison."
"I suppose he will. What a bold, bad man."
"Yes, he is a bad man, but I am sorry for him. I don't like to think of one I have been with so long in the walls of a prison. I suppose it can't be helped, though."
"How did you come to be with him?" asked the old man, in a tone of interest.
"I don't know. I have been with him as long as I can remember. You used to know him, didn't you?"
"A little," said the old man, hastily.
"Where was it?"
"In England—long ago."
"In England. Was he born in England?" asked Tony, in surprise.
"Yes."
"And you, too?"
"Yes, I am an Englishman."
"Do you think I am English, too?" asked the boy, eagerly.
"I think so; yes, I think so," answered Ben, cautiously.
"Have you any idea who I am—who were my parents?"
"No, I don't know," said Ben, slowly.
"Can you guess?"
"Don't trouble me now," said Ben, peevishly. "I am not well. My head is confused. Some day I will think it over and tell you what I know."
"But if I am not here?"
"I will write it down and give it to the doctor."
"That will do," said Tony. "I know he will keep it for me. Now, good-by."
"Are you going?"
"Yes, I have my own way to make in the world. I can't live on you any longer."
"To be sure not," said Ben, hastily. "I am too poor to feed two persons, and you have a very large appetite."
"Yes," said Tony, laughing, "I believe I have a healthy appetite. I'm growing, you know."
"It must be that," said old Ben, with the air of one to whom a mystery had just been made clear. "What is your name?"
"Tony," answered our hero, in surprise at the question.
"No. I mean your full name."
"That is more than I know. I have always been called Tony, or Tony the Tramp. Rudolph's last name is Rugg, and he pretends that I am his son. If I were, I should be Tony Rugg."
"You are not his son. He never had any son."
"I am glad to hear that. I shan't have to say now that my father is in jail for robbery. Good-by, Mr. Hayden."
"Good-by," said Ben, following the boy thoughtfully with his eyes till he had disappeared round a turn in the road.
"Well," thought Tony, "I've set up for myself now in earnest. Rudolph can't pursue me, and there is no one else to interfere with me. I must see what fortune waits me in the great world."
With a light heart, and a pocket still lighter, Tony walked on for several miles. Then he stopped at a country grocery store, and bought five cents worth of crackers. These he ate with a good appetite, slaking his thirst at a wayside spring.
He was lying carelessly on the green sward, when a tin peddler's cart drove slowly along the road.
"Hallo, there!" said the peddler.
"Hallo!" said Tony.
"Are you travelin'?"
"Yes."
"Do you want a lift?"
"Yes," said Tony, with alacrity.
"Then get up here. There's room enough for both of us. You can hold the reins when I stop anywhere."
"It's a bargain," said Tony.
"Are you travelin' for pleasure?" asked the peddler, who was gifted with his share of curiosity.
"On business," said Tony.
"What is your business? You're too young for an agent."
"I want to find work," said Tony.
"You're a good, stout youngster. You'd ought to get something to do."
"So I think," said Tony.
"Ever worked any?"
"No."
"Got any folks?"
"If you mean wife and children, I haven't," answered our hero, with a smile.
"Ho, ho!" laughed the peddler. "I guess not. I mean father or mother, uncles or aunts, and such like."
"No, I am alone in the world."
"Sho! you don't say so. Well, that's a pity. Why, I've got forty-'leven cousins and a mother-in-law to boot. I'll sell her cheap."
"Never mind!" said Tony. "I won't deprive you of her."
"I'll tell you what," said the peddler, "I feel interested in you. I'll take you round with me for a day or two, and maybe I can get you a place. What do you say?"
"Yes, and thank you," said Tony.
"Then it's settled. Gee up, Dobbin!"
Toward the close of the next day the tin-peddler halted in front of a country tavern, situated in a village of moderate size.
"I'm going to stay here over night," he said.
"Maybe they'll let me sleep in the barn," said Tony.
"In the barn! Why not in the house?"
"I haven't got any money, you know, Mr. Bickford."
"What's the odds? They won't charge anything extra for you to sleep with me."
"You're very kind, Mr. Bickford, but they won't keep me for nothing, and I don't want you to pay for me."
At this moment the landlord came out on the piazza, and asked the hostler:
"Where's Sam?"
"Gone home—says he's sick," answered James.
"Drat that boy! It's my opinion he was born lazy. That's what's the matter with him."
"I guess you're right, Mr. Porter," said James. "The boy don't earn his salt."
