For a time he lived by selling papers, but at last he managed to getinto your house. I am sure you won’t regard him as fit to educateyour little son, though I have no doubt he is a good scholar. But hischaracter is bad—I don’t think he ought to have concealed this from youout of friendship for you, and because I think it is my duty, I take theliberty of writing. If you doubt this I will refer to Mr. Goodnow,or Mr. James Redwood, who had charge of the room in which Ropes wasemployed. Yours very respectfully,A FRIEND.
“You knew all this before, Mr. Sargent,” said Rodney, as he handed back the letter.
“Yes. Have you any idea who wrote it?”
“I feel quite sure that it was a boy about two years older than myself, Jasper Redwood.”
“Is he related to the man of the same name whom he mentions?”
“Yes, he is his nephew.”
“Has he any particular reason for disliking you, Rodney?”
“Yes, sir. He came round to my room Wednesday evening, and asked me to lend him ten dollars.”
“I presume you refused.”
“Yes, sir. He is not in need. He succeeded to my place, and he has a home at the house of his uncle.”
“He appears to be a very mean boy. Anonymous letters are always cowardly, and generally malicious. This seems to be no exception to the general rule.”
“I hope it won’t affect your feelings towards me, Mr. Sargent.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that Rodney. I am not so easily prejudiced against one of whom I have a good opinion.”
“I suppose this is Jasper’s revenge,” thought Rodney.
RODNEY LOSES HIS PUPIL.
Jasper had little doubt that his letter would lead to Rodney’s loss of position. It was certainly a mean thing to plot another’s downfall, but Jasper was quite capable of it. Had he secured the loan he asked he would have been willing to leave Rodney alone, but it would only have been the first of a series of similar applications.
It was several days before Jasper had an opportunity of learning whether his malicious plan had succeeded or not. On Sunday forenoon he met Rodney on Fifth Avenue just as the church services were over. He crossed the street and accosted the boy he had tried to injure.
“Good morning, Ropes,” he said, examining Rodney’s face curiously to see whether it indicated trouble of any kind.
“Good morning!” responded Rodney coolly.
“How are you getting along in your place?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“Shall I find you at your pupil’s house if I call there some afternoon?”
“Yes, unless I am out walking with Arthur.”
“I wonder whether he’s bluffing,” thought Jasper. “I daresay he wouldn’t tell me if he had been discharged. He takes it pretty coolly.”
“How long do you think your engagement will last?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I never had a talk with Mr. Sargent on that point.”
“Do you still give satisfaction?”
Rodney penetrated Jasper’s motives for asking all these questions, and was amused.
“I presume if I fail to satisfy Mr. Sargent he will tell me so.”
“It would be a nice thing if you could stay there three or four years.”
“Yes: but I don’t anticipate it. When Arthur get a little older he will be sent to school.”
“What will you do then?”
“I haven’t got so far as that.”
“I can’t get anything out of him,” said Jasper to himself. “I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he were already discharged.”
They had now reached Madison Square, and Jasper left Rodney.
The latter looked after him with a smile.
“I think I have puzzled Jasper,” he said to himself. “He was anxious to know how his scheme had worked. He will have to wait a little longer.”
“If Mr. Sargent keeps Ropes after my letter he must be a fool,” Jasper decided. “I wonder if Ropes handles the mail. He might have suppressed the letter.”
But Rodney was not familiar with his handwriting, and would have no reason to suspect that the particular letter contained anything likely to injure him in the eyes of Mr. Sargent.
Later in his walk Jasper met Philip Carton. His former friend was sitting on a bench in Madison Square. He called out to Jasper as he passed.
“Come here, Jasper, I want to talk with you.”
Jasper looked at him in a manner far from friendly.
“I am in a hurry,” he said.
“What hurry can you be in? Come and sit down here. I MUST speak to you.”
Jasper did not like his tone, but it impressed him, and he did not dare to refuse.
