Five minutes later, as Gilbert was closing the trunk, Jane reappeared.
“The doctor and Mrs. Crawford would like to see you downstairs,” she said.
Gilbert followed Jane into the library, where Dr. Crawford and his wife were seated. He looked with interest at the woman who had made home so disagreeable to Carl, and was instantly prejudiced against her. She was light complexioned, with very light-brown hair, cold, gray eyes, and a disagreeable expression which seemed natural to her.
“My dear,” said the doctor, “this is the young man who has come from Carl.”
Mrs. Crawford surveyed Gilbert with an expression by no means friendly.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Gilbert Vance.”
“Did Carl Crawford send you here?”
“No; I volunteered to come.”
“Did he tell you that he was disobedient and disrespectful to me?”
“No; he told me that you treated him so badly that he was unwilling to live in the same house with you,” answered Gilbert, boldly.
“Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, fanning herself vigorously. “Dr. Crawford, did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you think of it?”
“Well, I think you may have been too hard upon Carl.”
“Too hard? Why, then, did he not treat me respectfully? This boy seems inclined to be impertinent.”
“I answered your questions, madam,” said Gilbert, coldly.
“I suppose you side with your friend Carl?”
“I certainly do.”
Mrs. Crawford bit her lip.
“What is the object of your coming? Does Carl wish to return?”
“I thought Dr. Crawford might have told you.”
“Carl wants his clothes sent to him,” said the doctor. “He only carried a few with him.”
“I shall not consent to it. He deserves no favors at our hands.”
This was too much even for Dr. Crawford.
“You go too far, Mrs. Crawford,” he said. “I am sensible of the boy’s faults, but I certainly will not allow his clothes to be withheld from him.”
“Oh, well! spoil him if you choose!” said the lady, sullenly. “Take his part against your wife!”
“I have never done that, but I will not allow him to be defrauded of his clothes.”
“I have no more to say,” said Mrs. Crawford, her eyes snapping. She was clearly mortified at her failure to carry her point.
“Do you wish the trunk to be sent to your house?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, sir; I have packed the clothes and locked the trunk.”
“I should like to examine it before it goes,” put in Mrs. Crawford, spitefully.
“Why?”
“To make sure that nothing has been put in that does not belong to Carl.”
“Do you mean to accuse me of stealing, madam?” demanded Gilbert, indignantly.
Mrs. Crawford tossed her head.
“I don’t know anything about you,” she replied.
“Dr. Crawford, am I to open the trunk?” asked Gilbert.
“No,” answered the doctor, with unwonted decision.
“I hate that boy! He has twice subjected me to mortification,” thought Mrs. Crawford.
“You know very well,” she said, turning to her husband, “that I have grounds for my request. I blush to mention it, but I have reason to believe that your son took a wallet containing twenty-five dollars from my bureau drawer.”
“I deny it!” said Gilbert.
“What do you know about it, I should like to ask?” sneered Mrs. Crawford.
“I know that Carl is an honorable boy, incapable of theft, and at this moment has but thirty-seven cents in his possession.”
“So far as you know.”
“If the money has really disappeared, madam, you had better ask your own boy about it.”
“This is insufferable!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, her light eyes emitting angry flashes. “Who dares to say that Peter took the wallet?” she went on, rising to her feet.
There was an unexpected reply. Jane entered the room at this moment to ask a question.
“I say so, ma’am,” she rejoined.
“What?” ejaculated Mrs. Crawford, with startling emphasis.
“I didn’t mean to say anything about it till I found you were charging it on Master Carl. I saw Peter open your bureau drawer, take out the wallet, and put it in his pocket.”
“It’s a lie!” said Mrs. Crawford, hoarsely.
“It’s the truth, though I suppose you don’t want to believe it. If you want to know what he did with the money ask him how much he paid for the gold ring he bought of the jeweler down at the village.”
“You are a spy—a base, dishonorable spy!” cried Mrs. Crawford.
“I won’t say what you are, ma’am, to bring false charges against Master Carl, and I wonder the doctor will believe them.”
“Leave the house directly, you hussy!” shrieked Mrs. Crawford.
“If I do, I wonder who’ll get the dinner?” remarked Jane, not at all disturbed.
