“Are you sure it is counterfeit?” asked Carl, very much disturbed.
“I am certain of it. I haven’t been handling bank bills for ten years without being able to tell good money from bad. I’ll trouble you for another bill.”
“That’s all the money I have,” faltered Carl.
“Look here, young man,” said the clerk, sternly, “you are trying a bold game, but it won’t succeed.”
“I am trying no game at all,” said Carl, plucking up spirit. “I thought the bill was good.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From the man who came with me last evening—Mr. Hubbard.”
“The money he gave me was good.”
“What did he give you?”
“A five-dollar bill.”
“It was my five-dollar bill,” said Carl, bitterly.
“Your story doesn’t seem very probable,” said the clerk, suspiciously. “How did he happen to get your money, and you his?”
“He told me that he would get to gambling, and wished me to take money enough to pay his bill here. He handed me the ten-dollar bill which you say is bad, and I gave him five in return. I think now he only wanted to get good money for bad.”
“Your story may be true, or it may not,” said the clerk, whose manner indicated incredulity. “That is nothing to me. All you have to do is to pay your hotel bill, and you can settle with Mr. Hubbard when you see him.”
“But I have no other money,” said Carl, desperately.
“Then I shall feel justified in ordering your arrest on a charge of passing, or trying to pass, counterfeit money.”
“Don’t do that, sir! I will see that you are paid out of the first money I earn.”
“You must think I am soft,” said the clerk, contemptuously. “I have seen persons of your stripe before. I dare say, if you were searched, more counterfeit money would be found in your pockets.”
“Search me, then!” cried Carl, indignantly. “I am perfectly willing that you should.”
“Haven’t you any relations who will pay your bill?”
“I have no one to call upon,” answered Carl, soberly. “Couldn’t you let me work it out? I am ready to do any kind of work.”
“Our list of workers is full,” said the clerk, coldly.
Poor Carl! he felt that he was decidedly in a tight place. He had never before found himself unable to meet his bills, nor would he have been so placed now but for Hubbard’s rascality. A dollar and a quarter seems a small sum, but if you are absolutely penniless it might as well be a thousand. Suppose he should be arrested and the story get into the papers? How his stepmother would exult in the record of his disgrace! He could anticipate what she would say. Peter, too, would rejoice, and between them both his father would be persuaded that he was thoroughly unprincipled.
“What have you got in your valise?” asked the clerk.
“Only some underclothing. If there were anything of any value I would cheerfully leave it as security. Wait a minute, though,” he said, with a sudden thought. “Here is a gold pencil! It is worth five dollars; at any rate, it cost more than that. I can place that in your hands.”
“Let me see it.”
Carl handed the clerk a neat gold pencil, on which his name was inscribed. It was evidently of good quality, and found favor with the clerk.
“I’ll give you a dollar and a quarter for the pencil,” he said, “and call it square.”
“I wouldn’t like to sell it,” said Carl.
“You won’t get any more for it.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that; but it was given me by my mother, who is now dead. I would not like to part with anything that she gave me.”
“You would prefer to get off scot-free, I suppose?” retorted the clerk, with a sneer.
“No; I am willing to leave it in your hands, but I should like the privilege of redeeming it when I have the money.”
“Very well,” said the clerk, who reflected that in all probability Carl would never come back for it. “I’ll take it on those conditions.”
Carl passed over the pencil with a sigh. He didn’t like to part with it, even for a short time, but there seemed no help for it.
“All right. I will mark you paid.”
Carl left the hotel, satchel in hand, and as he passed out into the street, reflected with a sinking heart that he was now quite penniless. Where was he to get his dinner, and how was he to provide himself with a lodging that night? At present he was not hungry, having eaten a hearty breakfast at the hotel, but by one o’clock he would feel the need of food. He began to ask himself if, after all, he had not been unwise in leaving home, no matter how badly he had been treated by his stepmother. There, at least, he was certain of living comfortably. Now he was in danger of starvation, and on two occasions already he had incurred suspicion, once of being concerned in a murder, and just now of passing counterfeit money. Ought he to have submitted, and so avoided all these perils?
“No!” he finally decided; “I won’t give up the ship yet. I am about as badly off as I can be; I am without a cent, and don’t know where my next meal is to come from. But my luck may turn—it must turn—it has turned!” he exclaimed with energy, as his wandering glance suddenly fell upon a silver quarter of a dollar, nearly covered up with the dust of the street. “That shall prove a good omen!”
He stooped over and picked up the coin, which he put in his vest pocket.