He seated himself beside Philip, but looked at him askance. Carton was undeniably shabby. He had the look of a man who was going down hill and that rapidly.
“I shall be late for dinner,” grumbled Jasper.
“I wish I had any dinner to look forward to,” said Carton. “Do you see this money?” and he produced a nickel from his pocket.
“What is there remarkable about it?”
“It is the last money I have. It won’t buy me a dinner.”
“I am sorry, but it is none of my business,” said Jasper coolly. “You are old enough to attend to your own affairs.”
“And I once thought you were my friend,” murmured Philip bitterly.
“Yes, we were friends in a way.”
“Now you are up and I am down—Jasper, I want a dollar.”
“I dare say you do. Plenty want that.”
“I want it from you.”
“I can’t spare it.”
“You can spare it better than you can spare your situation.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Jasper, growing nervous.
“I’ll tell you what I mean. How long do you think you would stay in the store if Mr. Goodnow knew that you were concerned in the theft from which he has suffered?”
“Was I the only one?”
“No; I am equally guilty.”
“I am glad you acknowledge it. You see you had better keep quiet for your own sake.”
“If I keep quiet I shall starve.”
“Do you want to go to prison?”
“I shouldn’t mind so much if you went along, too.”
“Are you crazy, Philip Carton?”
“No, I am not, but I am beginning to get sensible. If I go to prison I shall at least have enough to eat, and now I haven’t.”
“What do you mean by all this foolish talk?”
“I mean that if you won’t give me any money I will go to the store and tell Mr. Goodnow something that will surprise him.”
Jasper was getting thoroughly frightened.
“Come, Philip.” he said, “listen to reason. You know how poor I am.”
“No doubt. I know you have a good home and enough to eat.”
“I only get seven dollars a week.”
“And I get nothing.”
“I have already been trying to help you. I went to Ropes the other day, and asked him to lend me five dollars. I meant it for you.”
“Did he give it to you?”
“He wouldn’t give me a cent. He is mean and miserly!”
“I don’t know. He knows very well that you are no friend of his, though he doesn’t know how much harm you have done him.”
“He’s rolling in money. However, I’ve put a spoke in his wheel, I hope.”
“How?”
“I wrote an anonymous letter to Mr. Sargent telling him that Ropes was discharged from the store on suspicion of theft.”
“You are a precious scamp, Jasper.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are not content with getting Ropes discharged for something which you yourself did——”
“And you too.”
“And I too. I accept the amendment. Not content with that, you try to get him discharged from his present position.”
“Then he might have lent me the money,” said Jasper sullenly.
“It wouldn’t have been a loan. It would have been a gift. But no matter about that. I want a dollar.”
“I can’t give it to you.”
“Then I shall call at the store tomorrow morning and tell Mr. Goodnow about the stolen goods.”
Finding that Carton was in earnest Jasper finally, but with great reluctance, drew out a dollar and handed it to his companion.
“There, I hope that will satisfy you,” he said spitefully.
“It will—for the present.”
“I wish he’d get run over or something,” thought Jasper. “He seems to expect me to support him, and that on seven dollars a week.”
Fortunately for Jasper, Philip Carton obtained employment the next day which lasted for some time, and as he was paid ten dollars a week he was not under the necessity of troubling his old confederate for loans.
Now and then Jasper and Rodney met, but there were no cordial relations between them. Jasper could not forgive Rodney for refusing to lend him money, and Rodney was not likely to forget the anonymous letter by which Jasper had tried to injure him.
So three months passed. One day Mr. Sargent arrived at home before it was time for Rodney to leave.
“I am glad to see you, Rodney,” said his employer. “I have some news for you which I am afraid will not be entirely satisfactory to you.”
“What is it, sir?”
“For the last three years I have been wishing to go to Europe with my wife and Arthur. The plan has been delayed, because I could not make satisfactory business arrangements. Now, however, that difficulty has been overcome, and I propose to sail in about two weeks.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy your trip, sir.”