“I won’t stay here to be insulted,” said the angry lady. “Dr. Crawford, you might have spirit enough to defend your wife.”
She flounced out of the room, not waiting for a reply, leaving the doctor dazed and flurried.
“I hope, sir, you are convinced now that Carl did not take Mrs. Crawford’s money,” said Gilbert. “I told you it was probably Peter.”
“Are you sure of what you said, Jane?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, sir. I saw Peter take the wallet with my own eyes.”
“It is his mother’s money, and they must settle it between them I am glad Carl did not take it. Really, this has been a very unpleasant scene.”
“I am sorry for my part in it. Carl is my friend, and I feel that I ought to stand up for his rights,” remarked Gilbert.
“Certainly, certainly, that is right. But you see how I am placed.”
“I see that this is no place for Carl. If you will allow me, I will send an expressman for the trunk, and take it with me to the station.”
“Yes, I see no objection. I—I would invite you to dinner, but Mrs. Crawford seems to be suffering from a nervous attack, and it might not be pleasant.”
“I agree with you, sir.”
Just then Peter entered the room, and looked at Gilbert with surprise and wrath, remembering his recent discomfiture at the hands of the young visitor.
“My stepson, Peter,” announced Dr. Crawford.
“Peter and I have met before,” said Gilbert, smiling.
“What are you here for?” asked Peter, rudely.
“Not to see you,” answered Gilbert, turning from him.
“My mother’ll have something to say to you,” went on Peter, significantly.
“She will have something to say to you,” retorted Gilbert. “She has found out who stole her money.”
Peter’s face turned scarlet instantly, and he left the room hurriedly.
“Perhaps I ought not to have said that, Dr Crawford,” added Gilbert, apologetically, “but I dislike that boy very much, and couldn’t help giving him as good as he sent.”
“It is all very unpleasant,” responded Dr. Crawford, peevishly. “I don’t see why I can’t live in peace and tranquility.”
“I won’t intrude upon you any longer,” said Gilbert, “if you will kindly tell me whether you will consent to make Carl a small weekly allowance.”
“I can’t say now. I want time to think. Give me your address, and I will write to Carl in your care.”
“Very well, sir.”
Gilbert left the house and made arrangements to have Carl’s trunk called for. It accompanied him on the next train to Warren.
“How did you like my stepmother?” asked Carl, when Gilbert returned in the afternoon.
“She’s a daisy!” answered Gilbert, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t think I ever saw a more disagreeable woman.”
“Do you blame me for leaving home?”
“I only wonder you have been able to stay so long. I had a long conversation with your father.”
“Mrs. Crawford has made a different man of him. I should have no trouble in getting along with him if there was no one to come between us.”
“He gave me this for you,” said Gilbert, producing the ten-dollar bill.
“Did my stepmother know of his sending it?”
“No; she was opposed to sending your trunk, but your father said emphatically you should have it.”
“I am glad he showed that much spirit.”
“I have some hopes that he will make you an allowance of a few dollars a week.”
“That would make me all right, but I don’t expect it.”
“You will probably hear from your father to-morrow or next day, so you will have to make yourself contented a little longer.”
“I hope you are not very homesick, Mr. Crawford?” said Julia, coquettishly.
“I would ask nothing better than to stay here permanently,” rejoined Carl, earnestly. “This is a real home. I have met with more kindness here than in six months at my own home.”
“You have one staunch friend at home,” said Gilbert.
“You don’t allude to Peter?”
“So far as I can judge, he hates you like poison. I mean Jane.”
“Yes, Jane is a real friend. She has been in the family for ten years. She was a favorite with my own mother, and feels an interest in me.”
“By the way, your stepmother’s charge that you took a wallet containing money from her drawer has been disproved by Jane. She saw Peter abstracting the money, and so informed Mrs. Crawford.”
“I am not at all surprised. Peter is mean enough to steal or do anything else. What did my stepmother say?”
“She was very angry, and threatened to discharge Jane; but, as no one would be left to attend to the dinner, I presume she is likely to stay.”
“I ought to be forming some plan,” said Carl, thoughtfully.
“Wait till you hear from home. Julia will see that your time is well filled up till then. Dismiss all care, and enjoy yourself while you may.”
This seemed to be sensible advice, and Carl followed it. In the evening some young people were invited in, and there was a round of amusements that made Carl forget that he was an exile from home, with very dubious prospects.