"I wouldn't take him back if I had anybody to take his place."
"Do you hear that, Tony?" said the peddler, nudging our hero.
Tony was quick to take the hint.
He walked to the landlord, and said:
"I'll take his place."
"Who are you?" asked the landlord, in surprise. "I never saw you before."
"I have just come," said Tony. "I am looking for a place."
"What can you do?"
"Anything you want me to do."
"Have you any references?"
"I can refer to him," said Tony, pointing to the tin peddler.
"Oh, Mr. Bickford," said the landlord, with a glance of recognition. "Well, that's enough. I'll take you. James, take this boy to the kitchen, and give him some supper. Then tell him what's to be done. What's your name, boy?"
"Tony Rugg."
"Very well, Tony, I'll give you three dollars a week and your board as long as we suit each other."
"I've got into business sooner than I expected," thought Tony.
The hostler set him to work in the barn, and though he was new to the work, he quickly understood what was wanted, and did it.
"You work twice as fast as Sam," said the hostler, approvingly.
"Won't Sam be mad when he finds I have taken his place?" asked Tony.
"Probably he will, but it's his own fault."
"Not if he's sick."
"He's no more sick than I am. He only wants to get a day or two off."
"Well, I'm glad he left a vacancy for me," said Tony.
"Where did you work last?" asked the hostler.
"Nowhere."
"Never worked? Then how did you live?"
"I traveled with my guardian."
"Were you rich?" asked James, rather impressed by Tony's answer.
"No; I just went round and lived as I could. I didn't like it, but I couldn't help it. I had to go where Rudolph chose to lead me."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. I got tired of being a tramp, and ran away from him."
"You did right," said James, who was a steady man, and looked forward to a snug home of his own ere long. "All the same, Mr. Porter wouldn't have taken you if he had known you were a tramp."
"I hope you won't tell him, then. I don't want to be a tramp any longer."
"No; I won't tell him. I want you to stay here. I'd rather have you than Sam."
"Thank you. I'll try to suit."
Tony was assigned to a room in the attic. There were two beds in this chamber, one being occupied by James. He slept soundly, and was up betimes in the morning. After breakfast, Mr. Bickford, the tin peddler, made ready to start.
"Good-by, Tony," he said, in a friendly manner. "I'm glad you've got a place."
"I wouldn't have got it if I hadn't you to refer to," said Tony.
"The landlord didn't ask how long I'd known you," said Bickford, smiling. "However, I guess I know enough of you to give you a recommend. Good luck to you."
As the peddler drove away, Tony noticed a big, overgrown boy, who was just entering the hotel yard.
"That's Sam," said the hostler. "He don't know he's lost his place."
Sam was about two inches taller than Tony, red haired and freckled, with a big frame, loosely put together. He was a born bully; and many were the tricks he had played on smaller boys in the village. He liked his place at the hotel because he was no longer obliged to go to school; but he was too lazy to fulfill the duties satisfactorily. His father was a blacksmith, of surly disposition, very much like Sam's, who was generally believed to ill-treat his wife, a meek, uncomplaining woman, who filled the position of a household drudge.
Sam strutted into the yard with the air of a proprietor. He took no particular notice of Tony, but accosted James. The latter made a signal to Tony to be silent.
"Well, have you just got along?" asked the hostler.
"Ye-es," drawled Sam.
"What made you go home yesterday afternoon, and not come back?"
"I didn't feel well," said Sam, nonchalantly.
"What was the matter with you?"
"I had a sort of headache."
"Do you think Mr. Porter can afford to pay you wages and let you go home three times a week in the middle of the afternoon?"
"I couldn't work when I was sick of course," said Sam.
"You're mighty delicate, getting sick two or three times a week."
"Couldn't help it," said Sam, unconcerned.
"I suppose you have come to work this morning?"
"Ye-es, but I can't work very hard—I ain't quite got over my headache."
"Then you'll be glad to hear that you won't have to work at all."
"Ain't there anything to do?" asked Sam, with an air of relief.
"Yes, there's plenty to do, but your services ain't required. You're discharged!"
"What!" exclaimed Sam, his eyes lighting up with anger.
"Mr. Porter's got tired of your delicate health; it interferes too much with business. He's got a tougher boy to take your place."
"Where is he?" demanded Sam, with an ominous frown.
"There," answered the hostler, pointing out our hero, who stood quietly listening to the conversation.
Sam regarded Tony with a contemptuous scowl. So this was the boy who had superseded him. He hated him already for his presumption in venturing to take his place.