“Thank you. Of course it will terminate, for a time at least your engagement to teach Arthur.”
“I shall be sorry for that, sir, but I am not selfish enough to want you to stay at home on that account.”
“I thought you would feel that way. I wish I could procure you another position before I go, but that is uncertain. I shall, however, pay you a month’s salary in advance in lieu of a notice.”
“That is very liberal, sir.”
“I think it only just. I have been very well pleased with your attention to Arthur, and I know he has profited by your instructions as well as enjoyed your companionship. I hope you have been able to save something.”
“Yes, sir, I have something in the Union Dime Savings Bank.”
“That’s well. You will remain with me one week longer, but the last week Arthur will need for preparations.”
Two weeks later Rodney stood on the pier and watched the stately Etruria steam out into the river. Arthur and his father were on deck, and the little boy waved his handkerchief to his tutor as long as he could see him.
Rodney turned away sadly.
“I have lost a good situation,” he soliloquized. “When shall I get another?”
CONTINUED ILL LUCK.
Rodney set himself to work searching for a new situation. But wherever he called he found Some one ahead of him. At length he saw an advertisement for an entry clerk in a wholesale house in Church Street. He applied and had the good fortune to please the superintendent.
“Where have you worked before?” he asked.
“At Otis Goodnow’s, on Reade Street.”
“How much were you paid there?”
“Seven dollars a week.”
“Very well, we will start you on that salary, and see if you earn it.”
Rodney was surprised and relieved to find that he was not asked for a recommendation from Mr. Goodnow, knowing that he could not obtain one. He went to work on a Monday morning, and found his duties congenial and satisfactory.
Seven dollars a week was small, compared with what he had received as a tutor, but he had about two hundred and fifty dollars in the Union Dime Savings Bank and drew three dollars from this fund every week in order that he might still assist Mike, whose earnings were small.
One of his new acquaintances in the store was James Hicks, a boy about a year older than himself.
“Didn’t you use to work at Otis Goodnow’s?” asked James one day when they were going to lunch.
“Yes.”
“I know a boy employed there. He is older than either of us.”
“Who is it?”
“Jasper Redwood. Of course you know him.”
“Yes,” answered Rodney with a presentiment of evil.
He felt that it would be dangerous to have Jasper know of his present position, but did not venture to give a hint of this to James.
His fears were not groundless. Only the day after James met Jasper on the street.
“Anything new?” asked Jasper.
“Yes; we’ve got one of your old friends in our store.”
“Who is it?”
“Rodney Ropes.”
Jasper stopped short, and whistled. He was excessively surprised, as he supposed Rodney still to be Arthur Sargent’s tutor.
“You don’t mean it?” he ejaculated.
“Why not? Is there anything so strange about it?”
“Yes. Did Ropes bring a recommendation from Mr. Goodnow?”
“I suppose so. I don’t know.”
“If he did, it’s forged.”
“Why should it be?”
“Goodnow wouldn’t give him a recommendation.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because he discharged Ropes. Do you want to know why?”
“Yes.”
“For stealing articles from the store.”
It was the turn of James Hicks to be surprised.
“I can’t believe it,” he said.
“Its true. Just mention the matter to Ropes, and you’ll see he won’t deny it.”
“I think there must be some mistake about it. Rodney doesn’t look like a fellow that would steal.”
“Oh, you can’t tell from appearances—Rogues are always plausible.”
“Still mistakes are sometimes made. I’d trust Rodney Ropes sooner than any boy I know.”
“You don’t know him as well as I do.”
“You don’t like him?” said James shrewdly.
“No I don’t. I can’t like a thief.”
“You talk as if you had a grudge against him.”
“Nothing but his being a thief. Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“About what?”
“What I have just told you.”
“I don’t feel that I have any call to do anything.”
“You ought to tell your employer.”
“I am no telltale,” said James scornfully.
“Then you will let him stay in the store, knowing him to be a thief?”
“I don’t know him to be a thief. If he steals anything it will probably be found out.”