“You are all spoiling me,” he said, as Gilbert and he went upstairs to bed. “I am beginning to understand the charms of home. To go out into the world from here will be like taking a cold shower bath.”
“Never forget, Carl, that you will be welcome back, whenever you feel like coming,” said Gilbert, laying his band affectionately on Carl’s shoulder. “We all like you here.”
“Thank you, old fellow! I appreciate the kindness I have received here; but I must strike out for myself.”
“How do you feel about it, Carl?”
“I hope for the best. I am young, strong and willing to work. There must be an opening for me somewhere.”
The next morning, just after breakfast, a letter arrived for Carl, mailed at Edgewood Center.
“Is it from your father?” asked Gilbert.
“No; it is in the handwriting of my stepmother. I can guess from that that it contains no good news.”
He opened the letter, and as he read it his face expressed disgust and annoyance.
“Read it, Gilbert,” he said, handing him the open sheet.
This was the missive:
“CARL CRAWFORD:—AS your father has a nervous attack, brought on by your misconduct, he has authorized me to write to you. As you are but sixteen, he could send for you and have you forcibly brought back, but deems it better for you to follow your own course and suffer the punishment of your obstinate and perverse conduct. The boy whom you sent here proved a fitting messenger. He seems, if possible, to be even worse than yourself. He was very impertinent to me, and made a brutal and unprovoked attack on my poor boy, Peter, whose devotion to your father and myself forms an agreeable contrast to your studied disregard of our wishes.
“Your friend had the assurance to ask for a weekly allowance for you while a voluntary exile from the home where you have been only too well treated. In other words, you want to be paid for your disobedience. Even if your father were weak enough to think of complying with this extraordinary request, I should do my best to dissuade him.”
“Small doubt of that!” said Carl, bitterly.
“In my sorrow for your waywardness, I am comforted by the thought that Peter is too good and conscientious ever to follow your example. While you are away, he will do his utmost to make up to your father for his disappointment in you. That you may grow wise in time, and turn at length from the error of your ways, is the earnest hope of your stepmother,
“Anastasia Crawford.”
“It makes me sick to read such a letter as that, Gilbert,” said Carl. “And to have that sneak and thief—as he turned out to be—Peter, set up as a model for me, is a little too much.”
“I never knew there were such women in the world!” returned Gilbert. “I can understand your feelings perfectly, after my interview of yesterday.”
“She thinks even worse of you than of me,” said Carl, with a faint smile.
“I have no doubt Peter shares her sentiments. I didn’t make many friends in your family, it must be confessed.”
“You did me a service, Gilbert, and I shall not soon forget it.”
“Where did your stepmother come from?” asked Gilbert, thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. My father met her at some summer resort. She was staying in the same boarding house, she and the angelic Peter. She lost no time in setting her cap for my father, who was doubtless reported to her as a man of property, and she succeeded in capturing him.”
“I wonder at that. She doesn’t seem very fascinating.”
“She made herself very agreeable to my father, and was even affectionate in her manner to me, though I couldn’t get to like her. The end was that she became Mrs. Crawford. Once installed in our house, she soon threw off the mask and showed herself in her true colors, a cold-hearted, selfish and disagreeable woman.”
“I wonder your father doesn’t recognize her for what she is.”
“She is very artful, and is politic enough to treat him well. She has lost no opportunity of prejudicing him against me. If he were not an invalid she would find her task more difficult.”
“Did she have any property when your father married her?”
“Not that I have been able to discover. She is scheming to have my father leave the lion’s share of his property to her and Peter. I dare say she will succeed.”
“Let us hope your father will live till you are a young man, at least, and better able to cope with her.”
“I earnestly hope so.”
“Your father is not an old man.”
“He is fifty-one, but he is not strong. I believe he has liver complaint. At any rate, I know that when, at my stepmother’s instigation, he applied to an insurance company to insure his life for her benefit, the application was rejected.”
“You don’t know anything of Mrs. Crawford’s antecedents?”
“No.”
“What was her name before she married your father?”
“She was a Mrs. Cook. That, as you know, is Peter’s name.”
“Perhaps, in your travels, you may learn something of her history.”
“I should like to do so.”
“You won’t leave us to-morrow?”