"Who are you?" he demanded, roughly.
"Your successor," answered Tony, coolly.
He knew that his answer would make Sam very angry, but he was not afraid of him, and felt under no particular obligations to be polite.
"You won't be my successor long," retorted Sam.
"Why not?"
"What business had you to take my place?"
"The landlord hired me."
"I don't care if he did. He hired me first."
"Then you'd better go to him and complain about it. It's none of my business——"
"It's my business," said Sam, with emphasis.
"Just as you like."
"Will you give up the place?"
"No," said Tony. "You must think I'm a fool. What should I give it up for?"
"Because it belongs to me."
"I don't see that; I suppose Mr. Porter has a right to hire anybody he likes."
"He had no right to give you my place."
"That's his business. What shall I do next, James?"
"Go to the barn and shake down some hay for the horses."
"All right."
Sam walked off, deeply incensed, muttering threats of vengeance against Tony.
Three days later a boy entered the stable, and calling for Tony, presented the following missive:
"If you ain't a coward, meet me to-morrow night at seven o'clock, back of the school house, and we'll settle, by fighting, which shall have the place, you or I. If you get whipped, you must clear out, and leave it to me.
"Sam Payson."
Tony showed the note to the hostler.
"Well, Tony, what are you going to do about it?" asked James, curiously.
"I'll be on hand," said Tony, promptly. "He won't find it so easy to whip me as he thinks."
Sam Payson felt perfectly safe in challenging Tony to single combat. He had measured him with his eye, and seen that he was two inches shorter, and probably twenty pounds lighter. But appearances were deceitful, and he had no idea that Tony had received special training, which he lacked.
This was the way it had happened:
In the course of his extensive wanderings, Tony had attracted the attention of a certain pugilist who was a friend of Rudolph.
"I'll tell you what, Rudolph," said the pugilist, "you can make something of that boy."
"How?" asked the tramp.
"I'll teach him to box, and you can get an engagement for him in a circus."
"Do it if you like," said the tramp. "It won't do him any harm."
So Tony received a gratuitous course of lessons in boxing, which were at last interrupted by a little difficulty between his teacher and the officers of the law, resulting in the temporary confinement of the former. The lessons were never resumed, but they had gone so far that Tony was quite a skillful boxer for a boy.
He, too, had measured Sam, and felt quite sure of being able to conquer him, and that with ease. He did not, however, mention the grounds of his confidence to James, when the latter expressed some apprehension that he would find Sam too much for him.
"Don't be alarmed, James," said Tony, quietly. "I'm enough for him."
"He's bigger than you," said James.
"I know that, but he's clumsy."
"He's slow, but he's pretty strong."
"So am I."
"You've got pluck, and you deserve to beat, Tony," said his friend.
"I mean to," answered Tony. "Come along and see that it's all fair."
"I will if I can get away. Will you give up your place if you are licked?"
"Yes," replied Tony, "I'll give up my place and leave the village."
"I don't believe Mr. Porter will take Sam back."
"I see you are expecting I will be whipped," said Tony, laughing; "but you're mistaken. Sam isn't able to do it."
James feared that Tony overestimated his prowess, but earnestly hoped that the boy, in whom he already felt a strong interest, would achieve the victory.
Meanwhile, Sam had made known the duel which was about to take place. He confidently anticipated victory, and wanted the village boys to be witnesses of the manner in which he was going to polish off that interloper.
"I'll learn him to cut me out of my place," he said, boastfully; "I'll learn him to mind his own business."
"Will you get your place again if you lick him?" asked one of his companions.
"Of course I will."
"Suppose he won't give it up?"
"Then I'll lick him every day till he's glad to clear out. All you boys know I don't stand no nonsense."
The result of Sam's boastful talk was that about a hundred boys collected about the school house to witness the boys' duel.
Many of them who had suffered from Sam's bullying disposition would have been glad to see him worsted, but none anticipated it.
Nothing was known of Tony except that he was considerably smaller and lighter, and probably weaker. It was generally thought that he would not be able to hold out long, and that Sam would achieve an easy victory.
Tony tried to be on hand at the time appointed, but he had more than usual to do, and it was five minutes past seven when he entered the field, accompanied by James.
There had been various speculations as to the cause of his delay.
"He won't come," said Sam, with a sneer; "he's afraid."
"What'll you do if he don't come?" asked John Nolan.
"What will I do? I'll pitch into him wherever I see him."