Jasper urged James to give information about Rodney, but he steadily refused.
“I leave others to do such dirty work,” he said, “and I don’t think any better of you, let me tell you, for your eagerness to turn the boy out of his position.”
“You are a queer boy.”
“Think so if you like,” retorted Hicks. “I might give my opinion of you.”
At this point Jasper thought it best to let the conversation drop. He was much pleased to learn that Rodney had lost his fine position as tutor, and was now in a place from which he might more easily be ousted.
As he could not prevail upon James Hicks to betray Rodney he decided to write an anonymous letter to the firm that employed him.
The result was that the next afternoon Rodney was summoned to the office.
“Sit down Ropes,” said the superintendent. “For what store did you work before you came into our house?”
“Otis Goodnow’s.”
“Under what circumstances did you leave?”
“I was accused of theft.”
“You did not mention this matter when you applied for a situation here.”
“No, sir. I ought perhaps to have done so, but I presumed in that case you would not have given me a place.”
“You are right he would not.”
“Nor would I have applied had the charge been a true one. Articles were certainly missing from Mr. Goodnow’s stock, but in accusing me they did me a great injustice.”
“How long since you left Mr. Goodnow’s?”
“Four months.”
“What have you been doing since?”
“I was acting as tutor to the son of Mr. Sargent, of West Fifty Eighth Street.”
“A well known citizen. Then you are a scholar?”
“Yes, sir, I am nearly prepared for college.”
“Of course he did not know you were suspected of dishonesty.”
“On the contrary he did know it. I told him, and later he received an anonymous letter, notifying him of the fact.”
“We also have received an anonymous letter. Here it is. Do you recognize the hand writing?”
“Yes,” answered Rodney after examining the letter. “It was written by Jasper Redwood.”
“Who is he?”
“A boy employed by Mr. Goodnow. For some reason he seems to have a spite against me.”
“I admit that it is pretty small business to write an anonymous letter calculated to injure another. Still we shall have to take notice of this.”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so.”
“I shall have to bring it to the notice of the firm. What they may do I don’t know. If the matter was to be decided by me I would let you stay.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Rodney gratefully.
“But I am not Mr. Hall. You can go now and I will see you again.”
Rodney left the office fully persuaded that his engagement would speedily terminate. He was right; the next day he was sent for again.
“I am sorry to tell you, Ropes,” said the superintendent kindly “that Mr. Hall insists upon your being discharged. He is a nervous man and rather suspicious. I spoke in your favor but I could not turn him.”
“At any rate I am grateful to you for your friendly effort.”
The superintendent hesitated a moment, and then said: “Will this discharge seriously embarrass you? Are you short of money?”
“No, sir. I was very liberally paid by Mr. Sargent, and I saved money. I have enough in the savings bank to last me several months, should I be idle so long.”
“I am glad of it. I hope you will remember, my boy, that this is none of my doing. I would gladly retain you. I will say one thing more, should Jasper Redwood ever apply for a situation here, his name will not be considered.”
So Rodney found himself again without a position. It seemed hard in view of his innocence, but he had confidence to believe that something would turn up for him as before. At any rate he had enough money to live on for some time.
When Mike Flynn learned the circumstances of his discharge he was very angry.
“I’d like to meet Jasper Redwood,” he said, his eyes flashing. “If I didn’t give him a laying out then my name isn’t Mike Flynn.”
“I think he will get his desert some time, Mickey, without any help from you or me.”
“Should hope he will. And what’ll you do now, Rodney?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would be well to go to some other city, Boston or Philadelphia, where Jasper can’t get on my track.”
“Should hope you won’t do it. I can’t get along widout you.”
“I will stay here for a few weeks, Mike, and see if anything turns up.”
“I might get you in as a telegraph boy.”
“That wouldn’t suit me. It doesn’t pay enough.”