“I must go to-day. I know now that I must depend wholly upon my own exertions, and I must get to work as soon as possible.”
“You will write to me, Carl?”
“Yes, when I have anything agreeable to write.”
“Let us hope that will be soon.”
Carl obtained permission to leave his trunk at the Vance mansion, merely taking out what he absolutely needed for a change.
“When I am settled I will send for it,” he said. “Now I shouldn’t know what to do with it.”
There were cordial good-bys, and Carl started once more on the tramp. He might, indeed, have traveled by rail, for he had ten dollars and thirty-seven cents; but it occurred to him that in walking he might meet with some one who would give him employment. Besides, he was not in a hurry to get on, nor had he any definite destination. The day was fine, there was a light breeze, and he experienced a hopeful exhilaration as he walked lightly on, with the world before him, and any number of possibilities in the way of fortunate adventures that might befall him.
He had walked five miles, when, to the left, he saw an elderly man hard at work in a hay field. He was leaning on his rake, and looking perplexed and troubled. Carl paused to rest, and as he looked over the rail fence, attracted the attention of the farmer.
“I say, young feller, where are you goin’?” he asked.
“I don’t know—exactly.”
“You don’t know where you are goin’?” repeated the farmer, in surprise.
Carl laughed. “I am going out in the world to seek my fortune,” he said.
“You be? Would you like a job?” asked the farmer, eagerly.
“What sort of a job?”
“I’d like to have you help me hayin’. My hired man is sick, and he’s left me in a hole. It’s goin’ to rain, and——”
“Going to rain?” repeated Carl, in surprise, as he looked up at the nearly cloudless sky.
“Yes. It don’t look like it, I know, but old Job Hagar say it’ll rain before night, and what he don’t know about the weather ain’t worth knowin’. I want to get the hay on this meadow into the barn, and then I’ll feel safe, rain or shine.”
“And you want me to help you?”
“Yes; you look strong and hardy.”
“Yes, I am pretty strong,” said Carl, complacently.
“Well, what do you say?”
“All right. I’ll help you.”
Carl gave a spring and cleared the fence, landing in the hay field, having first thrown his valise over.
“You’re pretty spry,” said the farmer. “I couldn’t do that.”
“No, you’re too heavy,” said Carl, smiling, as he noted the clumsy figure of his employer. “Now, what shall I do?”
“Take that rake and rake up the hay. Then we’ll go over to the barn and get the hay wagon.”
“Where is your barn?”
The farmer pointed across the fields to a story-and-a-half farmhouse, and standing near it a good-sized barn, brown from want of paint and exposure to sun and rain. The buildings were perhaps twenty-five rods distant.
“Are you used to hayin’?” asked the farmer.
“Well, no, not exactly; though I’ve handled a rake before.”
Carl’s experience, however, had been very limited. He had, to be sure, had a rake in his hand, but probably he had not worked more than ten minutes at it. However, raking is easily learned, and his want of experience was not detected. He started off with great enthusiasm, but after a while thought it best to adopt the more leisurely movements of the farmer. After two hours his hands began to blister, but still he kept on.
“I have got to make my living by hard work,” he said to himself, “and it won’t do to let such a little thing as a blister interfere.”
When he had been working a couple of hours, he began to feel hungry. His walk, and the work he had been doing, sharpened his appetite till he really felt uncomfortable. It was at this time—just twelve o’clock—that the farmer’s wife came to the front door and blew a fish horn so vigorously that it could probably have been heard half a mile.
“The old woman’s got dinner ready,” said the farmer. “If you don’t mind takin’ your pay in victuals, you can go along home with me, and take a bite.”
“I think I could take two or three, sir.”
“Ho, ho! that’s a good joke! Money’s scarce, and I’d rather pay in victuals, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Do you generally find people willing to work for their board?” asked Carl, who knew that he was being imposed upon.
“Well, I might pay a leetle more. You work for me till sundown, and I’ll give you dinner and supper, and—fifteen cents.”
Carl wanted to laugh. At this rate of compensation he felt that it would take a long time to make a fortune, but he was so hungry that he would have accepted board alone if it had been necessary.
“I agree,” he said. “Shall I leave my rake here?”
“Yes; it’ll be all right.”