"Didn't he accept your challenge?"
"Yes, he accepted, but he's thought better of it, likely."
"There he comes!" shouted a small boy.
All eyes were turned upon Tony, as he entered the field, with James at his side.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, boys," said our hero, politely.
"We concluded you'd backed out," said Sam, with a sneer.
"That isn't my style," returned Tony, with a quiet smile. "I had more to do than usual to-night."
"You've still more to do," said Sam, jeeringly. "I pity you."
"Do you? You're very kind," said Tony, unmoved.
"Oh, don't thank me too soon."
"Then I won't. When are the exercises to commence?"
"He takes it cool," said Nolan.
"Oh, it's only show off," said Sam. "You'll see how he'll wilt down when I get hold of him."
The two boys stripped off coat and vest, and faced each other. Tony was wary and watchful, and quietly looked into the eyes of his adversary, showing no disposition to begin.
Sam began business by thrusting his right fist violently in his face, or rather trying to do so. With scarcely an effort Tony parried the blow, and returned it quick as lightning, striking Sam full in the nose.
Sam was not only maddened, but disagreeably surprised, especially when he discovered that blood was trickling from the injured organ. He was still more incensed by the murmur of applause which followed from the crowd of boys. Had the applause been elicited by his success, he would have enjoyed it, but now it was quite a different matter.
He breathed an audible curse, and, losing all prudence, began to let drive at Tony with each fist in rapid succession, with the intention of overpowering him. But, unfortunately for him, this exposed him to attack, and a couple of forcible blows in his face warned him that this was too dangerous.
Tony stood upright, as cool and collected as at first. He had warded off every blow of his adversary, and thus far was untouched.
There was a murmur of surprise among the boys. They had come to see Tony used up, and all the using up had proved to be from the other side. James was as much delighted as surprised. He could not repress clapping his hands, a movement which was quickly imitated by the boys.
"Tony knows how to take care of himself," he thought. "That's why he took matters so coolly. I didn't half believe him when he told me there was no danger."
Sam felt humiliated and maddened. He regretted now that he had undertaken a task which seemed every moment more formidable. What! was it possible that he, Sam Payson, the crack fighter of the village, was being ignominiously whipped, and that by a smaller boy. He felt that if he permitted this his prestige would be forever gone, and with it the influence which he so much prized. He must make one desperate effort.
"If I can only get hold of him," he thought, "I can shake the life out of him."
He tried to grasp Tony round the body, intending to throw him violently down upon the ground; but our hero was too quick for him, and showered the blows upon him with such rapidity that, blinded and overwhelmed, Sam himself fell on his back.
Instead of following up the victory, Tony drew off and let his adversary rise. Sam renewed the attack so wildly that in two minutes he was again lying flat.
"That's enough, Sam! You're whipped," shouted the boys.
But Sam was not convinced. He renewed the attack once more, but there was no hope for him now.
He got up sullenly, and, in a voice nearly choked with rage, said:
"I'll be even with you yet, see if I don't."
"Hurrah for the stranger!" shouted the boys enthusiastically, as they crowded around our hero.
"Boys," said Tony, modestly, "I'm much obliged to you for your congratulations. Was it a fair fight?"
"Yes, yes."
"Then it's all right. Don't say anything to him about it. He feels bad, as I should do in his place. I haven't any ill will toward him, and I hope he hasn't toward me."
This speech made Tony a still greater favorite and the boys, making a rush, took him on their shoulders, and bore him in triumph to the inn. Poor Sam slunk home, suffering keener mortification than he had ever before experienced in his life.
Leaving Tony for a short time, we must return to Rudolph, whom we left in charge of a self-constituted body of police on his way to the station-house.
Of course there was no regular prison in the village. There was not properly even a station-house. But under the engine house was a basement room, which was used as a lock-up. It was not often used, for few rogues of a serious character disturbed the tranquility of the village. Occasionally a man was put in who had disturbed the peace while under the influence of liquor, but even such cases were rare.
When first arrested Rudolph was disposed to be violent and abusive. His disappointment was keen, for he was just congratulating himself on the possession of the miser's gold. Five minutes later, and he would probably have been able to make good his escape. Mingled with his disappointment was a feeling of intense hostility against Tony for his part in defeating his plans.
"I'll be revenged upon him yet," he muttered between his teeth.
"What did you say?" asked one of his captors.
"Nothing," answered Rudolph.
"I thought I heard you say something."
"I said I was tired."