Rodney began to hunt for a situation again, but four weeks passed and brought him no success. One afternoon about four o’clock he was walking up Broadway when, feeling tired, he stepped into the Continental Hotel at the corner of Twentieth Street.
He took a seat at some distance back from the door, and in a desultory way began to look about him. All at once he started in surprise, for in a man sitting in one of the front row of chairs he recognized Louis Wheeler, the railroad thief who had stolen his box of jewelry.
Wheeler was conversing with a man with a large flapping sombrero, and whose dress and general appearance indicated that he was a Westerner.
Rodney left his seat and going forward sat down in the chair behind Wheeler. He suspected that the Western man was in danger of being victimized.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP.
In his new position Rodney could easily hear the conversation which took place between the Western man and his old railroad acquaintance.
“I am quite a man of leisure,” said Wheeler, “and it will give me great pleasure to go about with you and show you our city.”
“You are very obliging.”
“Oh, don’t mention it. I shall really be glad to have my time occupied. You see I am a man of means—my father left me a fortune—and so I am not engaged in any business.”
“You are in luck. I was brought up on a farm in Vermont, and had to borrow money to take me to Montana four years ago.”
“I hope you prospered in your new home?”
“I did. I picked up twenty five thousand dollars at the mines, and doubled it by investment in lots in Helena.”
“Very neat, indeed. I inherited a fortune from my father—a hundred and twenty five thousand dollars—but I never made a cent myself. I don’t know whether I am smart enough.”
“Come out to Montana and I’ll put you in a way of making some money.”
“Really, now, that suggestion strikes me favorably. I believe I will follow your advice. When shall you return to your Western home?”
“In about a fortnight I think.”
“You must go to the theater tonight. There is a good play on at the Madison Square.”
“I don’t mind. When can I get ticket?”
“I’ll go and secure some. It is only a few blocks away.”
“Do so. How much are the tickets?”
“A dollar and a half or two dollars each.”
“Here are five dollars, if it won’t trouble you too much.”
“My dear friend, I meant to pay for the tickets. However, I will pay next time. If you will remain here I will be back in twenty minutes.”
Louis Wheeler left the hotel with the five dollars tucked away in his vest pocket.
He had no sooner disappeared than Rodney went forward and occupied his seat.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said to the miner, “but do you know much of the man who has just left you?”
“I only met him here. He seems a good natured fellow. What of him?”
“He said he was a man of independent means.”
“Isn’t he?”
“He is a thief and an adventurer.”
The miner was instantly on the alert.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“Because he stole a box of jewelry from me in the cars some months ago.”
“Did you get it again?”
“Yes; he left the train, but I followed him up and reclaimed the jewelry.”
“Was it of much value?”
“They were family jewels, and were worth over a thousand dollars.”
“Do you think he wants to bunco me?”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“I have given him money to buy theater tickets. Do you think he will come back?”
“Yes. He wouldn’t be satisfied with that small sum.”
“Tell me about your adventure with him.”
“I will do it later. The theater is so near that he might come back and surprise us together. I think he would recognize me.”
“Do you advise me to go to the theater?”
“Yes, but be on your guard.”
“Where can I see you again?”
“Are you staying at this hotel?”
“Yes. Here is my card.”
Rodney read this name on the card:
JEFFERSON PETTRIGREW.
“I wish you were going to the theater with us.”
“It wouldn’t do. Mr. Wheeler would remember me.”
“Then come round and breakfast with me tomorrow—at eight o’clock, sharp.”
“I will, sir. Now I will take a back seat, and leave you to receive your friend.”
“Don’t call him my friend. He seems to be a mean scoundrel.”
“Don’t let him suspect anything from your manner.”
“I won’t. I want to see him expose his plans.” Five minutes afterwards Louis Wheeler entered the hotel.
“I’ve got the tickets,” he said, “but I had to buy them of a speculator, and they cost me more than I expected.”
“How much?”
“Two and a half apiece. So there is no change coming back to you.”
“Never mind! As long as you had enough money to pay for them it is all right.”