“I’ll take along my valise, for I can’t afford to run any risk of losing it.”
“Jest as you say.”
Five minutes brought them to the farmhouse.
“Can I wash my hands?” asked Carl.
“Yes, you can go right to the sink and wash in the tin basin. There’s a roll towel behind the door. Mis’ Perkins”—that was the way he addressed his wife—“this is a young chap that I’ve hired to help me hayin’. You can set a chair for him at the table.”
“All right, Silas. He don’t look very old, though.”
“No, ma’am. I ain’t twenty-one yet,” answered Carl, who was really sixteen.
“I shouldn’t say you was. You ain’t no signs of a mustache.”
“I keep it short, ma’am, in warm weather,” said Carl.
“It don’t dull a razor any to cut it in cold weather, does it?” asked the farmer, chuckling at his joke.
“Well, no, sir; I can’t say it does.”
It was a boiled dinner that the farmer’s wife provided, corned beef and vegetables, but the plebeian meal seemed to Carl the best he ever ate. Afterwards there was apple pudding, to which he did equal justice.
“I never knew work improved a fellow’s appetite so,” reflected the young traveler. “I never ate with so much relish at home.”
After dinner they went back to the field and worked till the supper hour, five o’clock. By that time all the hay had been put into the barn.
“We’ve done a good day’s work,” said the farmer, in a tone of satisfaction, “and only just in time. Do you see that dark cloud?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In half an hour there’ll be rain, or I’m mistaken. Old Job Hagar is right after all.”
The farmer proved a true prophet. In half an hour, while they were at the supper table, the rain began to come down in large drops—forming pools in the hollows of the ground, and drenching all exposed objects with the largesse of the heavens.
“Where war you a-goin’ to-night?” asked the farmer.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I was thinkin’ that I’d give you a night’s lodgin’ in place of the fifteen cents I agreed to pay you. Money’s very skeerce with me, and will be till I’ve sold off some of the crops.”
“I shall be glad to make that arrangement,” said Carl, who had been considering how much the farmer would ask for lodging, for there seemed small chance of continuing his journey. Fifteen cents was a lower price than he had calculated on.
“That’s a sensible idea!” said the farmer, rubbing his hands with satisfaction at the thought that he had secured valuable help at no money outlay whatever.
The next morning Carl continued his tramp, refusing the offer of continued employment on the same terms. He was bent on pursuing his journey, though he did not know exactly where he would fetch up in the end.
At twelve o’clock that day he found himself in the outskirts of a town, with the same uncomfortable appetite that he had felt the day before, but with no hotel or restaurant anywhere near. There was, however, a small house, the outer door of which stood conveniently open. Through the open window, Carl saw a table spread as if for dinner, and he thought it probable that he could arrange to become a boarder for a single meal. He knocked at the door, but no one came. He shouted out: “Is anybody at home?” and received no answer. He went to a small barn just outside and peered in, but no one was to be seen.
What should he do? He was terribly hungry, and the sight of the food on the table was tantalizing.
“I’ll go in, as the door is open,” he decided, “and sit down to the table and eat. Somebody will be along before I get through, and I’ll pay whatever is satisfactory, for eat I must.”
He entered, seated himself, and ate heartily. Still no one appeared.
“I don’t want to go off without paying,” thought Carl. “I’ll see if I can find somebody.”
He opened the door into the kitchen, but it was deserted. Then he opened that of a small bedroom, and started back in terror and dismay.
There suspended from a hook—a man of middle age was hanging, with his head bent forward, his eyes wide open, and his tongue protruding from his mouth!
To a person of any age such a sight as that described at the close of the last chapter might well have proved startling. To a boy like Carl it was simply overwhelming. It so happened that he had but twice seen a dead person, and never a victim of violence. The peculiar circumstances increased the effect upon his mind.
He placed his hand upon the man’s face, and found that he was still warm. He could have been dead but a short time.
“What shall I do?” thought Carl, perplexed. “This is terrible!”
Then it flashed upon him that as he was alone with the dead man suspicion might fall upon him as being concerned in what might be called a murder.
“I had better leave here at once,” he reflected. “I shall have to go away without paying for my meal.”
He started to leave the house, but had scarcely reached the door when two persons—a man and a woman—entered. Both looked at Carl with suspicion.
“What are you doing here?” asked the man.