It was wonderful how the possession of this small sum of money restored his courage and raised his spirits. He was sure of a dinner now, at all events. It looked as if Providence was smiling on him.
Two miles farther on Carl overtook a boy of about his own age trudging along the road with a rake over his shoulder. He wore overalls, and was evidently a farmer’s boy.
“Good-day!” said Carl, pleasantly, noticing that the boy regarded him with interest.
“Good-day!” returned the country lad, rather bashfully.
“Can you tell me if there is any place near where I can buy some dinner?”
“There ain’t no tavern, if that’s what you mean. I’m goin’ home to dinner myself.”
“Where do you live?”
“Over yonder.”
He pointed to a farmhouse about a dozen rods away.
“Do you think your mother would give me some dinner?”
“I guess she would. Mam’s real accommodatin’.”
“Will you ask her?”
“Yes; just come along of me.”
He turned into the yard, and followed a narrow path to the back door.
“I’ll stay here while you ask,” said Carl.
The boy entered the house, and came out after a brief absence.
“Mam says you’re to come in,” he said.
Carl, glad at heart, and feeling quite prepared to eat fifty cents’ worth of dinner, followed the boy inside.
A pleasant-looking, matronly woman, plainly but neatly attired, came forward to greet him.
“Nat says you would like to get some dinner,” she said.
“Yes,” answered Carl. “I hope you’ll excuse my applying to you, but your son tells me there is no hotel near by.”
“The nearest one is three miles away from here.”
“I don’t think I can hold out so long,” said Carl, smiling.
“Sit right down with Nat,” said the farmer’s wife, hospitably. “Mr. Sweetser won’t be home for half an hour. We’ve got enough, such as it is.”
Evidently Mrs. Sweetser was a good cook. The dinner consisted of boiled mutton, with several kinds of vegetables. A cup of tea and two kinds of pie followed.
It was hard to tell which of the two boys did fuller justice to the meal. Nat had the usual appetite of a healthy farm boy, and Carl, in spite of his recent anxieties, and narrow escape from serious peril, did not allow himself to fall behind.
“Your mother’s a fine cook!” said Carl, between two mouthfuls.
“Ain’t she, though?” answered Nat, his mouth full of pie.
When Carl rose from the table he feared that he had eaten more than his little stock of money would pay for.
“How much will it be, Mrs. Sweetser?” he asked.
“Oh, you’re quite welcome to all you’ve had,” said the good woman, cheerily. “It’s plain farmer’s fare.”
“I never tasted a better dinner,” said Carl.
Mrs. Sweetser seemed pleased with the compliment to her cooking.
“Come again when you are passing this way,” she said. “You will always be welcome to a dinner.”
Carl thanked her heartily, and pressed on his way. Two hours later, at a lonely point of the road, an ill-looking tramp, who had been reclining by the wayside, jumped up, and addressed him in a menacing tone:
“Young feller, shell over all the money you have got, or I’ll hurt you! I’m hard up, and I won’t stand no nonsense.”
Carl started and looked into the face of the tramp. It seemed to him that he had never seen a man more ill-favored, or villainous-looking.
Situated as he was, it seemed, on second thought, rather a joke to Carl to be attacked by a robber. He had but twenty-five cents in good money about him, and that he had just picked up by the merest chance.
“Do I look like a banker?” he asked, humorously. “Why do you want to rob a boy?”
“The way you’re togged out, you must have something,” growled the tramp, “and I haven’t got a penny.”
“Your business doesn’t seem to pay, then?”
“Don’t you make fun of me, or I’ll wring your neck! Just hand over your money and be quick about it! I haven’t time to stand fooling here all day.”
A bright idea came to Carl. He couldn’t spare the silver coin, which constituted all his available wealth, but he still had the counterfeit note.
“You won’t take all my money, will you?” he said, earnestly.
“How much have you got?” asked the tramp, pricking up his ears.
Carl, with apparent reluctance, drew out the ten-dollar bill.
The tramp’s face lighted up.
“Is your name Vanderbilt?” he asked. “I didn’t expect to make such a haul.”
“Can’t you give me back a dollar out of it? I don’t want to lose all I have.”
“I haven’t got a cent. You’ll have to wait till we meet again. So long, boy! You’ve helped me out of a scrape.”
“Or into one,” thought Carl.
The tramp straightened up, buttoned his dilapidated coat, and walked off with the consciousness of being a capitalist.
Carl watched him with a smile.
“I hope I won’t meet him after he has discovered that the bill is a counterfeit,” he said to himself.