As a matter of fact Wheeler bought the tickets at the box office at one dollar and fifty cent each, which left him a profit of two dollars. When he saw how easily the Western man took it he regretted not having represented that the tickets cost three dollars each.
However, he decided that there would be other ways of plundering his new acquaintance. He took his seat again next to the miner.
“It is not very late,” he said. “Would you like a run out to Central Park or to Grant’s Tomb?”
“Not today. I feel rather tired. By the way, you did not mention your name.”
“I haven’t a card with me, but my name is Louis Wheeler.”
“Where do you live, Mr. Wheeler?”
“I am staying with an aunt on Fifth Avenue, but I think of taking board at the Windsor Hotel. It is a very high toned house, and quite a number of my friends board there.”
“Is it an expensive hotel?”
“Oh, yes, but my income is large and——”
“I understand. Now, Mr. Wheeler, I must excuse myself, as I feel tired. Come at half past seven and we can start for the theater together.”
“Very well.”
Wheeler rose reluctantly, for he had intended to secure a dinner from his new acquaintance, but he was wise enough to take the hint.
After he left the room Rodney again joined Mr. Pettigrew.
“He didn’t give me back any change,” said the Western man. “He said he bought the tickets of a speculator at two dollars and a half each.”
“Then he made two dollars out of you.”
“I suppose that is the beginning. Well, that doesn’t worry me. But I should like to know how he expects to get more money out of me. I don’t understand the ways of this gentry.”
“Nor I very well. If you are on your guard I think you won’t be in any danger.”
“I will remember what you say. You seem young to act as adviser to a man like me. Are you in business?”
“At present I am out of work, but I have money enough to last me three months.”
“Are you, like my new acquaintance, possessed of independent means?”
“Not now, but I was six months ago.”
“How did you lose your money?”
“I did not lose it. My guardian lost it for me.”
“What is your name?”
“Rodney Ropes.”
“You’ve had some pretty bad luck. Come up to my room and tell me about it.”
“I shall be glad to do so, sir.”
Mr. Pettigrew called for his key and led the way up to a plain room on the third floor.
“Come in,” he said. “The room is small, but I guess it will hold us both. Now go ahead with your story.”
In a short time Rodney had told his story in full to his new acquaintance, encouraged to do so by his sympathetic manner. Mr. Pettigrew was quite indignant, when told of Jasper’s mean and treacherous conduct.
“That boy Jasper is a snake in the grass,” he said. “I’d like to give him a good thrashing.”
“There isn’t any love lost between us, Mr. Pettigrew, but I think it will turn out right in the end. Still I find it hard to get a place in New York with him circulating stories about me.”
“Then why do you stay in New York?”
“I have thought it might be better to go to Philadelphia or Boston.”
“I can tell you of a better place than either.”
“What is that?”
“Montana.”
“Do you really think it would be wise for me to go there?”
“Think? I haven’t a doubt about it.”
“I have money enough to get there, but not much more. I should soon have to find work, or I might get stranded.”
“Come back with me, and I’ll see you through. I’ll make a bargain with you. Go round with me here, and I’ll pay your fare out to Montana.”
“If you are really in earnest I will do so, and thank you for the offer.”
“Jefferson Pettigrew means what he says. I’ll see you through, Rodney.”
“But I may be interfering with your other friend, Louis Wheeler.”
“I shall soon be through with him. You needn’t worry yourself about that.”
Mr. Pettigrew insisted upon Rodney’s taking supper with him. Fifteen minutes after Rodney left him Mr. Wheeler made his appearance.
MR. WHEELER HAS A SET BACK.
Louis Wheeler had not seen Rodney in the hotel office, and probably would not have recognized him if he had, as Rodney was quite differently dressed from the time of their first meeting. He had no reason to suppose, therefore, that Mr. Pettigrew had been enlightened as to his real character.
It was therefore with his usual confidence that he accosted his acquaintance from Montana after supper.