“I beg your pardon,” answered Carl; “I was very hungry, and seeing no one about, took the liberty to sit down at the table and eat. I am willing to pay for my dinner if you will tell me how much it amounts to.”
“Wasn’t my husband here?” asked the woman.
“I—I am afraid something has happened to your husband,” faltered Carl.
“What do you mean?”
Carl silently pointed to the chamber door. The woman opened it, and uttered a loud shriek.
“Look here, Walter!” she cried.
Her companion quickly came to her side.
“My husband is dead!” cried the woman; “basely murdered, and there,” pointing fiercely to Carl, “there stands the murderer!”
“Madam, you cannot believe this!” said Carl, naturally agitated.
“What have you to say for yourself?” demanded the man, suspiciously.
“I only just saw—your husband,” continued Carl, addressing himself to the woman. “I had finished my meal, when I began to search for some one whom I could pay, and so opened this door into the room beyond, when I saw—him hanging there!”
“Don’t believe him, the red-handed murderer!” broke out the woman, fiercely. “He is probably a thief; he killed my poor husband, and then sat down like a cold-blooded villain that he is, and gorged himself.”
Things began to look very serious for poor Carl.
“Your husband is larger and stronger than myself,” he urged, desperately. “How could I overpower him?”
“It looks reasonable, Maria,” said the man. “I don’t see how the boy could have killed Mr. Brown, or lifted him upon the hook, even if he did not resist.”
“He murdered him, I tell you, he murdered him!” shrieked the woman, who seemed bereft of reason. “I call upon you to arrest him.”
“I am not a constable, Maria.”
“Then tie him so he cannot get away, and go for a constable. I wouldn’t feel safe with him in the house, unless he were tied fast. He might hang me!”
Terrible as the circumstances were, Carl felt an impulse to laugh. It seemed absurd to hear himself talked of in this way.
“Tie me if you like!” he said. “I am willing to wait here till some one comes who has a little common sense. Just remember that I am only a boy, and haven’t the strength of a full-grown man!”
“The boy is right, Maria! It’s a foolish idea of yours.”
“I call upon you to tie the villain!” insisted the woman.
“Just as you say! Can you give me some rope?”
From a drawer Mrs. Brown drew a quantity of strong cord, and the man proceeded to tie Carl’s hands.
“Tie his feet, too, Walter!”
“Even if you didn’t tie me, I would promise to remain here. I don’t want anybody to suspect me of such a thing,” put in Carl.
“How artful he is!” said Mrs. Brown. “Tie him strong, Walter.”
The two were left alone, Carl feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The newly-made widow laid her head upon the table and moaned, glancing occasionally at the body of her husband, as it still hung suspended from the hook.
“Oh, William, I little expected to find you dead!” she groaned. “I only went to the store to buy a pound of salt, and when I come back, I find you cold and still, the victim of a young ruffian! How could you be so wicked?” she demanded fiercely of Carl.
“I have told you that I had nothing to do with your husband’s death, madam.”
“Who killed him, then?” she cried.
“I don’t know. He must have committed suicide.”
“Don’t think you are going to escape in that way. I won’t rest till I see you hung!”
“I wish I had never entered the house,” thought Carl, uncomfortably. “I would rather have gone hungry for twenty four hours longer than find myself in such a position.”
Half an hour passed. Then a sound of voices was heard outside, and half a dozen men entered, including besides the messenger, the constable and a physician.
“Why was he not cut down?” asked the doctor, hastily. “There might have been a chance to resuscitate him.”
“I didn’t think of it,” said the messenger. “Maria was so excited, and insisted that the boy murdered him.”
“What boy?”
Carl was pointed out.
“That boy? What nonsense!” exclaimed Dr. Park. “Why, it would be more than you or I could do to overpower and hang a man weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds.”
“That’s what I thought, but Maria seemed crazed like.”
“I tell you he did it! Are you going to let him go, the red-handed murderer?”
“Loose the cord, and I will question the boy,” said Dr. Park, with an air of authority.
Carl breathed a sigh of relief, when, freed from his bonds, he stood upright.
“I’ll tell you all I know,” he said, “but it won’t throw any light upon the death.”
Dr. Park listened attentively, and asked one or two questions.