"Then you will have a chance to rest in the lock-up."
Rudolph frowned, but said nothing.
They reached the lockup. The door was opened, and he was led in. A small oil lamp was lighted, and set on the floor.
"Where are the handcuffs?" asked one of the captors.
"I don't know. They haven't been needed for so long that they have been mislaid."
"They won't be needed now. The man can't get out."
Rudolph's face betrayed satisfaction, but he thought it prudent to say nothing.
"There's your bed," says Moses Hunt, who had Rudolph by the arm, pointing to a rude cot in the corner.
Rudolph threw himself upon it.
"I'm dead tired," he said, and closed his eyes.
"He'll be quiet enough. We can leave him alone," said Hunt.
"All right."
The door was locked, and Rudolph was left alone.
When five minutes had elapsed—time enough for his captors to get away—he rose in bed, and looked about him.
Beside the bed in which he was lying there was no other furniture in the room than a wooden chair.
He got up and walked about.
"I must get away from this if I can," thought the tramp, "and before morning. I am glad they didn't put on handcuffs. Let me see, how shall I manage it."
He looked about him thoughtfully.
It was a basement room, lighted only by windows three feet wide and a foot high in the upper part of the room.
"I should like to set fire to the building, and burn it up," thought the tramp. "That would cost them something. But it wouldn't be safe. Like as not I would be burnt up myself, or, at any rate, be taken again in getting away. No, no; that won't do."
"I wonder if I can get through one of those windows?" was the next thought that came into his mind.
He stood on the chair, and as the room was low-slatted he found he could easily reach the windows in question.
He shook them, and found to his joy that it would be a comparatively easy thing to remove one of them.
"What fools they are," he muttered contemptuously. "Did they really expect to keep me here. They must think I am a green hand."
He removed the window, and by great effort succeeded in raising himself so that he might have a chance of drawing himself through the aperture. It did not prove so easy as he expected. He did, however, succeed at length, and drew a long breath of satisfaction as he found himself once more in the possession of his liberty.
"I'm a free man once more," he said. "What next?"
He would have been glad to return to the miser's house, and possessed himself of some of his gold, but the faint gray of dawn was already perceptible, and there was too much risk attending it. He felt that this must be deferred to a more fitting occasion.
A few days later the tramp found himself in the streets of New York.
For the time he had given up the pursuit of Tony. Indeed, he had wholly lost the clew. Moreover, prudence dictated his putting as great a distance as possible between himself and the village where he had been arrested.
The hundred miles intervening between New York and that place he had got over in his usual way, begging a meal at one house, and a night's lodging at another. He was never at a loss for a plausible story. At one place where he was evidently looked upon with suspicion, he said:
"I ain't used to beggin'. I'm a poor, hard-workin' man, but I've heard that my poor daughter is sick in New York, and she's in the hospital. Poor girl! I'm afraid she'll suffer."
"What took her to New York?" asked the farmer whom he addressed.
"She went to take a place in a store," said Rudolph readily, "but she's been taken sick, and she's in the hospital. Poor girl! I'm afraid she'll suffer."
"I'm sorry for you," said the farmer's wife, sympathizingly. "Ephraim, can't we help along this poor man?"
"If we can believe him. There's many impostors about."
"I hope you don't take me for one," said Rudolph, meekly. "Poor Jane; what would she think if she knew how poor father was so misunderstood."
"Poor man! I believe you," said the farmer's wife. "You shall sleep in Jonathan's bed. He's away now."
So Rudolph was provided with two abundant meals and a comfortable bed. The farmer's wife never doubted his story, though she could not help feeling that his looks were not prepossessing. But, was her charitable thought, the poor man can't help his looks.
Of course Rudolph had been in New York often, and his familiar haunts. As a general thing, however, he shunned the city, for he was already known to the police, and he felt that watchful eyes would be upon him as soon as it was known that he was back again.
On the second day he strolled into a low drinking place in the lower part of the city.
A man in shirt sleeves, and with unhealthy complexion, was mixing drinks behind the bar.
"Hallo, Rudolph! Back again?" was his salutation.
"Yes," said the tramp, throwing himself down in a seat.
"What's the news with you? Been prospering?"
"No."
"Where have you been?"
"Tramping round the country."
"Where's the boy you used to have with you?"
"Run away; curse him!" returned the tramp with a fierce scowl.
"Got tired of your company, eh?"
"He wants to be honest and respectable," answered Rudolph, with a sneer.