“It is time to go to the theater, Mr. Pettigrew,” he said.
Jefferson Pettigrew scanned his new acquaintance with interest. He had never before met a man of his type and he looked upon him as a curiosity.
He was shrewd, however, and did not propose to let Wheeler know that he understood his character. He resolved for the present to play the part of the bluff and unsuspecting country visitor.
“You are very kind, Mr. Wheeler,” he said, “to take so much trouble for a stranger.”
“My dear sir,” said Wheeler effusively, “I wouldn’t do it for many persons, but I have taken a fancy to you.”
“You don’t mean so?” said Pettigrew, appearing pleased?
“Yes, I do, on my honor.”
“But I don’t see why you should. You are a polished city gentleman and I am an ignorant miner from Montana.”
Louis Wheeler looked complacent when he was referred to as a polished city gentleman.
“You do yourself injustice, my dear Pettigrew,” he said in a patronizing manner. “You do indeed. You may not be polished, but you are certainly smart, as you have shown by accumulating a fortune.”
“But I am not as rich as you.”
“Perhaps not, but if I should lose my money, I could not make another fortune, while I am sure you could. Don’t you think it would be a good plan for us to start a business together in New York?”
“Would you really be willing to go into business with me?”
Jefferson Pettigrew asked this question with so much apparent sincerity that Wheeler was completely deceived.
“I’ve got him dead!” he soliloquized complacently.
He hooked his arm affectionately in the Montana miner’s and said, “My dear friend, I have never met a man with whom I would rather be associated in business than with you. How much capital could you contribute?”
“I will think it over, Mr. Wheeler. By the way what business do you propose that we shall go into?”
“I will think it over and report to you.”
By this time they had reached the theater. The play soon commenced. Mr. Pettigrew enjoyed it highly, for he had not had much opportunity at the West of attending a high class theatrical performance.
When the play ended, Louis Wheeler said, “Suppose we go to Delmonico’s and have a little refreshment.”
“Very well.”
They adjourned to the well known restaurant, and Mr. Pettigrew ordered an ice and some cakes, but his companion made a hearty supper. When the bill came, Louis Wheeler let it lie on the table, but Mr. Pettigrew did not appear to see it.
“I wonder if he expects me to pay for it,” Wheeler asked himself anxiously.
“Thank you for this pleasant little supper,” said Pettigrew mischievously. “Delmonico’s is certainly a fine place.”
Wheeler changed color. He glanced at the check. It was for two dollars and seventy five cents, and this represented a larger sum than he possessed.
He took the check and led the way to the cashier’s desk. Then he examined his pockets.
“By Jove,” he said, “I left my wallet in my other coat. May I borrow five dollars till tomorrow?”
Jefferson Pettigrew eyed him shrewdly. “Never mind,” he said, “I will pay the check.”
“I am very much ashamed of having put you to this expense.”
“If that is all you have to be ashamed of Mr. Wheeler,” said the miner pointedly, “you can rest easy.”
“What do you mean?” stammered Wheeler.
“Wait till we get into the street, and I will tell you.”
They went out at the Broadway entrance, and then Mr. Pettigrew turned to his new acquaintance.
“I think I will bid you good night and good by at the same time, Mr. Wheeler,” he said.
“My dear sir, I hoped you won’t misjudge me on account of my unfortunately leaving my money at home.”
“I only wish to tell you that I have not been taken in by your plausible statement, Mr. Wheeler, if that is really your name. Before we started for the theater I had gauged you and taken your measure.”
“Sir, I hope you don’t mean to insult me!” blustered Wheeler.
“Not at all. You have been mistaken in me, but I am not mistaken in you. I judge you to be a gentlemanly adventurer, ready to take advantage of any who have money and are foolish enough to be gulled by your tricks. You are welcome to the profit you made out of the theater tickets, also to the little supper to which you have done so much justice. I must request you, now, however, to devote yourself to some one else, as I do not care to meet you again.”