“Did you hear any noise when you were sitting at the table?” he inquired.
“No, sir.”
“Was the door closed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That of itself would probably prevent your hearing anything. Mrs. Brown, at what hour did you leave the house?”
“At ten minutes of twelve.”
“It is now five minutes of one. The deed must have been committed just after you left the house. Had you noticed anything out of the way in your—husband’s manner?”
“No, sir, not much. He was always a silent man.”
“Had anything happened to disturb him?”
“He got a letter this morning. I don’t know what was in it.”
“We had better search for it.”
The body was taken down and laid on the bed. Dr. Park searched the pockets, and found a half sheet of note paper, on which these lines were written:
“Maria:—I have made up my mind I can ive no longer. I have made a terrible discovery. When I married you, I thought my first wife, who deserted me four years ago, dead. I learn by a letter received this morning that she is still living in a town of Illinois. The only thing I can do is to free you both from my presence. When you come back from the store you will find me cold and dead. The little that I leave behind I give to you. If my first wife should come here, as she threatens, you can tell her so. Good-by.
“William.”
The reading of this letter made a sensation. Mrs. Brown went into hysterics, and there was a scene of confusion.
“Do you think I can go?” Carl asked Dr. Park.
“Yes. There is nothing to connect you with the sad event.”
Carl gladly left the cottage, and it was only when he was a mile on his way that he remembered that he had not paid for his dinner, after all.
Three days later found Carl still on his travels. It was his custom to obtain his meals at a cheap hotel, or, if none were met with, at a farmhouse, and to secure lodgings where he could, and on as favorable terms as possible. He realized the need of economy, and felt that he was practicing it. He had changed his ten-dollar bill the first day, for a five and several ones. These last were now spent, and the five-dollar bill alone remained to him. He had earned nothing, though everywhere he had been on the lookout for a job.
Toward the close of the last day he overtook a young man of twenty-five, who was traveling in the same direction.
“Good-afternoon,” said the young man, sociably.
“Good-afternoon, sir.”
“Where are you bound, may I ask?”
“To the next town.”
“Fillmore?”
“Yes, if that is the name.”
“So am I. Why shouldn’t we travel together?”
“I have no objection,” said Carl, who was glad of company.
“Are you in any business?”
“No, but I hope to find a place.”
“Oh, a smart boy like you will soon find employment.”
“I hope so, I am sure. I haven’t much money left, and it is necessary I should do something.”
“Just so. I am a New York salesman, but just now I am on my vacation—taking a pedestrian tour with knapsack and staff, as you see. The beauty of it is that my salary runs on just as if I were at my post, and will nearly pay all my traveling expenses.”
“You are in luck. Besides you have a good place to go back to. There isn’t any vacancy, is there? You couldn’t take on a boy?” asked Carl, eagerly.
“Well, there might be a chance,” said the young man, slowly. “You haven’t any recommendations with you, have you?”
“No; I have never been employed.”
“It doesn’t matter. I will recommend you myself.”
“You might be deceived in me,” said Carl, smiling.
“I’ll take the risk of that. I know a reliable boy when I see him.”
“Thank you. What is the name of your firm?”
“F. Brandes & Co., commission merchants, Pearl Street. My own name is Chauncy Hubbard, at your service.”
“I am Carl Crawford.”
“That’s a good name. I predict that we shall be great chums, if I manage to get you a place in our establishment.”
“Is Mr. Brandes a good man to work for?”
“Yes, he is easy and good-natured. He is liberal to his clerks. What salary do you think I get?”
“I couldn’t guess.”
“Forty dollars a week, and I am only twenty-five. Went into the house at sixteen, and worked my way up.”
“You have certainly done well,” said Carl, respectfully.
“Well, I’m no slouch, if I do say it myself.”
“I don’t wonder your income pays the expenses of your vacation trip.”
“It ought to, that’s a fact, though I’m rather free handed and like to spend money. My prospects are pretty good in another direction. Old Fred Brandes has a handsome daughter, who thinks considerable of your humble servant.”
“Do you think there is any chance of marrying her?” asked Carl, with interest.
“I think my chance is pretty good, as the girl won’t look at anybody else.”
“Is Mr. Brandes wealthy?”
“Yes, the old man’s pretty well fixed, worth nearly half a million, I guess.”