"And he thought he could learn better under another teacher, did he?" said the bartender, with a laugh.
"Yes, I suppose so. I'd like to wring his neck," muttered the tramp.
"You're no friend to the honest and respectable, then?"
"No, I'm not."
"Then, there's no love lost, for they don't seem to fancy you. What'll you have to drink?"
"I've got no money."
"I'll trust. You'll have some some time?"
"Give me some whisky, then," said the tramp.
The whisky was placed in his hands. He gulped it down, and breathed a sigh of satisfaction.
Then resuming his seat, he took up a morning paper. At first he read it listlessly, but soon his face assumed a look of eager interest.
This was the paragraph that arrested his attention:
"Should this meet the eye of Rudolph Rugg, who left England in the fall of 1857, he is requested to communicate with Jacob Morris, attorney-at-law, Room 11, No. —, Nassau street."
Rudolph rose hurriedly.
"Going?" asked the bartender.
"Yes; I'll be back again soon."
When Rudolph reached the sidewalk he stopped a moment to reflect on the probable meaning of the advertisement.
"Perhaps it is a trap," he thought. "Perhaps, after so many years, they want to punish me. Shall I go?"
His hesitation was only temporary.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," he concluded. "Very likely I shall hear something to my advantage. I will go."
Ten minutes' walk brought him to Nassau street. He ascended two flights of stairs, opened the door of No. —, and found himself in a lawyer's office. A tall man of forty was seated at a desk, with some papers and books lying before him.
"Well," he said inquiringly, "what can I do for you, sir?"
The address was not very cordial, for Rudolph did not have the look of one likely to be a profitable client.
"Are you Mr. Jacob Morris, attorney-at-law?" asked the tramp.
"That is my name."
"I am Rudolph Rugg."
"Rudolph Rugg!" exclaimed the lawyer, briskly, jumping from his chair, "you don't say so. I am very glad to see you. Take a chair, please."
Reassured by this reception, Rudolph took the seat indicated.
"So you saw my advertisement?" said the lawyer, brushing away the papers with which he had been occupied.
"Yes, sir. I only saw it this morning."
"It has been inserted for the last two weeks, daily. How happens it that you did not see it sooner?"
"I have been away from the city. I have been traveling. It was only an accident that I happened to see it to-day."
"A lucky accident, Mr. Rugg."
"I hope it is, sir, for I have been out of luck myself, and I've been hoping something would turn up for me. What is the business, sir?"
"My business has been to find you. I can't say anything more."
"To find me?"
"Yes."
"What for?"
"For a client of mine—an English lady."
"A lady?" ejaculated the tramp, with unconcealed surprise.
"Yes."
"Who is it?"
"I suppose I am at liberty to tell. The lady is Mrs. Harvey Middleton, of Middleton Hall, England."
A peculiar expression swept over Rudolph's face, but he only said:
"I have heard the name of Harvey Middleton. Is—is the lady in New York?"
"Yes; she is staying at the St. Nicholas Hotel."
"And she wants to find me?"
"Yes, she authorized me to seek you out?"
"Well," said Rudolph, after a brief pause, "I'm found. What next?"
"I shall at once send a messenger to Mrs. Middleton, and await her orders. You will stay here."
He went to the door and called "John," in a loud voice.
"Look here," said Rudolph, suspiciously, "just tell me one thing. There ain't any trap is there?"
"Trap, my good friend? What can you possibly mean?"
"You ain't sending for the police?"
"To be sure not. Besides, why should a gentleman like you fear the police?"
"Oh, that's all gammon. I do fear the police uncommon. But if you tell me it's all on the square, I'll believe you."
"On my honor, then, it's all on the square, as you call it. No harm whatever is designed you. Indeed, I have reason to think that you will make considerable money out of it. Now, hark ye, my friend, a word in confidence. We can do each other good."
"Can we?" asked the tramp, surveying the lawyer, in surprise.
"Yes, and I'll tell you how. This lady, Mrs. Middleton, appears to be rich."
"She is rich."
"So much the better for us. I mean to give her the idea that I have been at great trouble and expense in finding you."
"I see," said Rudolph, smiling. "You mean to charge it in the bill."
"Of course, I shall represent that I sent out messengers in search of you, and you were found by one of them."
"Very good."
"So you need not say anything about the advertisement."
"All right, sir."
"Grant me a moment while I pencil a note to the lady."