Louis Wheeler slunk away, deciding that he had made a great mistake in setting down his Montana acquaintance as an easy victim.
“I didn’t think he’d get on to my little game so quick,” he reflected. “He’s sharper than he looks.”
Rodney took breakfast with Mr. Pettigrew the next morning. When breakfast was over, the Montana man said:
“I’m going to make a proposal to you, Rodney. How much pay did you get at your last place?”
“Seven dollars a week.”
“I’ll pay you that and give you your meals. In return I want you to keep me company and go about with me.”
“I shall not be apt to refuse such an offer as that, Mr. Pettigrew, but are you sure you prefer me to Mr. Wheeler?” laughed Rodney.
“Wheeler be—blessed!” returned the miner.
“How long are you going to stay in New York?”
“About two weeks. Then I shall go back to Montana and take you with me.”
“Thank you. There is nothing I should like better.”
Two days later, as the two were walking along Broadway, they met Mr. Wheeler. The latter instantly recognized his friend from Montana, and scrutinized closely his young companion.
Rodney’s face looked strangely familiar to him, but somehow he could not recollect when or under what circumstances he had met him. He did not, however, like to give up his intended victim, but had the effrontery to address the man from Montana.
“I hope you are well, Mr. Pettigrew.”
“Thank you, I am very well.”
“I hope you are enjoying yourself. I should be glad to show you the sights. Have you been to Grants Tomb?”
“Not yet.”
“I should like to take you there.”
“Thank you, but I have a competent guide.”
“Won’t you introduce me to the young gentleman?”
“I don’t require any introduction to you, Mr. Wheeler,” said Rodney.
“Where have I met you before?” asked Wheeler abruptly.
“In the cars. I had a box of jewelry with me,” answered Rodney significantly.
Louis Wheeler changed color. Now he remembered Rodney, and he was satisfied that he owed to him the coolness with which the Western man had treated him.
“I remember you had,” he said spitefully, “but I don’t know how you came by it.”
“It isn’t necessary that you should know. I remember I had considerable difficulty in getting it out of your hands.”
“Mr. Pettigrew,” said Wheeler angrily, “I feel interested in you, and I want to warn you against the boy who is with you. He is a dangerous companion.”
“I dare say you are right,” said Pettigrew in a quizzical tone. “I shall look after him sharply, and I thank you for your kind and considerate warning. I don’t care to take up any more of your valuable time. Rodney, let us be going.”
“It must have been the kid that exposed me,” muttered Wheeler, as he watched the two go down the street. “I will get even with him some time. That man would have been good for a thousand dollars to me if I had not been interfered with.”
“You have been warned against me, Mr. Pettigrew,” said Rodney, laughing. “Mr. Wheeler has really been very unkind in interfering with my plans.”
“I shan’t borrow any trouble, or lie awake nights thinking about it, Rodney. I don’t care to see or think of that rascal again.”
The week passed, and the arrangement between Mr. Pettigrew and Rodney continued to their mutual satisfaction. One morning, when Rodney came to the Continental as usual, his new friend said: “I received a letter last evening from my old home in Vermont.”
“I hope it contained good news.”
“On the contrary it contained bad news. My parents are dead, but I have an old uncle and aunt living. When I left Burton he was comfortably fixed, with a small farm of his own, and two thousand dollars in bank. Now I hear that he is in trouble. He has lost money, and a knavish neighbor has threatened to foreclose a mortgage on the farm and turn out the old people to die or go to the poorhouse.”
“Is the mortgage a large one?”
“It is much less than the value of the farm, but ready money is scarce in the town, and that old Sheldon calculates upon. Now I think of going to Burton to look up the matter.”
“You must save your uncle, if you can, Mr. Pettigrew.”
“I can and I will. I shall start for Boston this afternoon by the Fall River boat and I want you to go with me.”
“I should enjoy the journey, Mr. Pettigrew.”
“Then it is settled. Go home and pack your gripsack. You may be gone three or four days.”