Ezra Winterwas sitting in his office in the Sears Building in Boston. All his plans had been perfected, and he was prepared to reap the fruit of his rascality.
He had gathered in between six and seven thousand dollars, and on this he calculated that he could enjoy himself abroad for a considerable time. Only two days more and he would sail.
While he was indulging in pleasant reflections, there was a knock at his office door.
“Come in!” he cried.
The door opened, and Jacob Winter entered, followed by Ben.
Ezra Winter frowned, for his uncle was the last man he wished to see. But he reflected that he was a simple old fellow, of whom he would easily rid himself.
“Uncle Jacob!” he said. “What brings you to town?”
“I want my money,” replied the old man piteously, “I want the money you took from me.”
“Really, Uncle Jacob, I don’t understand you. Your money is well invested, and perfectly safe.”
“I want it now.”
“Very good! I will sell out the stock for you, but you will have to wait till Monday—the usual day for selling mining stock.”
“That won’t do, Ezry. You are goin’ to Europe on Saturday, and mean to take all my money!”
“Who says this?” asked Ezra in great surprise, for he did not know that his plan had leaked out.
“I say it,” said Ben.
“You—a mere boy! What do you know of me and my plans?”
“I was a passenger on the Fall River boat Tuesday night, Mr. Ezra Winter, and I overheard you detailing your plans to a friend. You proposed to carry off the money of your uncle and other customers and leave them out in the cold.”
“That’s a lie!” said Ezra hoarsely, but he was frightened.
“It was not a lie.”
“I am not going to Europe on Saturday!”
“No, you are not, for we shall prevent you,” said Ben firmly.
“You, a half-grown boy!” rejoined Ezra contemptuously.
“No matter what I am. Your uncle wants his money, and must have it.”
Ezra leaned back in his chair and looked at his visitors with an impudent smile.
“Well, he can’t have it.”
Ben went to the door and exchanged a word with some one.
Mr. Bentham, the lawyer, entered followed by a policeman.
“Mr. Winter,” said Bentham, “I hold a warrant for your arrest on account of intended fraud. I may or may not have it served, but my client here, your uncle, must have his money, or you go from here to the station-house.”
At last Ezra was conquered. He was a coward at heart and he dreaded the law.
“Perhaps we can arrange this matter, gentlemen,” he said.
In half an hour Jacob Winter left the office with two thousand, five hundred dollars. Mr. Bentham recommended him to accept it as the best settlement possible.
Ezra breathed a sigh of relief. He would still have four thousand dollars of his dishonest accumulations.
But he reckoned without his host.
As the party were leaving the office one ofEzra’s customers saw them and his suspicions were excited. He made some inquiries and it led to his obtaining an order of arrest, so that Ezra, instead of sailing for Europe on Saturday, passed that day in a police station.
He managed to escape trial and conviction by agreeing to surrender his ill-gotten gains, and then disappeared from the scene. He is understood to be in Montreal, but his days of prosperity are gone by.
Jacob Winter went back to Wrayburn, but his system had received a shock, and in about a year he died. His property went to relatives, his wife at Ben’s request declining to accept anything beyond the two thousand dollars which she had when she married him.
Ben went back to New York, and after a year spent in study accepted a position in a large commercial house, in which he may some time own an interest.
Mr. Sylvanus Snodgrass is still electrifying the readers of theWeekly Bugleby his startling romances. Mr. Cornelius Clyde, the poet, still sticks to his business as a barber, as he finds that his poetry brings him fame, but not money. Gloriana Podd’s name still appears in the Poet’s Corner of weekly papers and magazines.
Ben, remembering his friends, has obtained a good position for Albert Graham, and his cousin Adelbert frequently visits him.
Last year Benwentto England and visited his friend, Cyril Bentley, at Bentley Hall. But he is a true American, and much as he may like individual Englishmen he will never become an Anglicized American.
He keeps up the most friendly relations with Frank Mordaunt, who is now a student at Columbia College, having a natural taste for study. So the future looks bright for him, and those who have read his story will agree that he really deserves his prosperity.
THE END.