“Perhaps he will take you into the firm,” suggested Carl.
“Very likely. That’s what I’m working for.”
“At any rate, you ought to save something out of your salary.”
“I ought, but I haven’t. The fact is, Carl,” said Chauncy Hubbard, in a burst of confidence, “I have a great mind to make a confession to you.”
“I shall feel flattered, I am sure,” said Carl, politely.
“I have one great fault—I gamble.”
“Do you?” said Carl, rather startled, for he had been brought up very properly to have a horror of gambling.
“Yes, I suppose it’s in my blood. My father was a very rich man at one time, but he lost nearly all his fortune at the gaming table.”
“That ought to have been a warning to you, I should think.”
“It ought, and may be yet, for I am still a young man.”
“Mr. Hubbard,” said Carl, earnestly, “I feel rather diffident about advising you, for I am only a boy, but I should think you would give up such a dangerous habit.”
“Say no more, Carl! You are a true friend. I will try to follow your advice. Give me your hand.”
Carl did so, and felt a warm glow of pleasure at the thought that perhaps he had redeemed his companion from a fascinating vice.
“I really wish I had a sensible boy like you to be my constant companion. I should feel safer.”
“Do you really have such a passion for gambling, then?”
“Yes; if at the hotel to-night I should see a party playing poker, I could not resist joining them. Odd, isn’t it?”
“I am glad I have no such temptation.”
“Yes, you are lucky. By the way, how much money have you about you?”
“Five dollars.”
“Then you can do me a favor. I have a ten-dollar bill, which I need to get me home. Now, I would like to have you keep a part of it for me till I go away in the morning. Give me your five, and I will hand you ten. Out of that you can pay my hotel bill and hand me the balance due me in the morning.”
“If you really wish me to do so.”
“Enough said. Here is the ten.”
Carl took the bill, and gave Mr. Hubbard his five-dollar note.
“You are placing considerable confidence in me,” he said.
“I am, it is true, but I have no fear of being deceived. You are a boy who naturally inspires confidence.”
Carl thought Mr. Chauncy Hubbard a very agreeable and sensible fellow, and he felt flattered to think that the young man had chosen him as a guardian, so to speak.
“By the way, Carl, you haven’t told me,” said Hubbard, as they pursued their journey, “how a boy like yourself is forced to work his own way.”
“I can tell you the reason very briefly—I have a stepmother.”
“I understand. Is your father living?”
“Yes.”
“But he thinks more of the stepmother than of you?”
“I am afraid he does.”
“You have my sympathy, Carl. I will do all I can to help you. If you can only get a place in our establishment, you will be all right. Step by step you will rise, till you come to stand where I do.”
“That would satisfy me. Has Mr. Brandes got another daughter?”
“No, there is only one.”
“Then I shall have to be content with the forty dollars a week. If I ever get it, I will save half.”
“I wish I could.”
“You can if you try. Why, you might have two thousand dollars saved up now, if you had only begun to save in time.”
“I have lost more than that at the gaming table. You will think me very foolish.”
“Yes, I do,” said Carl, frankly.
“You are right. But here we are almost at the village.”
“Is there a good hotel?”
“Yes—the Fillmore. We will take adjoining rooms if you say so.”
“Very well.”
“And in the morning you will pay the bill?”
“Certainly.”
The two travelers had a good supper, and retired early, both being fatigued with the journey. It was not till eight o’clock the next morning that Carl opened his eyes. He dressed hastily, and went down to breakfast. He was rather surprised not to see his companion of the day before.
“Has Mr. Hubbard come down yet?” he asked at the desk.
“Yes; he took an early breakfast, and went off by the first train.”
“That is strange. I was to pay his bill.”
“He paid it himself.”
Carl did not know what to make of this. Had Hubbard forgotten that he had five dollars belonging to him? Fortunately, Carl had his city address, and could refund the money in New York.
“Very well! I will pay my own bill. How much is it?”
“A dollar and a quarter.”
Carl took the ten-dollar bill from his wallet and tendered it to the clerk.
Instead of changing it at once, the clerk held it up to the light and examined it critically.
“I can’t take that bill,” he said, abruptly.
“Why not?”
“Because it is counterfeit.”
Carl turned pale, and the room seemed to whirl round. It was all the money he had.