* * * * * * *
In a private parlor at the St. Nicholas sat a lady of middle age. She had a haughty face, and stern, compressed lips. She was one to repel rather than to attract. She had a note before her, which she threw down with an exclamation of impatience.
"So he has heard nothing yet. For three weeks I have been wasting my time at this hotel, depending on this lawyer, and he has done absolutely nothing. And the issue is so important. I may have to employ another person, and that will be a fresh bill of expense."
At this moment a light knock was heard at the door.
"Enter," said the lady.
"A note for Mrs. Middleton," announced a servant.
She took the missive and hastily opened it. It read thus:
"My dear Madam—At last, after unwearied exertions, I have succeeded. The man, Rudolph Rugg, has been found by one of my messengers, and is at this moment in my office, ready to obey your summons. Shall I send him to you?
"Yours, respectfully,
"Jacob Morris.""P. S.—I assured you at the outset that if he were living I would find him. I am sure you will appreciate my exertions in your behalf."
"That means a larger bill," thought the lady. "However, I am willing to pay handsomely. The man is found, and he can, doubtless, produce the boy."
"Wait!" she said, in an imperious tone, to the servant, who was about to withdraw. "There is an answer."
She hastily penciled the following note:
"I am very glad you have found Rudolph Rugg. I wish to speak to him at once. Send him here directly."
"Short and not sweet!" commented the lawyer, when it was placed in his hands. "She says nothing about the compensation."
"Is it about me?" asked the tramp, watching the lawyer's face eagerly.
"Yes; it is from Mrs. Middleton. She wants you to come to the hotel at once. But, my friend, if you will excuse the suggestion, I would advise you, since you are about to call upon a lady, to put on a better suit of clothes."
The tramp scowled at the hint.
"How am I to do it," he demanded roughly, "when these are all the clothes I have?"
The lawyer whistled.
"A pretty looking figure to call upon a lady at a fashionable hotel!" he thought.
"You must go as you are," he said. "Wait a minute."
He took a blank card and wrote upon it the name:
Rudolph Rugg.
"When you reach the hotel," he said, "inquire for Mrs. Middleton, and send that card up to her."
"Very well, sir."
The tramp started for the hotel, his mind busily occupied.
"What does she want with me? She wasn't Mrs. Middleton when I knew her; she was Miss Vincent, the governess. I suppose she's a great lady now. So she got Mr. Harvey to marry her. That ain't surprisin'. She looked like a schemer even then, and I was a fool not to see what she was at. Likely she was up to the other thing. Well, I shall soon know."
"You want to see Mrs. Middleton?" demanded the hotel clerk, surveying Mr. Rugg's exterior with a glance which betokened suspicion.
"Yes," said the tramp.
"I don't think she'll see one of your sort."
"That's where you're mistaken, young feller," said Rudolph, loftily. "She wants to see me uncommon."
"You're a strange visitor for a lady."
"What if I am? There's my card. Just you send it up, and see if she won't see me."
The clerk took the card, and looked at it doubtfully. Then summoning an attendant, he said:
"Take this up to 57."
Presently the servant returned.
"The gentleman is to go up," he said.
Rudolph looked at the clerk triumphantly.
"What did I tell you?" he said.
"Show the gentleman up," said the clerk, purposely emphasizing the word.
As Rudolph entered the handsome parlor occupied by Mrs. Middleton, she said:
"Take a seat, sir." Then to the attendant: "You may go. You are Rudolph Rugg?" she commenced when they were alone.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered; "and you are Miss Vincent, the governess. I haven't forgotten you."
"I am Mrs. Harvey Middleton," she said haughtily.
"Excuse me, ma'am. I hadn't heard as you had changed your condition. You was the governess when I knowed you."
"You never knew me," she said, in the same haughty tone.
"Well, I knowed Mr. Harvey, at any rate."
"That is not to the purpose. Do you know why I have sought you out?"
"I couldn't guess, ma'am," said Rudolph, cunningly.
He could guess, but he wanted to force her to speak out.
"Where is the boy? Is he living?" she demanded, eagerly.
"What boy?" asked Rudolph, vacantly.
"You know very well. Robert Middleton, my husband's cousin, whom you stole away when he was scarcely more than an infant."
"Can you prove what you say, Miss Vincent—I mean Mrs. Middleton?"
"Yes. It is idle to beat about the bush. My husband has told me all."
"Then he has told you that he hired me to carry the boy off, in order that he might inherit the estate?"
The tramp looked searchingly in the lady's face as he said this.
"Yes, he told me that," she answered, composedly.
"Well, I didn't think he'd own up to that," said the tramp, in surprise.
"My husband and I had no secrets," said the lady, coldly.
"What does he want of the boy now?" asked Rudolph.
"It is I that want to find the boy."
"Without his knowledge?"
"If you refer to my husband, he is dead."
"Dead! You don't say so?"
"He died six months ago."
"Well, I didn't expect that. Who has got the estate?"
"I have."
The tramp whistled, and surveyed the lady with genuine admiration. Here was a poor governess, who had succeeded in life with a vengeance. When he knew her she was not worth fifty pounds in the world. Now she was a mistress of a fine English estate, with a rental of two thousand pounds.
"Wasn't there no heirs?" he asked.
"Only this boy."
"And if this boy was alive would the estate be his?"
The lady paused, meanwhile fixing her eyes steadily upon the man before her. Then, as if rapidly making up her mind, she approached him, and placed her jeweled hand on his arm.
"Rudolph Rugg," she said, "do you want to be comfortable for life?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's exactly what I do want. I've been wanting it ever since I was old enough to know the power of money, but it has never come to me."
"It will come to you now if you say the word," she said.
"I'll say it quick enough. Tell me what you want."
"You talk like a sensible man. But first tell me, is the boy living?"
"He is alive and well."
She frowned slightly, as if the intelligence didn't please her.
"Do you know where he is?"
"Yes," answered Rudolph.
It was false, of course, but he thought it was for his interest to answer in the affirmative.
"When did you see him last?"
"Last week."
"Very well, you know where he is. That is important. Now, in order that you may understand what service I want of you, I must tell you a little of my circumstances. I told you that my husband left me the estate."
"Yes, ma'am."
"But only in trust."
"For the boy?" asked the tramp, in excitement.
"Precisely."
"Well, I'll be blowed."
"What excites you, Mr. Rugg?"
"To think that Tony, the tramp, should be the owner of a splendid estate in old Hingland, and not know anything about it."
"I am the owner," said the lady, frowning.
"But you're only takin' care of it for him."
"I don't mean that he shall ever know it."
Rudolph whistled.
"I wish you would forbear whistling in the presence of a lady. It is unmannerly," said Mrs. Middleton, annoyed.
"I ain't much used to associating with ladies," said the tramp.
"Bear it in mind, then," she said, sharply. "Now to business."
"Yes, ma'am, to business."
"My husband secured the inheritance, as you are aware, through the disappearance of his young cousin. And mighty well he managed it.
"But after he fell into ill health, and was given over by the doctors, he became a prey to superstitious fears, the result of his weakness, and at times experienced great regret for the hand he had in the abduction of the boy."
"You surprise me, ma'am. He wasn't that sort when I knew him."
"No; he was then in perfect health, and was bold and resolute. Ill health and the approach of death made him superstitious."
"You ain't that way, ma'am, I take it," said Rudolph, with a leer.
"No; I have a stronger will and greater resolution, I hope."
Her face did not belie her words. There was a cold look in her light-gray eyes, and a firmness in her closely-pressed lips, which made it clear that she was not likely to be affected by ordinary weakness. She was intensely selfish, and thoroughly unscrupulous as to the means which she employed to carry out her selfish ends.
"So you're afraid the boy'll turn up, ma'am?" asked Rudolph.
"Precisely."
"Then why do you look for him?"
"I want to guard against his ever turning up. I hoped you would be able to tell me he was dead."
"He don't know about the property."
"But he might have learned, or you might. My husband, with the idea of reparation, left the property to me, in trust, but if it should ever be fully ascertained that the boy had died, then it was to be mine absolutely. There must be clear proof."
"I begin to see what you're driving at, ma'am."
"You say the boy is alive?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And well?"
"Stout and hearty, ma'am. He's been under my care ever since he was a young 'un, ma'am, and I've treated him like he was my own."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm poor, but I've always shared my crust with him, givin' him the biggest half."
"Very kind, I'm sure," said the lady, sarcastically. "I suppose you're very fond of him."
"Of course I am," said Rudolph, "but," he added, after a slight pause, "there's one thing I like better."
"What is that?"
"Money."
"Good!" said the lady, her face lighting up with satisfaction. "I see we understand one another."
"That's so, ma'am. You needn't be afraid to say anything to me. Business is business."
"Draw your chair near mine, Mr. Rugg," said Mrs. Middleton, affably.
The tramp did so. He foresaw what was coming, but did not flinch.