He congratulated himself upon being still the possessor of twenty-five cents in silver. It was not much, but it seemed a great deal better than being penniless. A week before he would have thought it impossible that such a paltry sum would have made him feel comfortable, but he had passed through a great deal since then.
About the middle of the afternoon he came to a field, in which something appeared to be going on. Some forty or fifty young persons, boys and girls, were walking about the grass, and seemed to be preparing for some interesting event.
Carl stopped to rest and look on.
“What’s going on here?” he asked of a boy who was sitting on the fence.
“It’s a meeting of the athletic association,” said the boy.
“What are they doing?”
“They try for prizes in jumping, vaulting, archery and so on.”
This interested Carl, who excelled in all manly exercises.
“I suppose I may stay and look on?” he said, inquiringly.
“Why, of course. Jump over the fence and I’ll go round with you.”
It seemed pleasant to Carl to associate once more with boys of his own age. Thrown unexpectedly upon his own resources, he had almost forgotten that he was a boy. Face to face with a cold and unsympathizing world, he seemed to himself twenty-five at least.
“Those who wish to compete for the archery prize will come forward,” announced Robert Gardiner, a young man of nineteen, who, as Carl learned, was the president of the association. “You all understand the conditions. The entry fee to competitors is ten cents. The prize to the most successful archer is one dollar.”
Several boys came forward and paid the entrance fee.
“Would you like to compete?” asked Edward Downie, the boy whose acquaintance Carl had made.
“I am an outsider,” said Carl. “I don’t belong to the association.”
“I’ll speak to the president, if you like.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“It won’t be considered an intrusion. You pay the entrance fee and take your chances.”
Edward went to the president and spoke to him in a low voice. The result was that he advanced to Carl, and said, courteously:
“If you would like to enter into our games, you are quite at liberty to do so.”
“Thank you,” responded Carl. “I have had a little practice in archery, and will enter my name for that prize.”
He paid over his quarter and received back fifteen cents in change. It seemed rather an imprudent outlay, considering his small capital; but he had good hopes of carrying off the prize, and that would be a great lift for him. Seven boys entered besides Carl. The first was Victor Russell, a lad of fourteen, whose arrow went three feet above the mark.
“The prize is mine if none of you do better than that,” laughed Victor, good-naturedly.
“I hope not, for the credit of the club,” said the president. “Mr. Crawford, will you shoot next?”
“I would prefer to be the last,” said Carl, modestly.
“John Livermore, your turn now.”
John came a little nearer than his predecessor, but did not distinguish himself.
“If that is a specimen of the skill of the clubmen,” thought Carl, “my chance is a good one.”
Next came Frank Stockton, whose arrow stuck only three inches from the center of the target.
“Good for Fred!” cried Edward Downie. “Just wait till you see me shoot!”
“Are you a dangerous rival?” asked Carl, smiling.
“I can hit a barn door if I am only near enough,” replied Edward.
“Edward Downie!” called the president.
Edward took his bow and advanced to the proper place, bent it, and the arrow sped on its way.
There was a murmur of surprise when his arrow struck only an inch to the right of the centre. No one was more amazed than Edward himself, for he was accounted far from skillful. It was indeed a lucky accident.
“What do you say to that?” asked Edward, triumphantly.
“I think the prize is yours. I had no idea you could shoot like that,” said Carl.
“Nor I,” rejoined Edward, laughing.
“Carl Crawford!” called the president.
Carl took his position, and bent his bow with the greatest care. He exercised unusual deliberation, for success meant more to him than to any of the others. A dollar to him in his present circumstances would be a small fortune, while the loss of even ten cents would be sensibly felt. His heart throbbed with excitement as he let the arrow speed on its mission.
His unusual deliberation, and the fact that he was a stranger, excited strong interest, and all eyes followed the arrow with eager attentiveness.
There was a sudden shout of irrepressible excitement.
Carl’s arrow had struck the bull’s-eye and the prize was his.
“Christopher!” exclaimed Edward Downie, “you’ve beaten me, after all!”
“I’m almost sorry,” said Carl, apologetically, but the light in his eyes hardly bore out the statement.
“Never mind. Everybody would have called it a fluke if I had won,” said Edward. “I expect to get the prize for the long jump. I am good at that.”
“So am I, but I won’t compete; I will leave it to you.”
“No, no. I want to win fair.”
Carl accordingly entered his name. He made the second best jump, but Edward’s exceeded his by a couple of inches, and the prize was adjudged to him.
“I have my revenge,” he said, smiling. “I am glad I won, for it wouldn’t have been to the credit of the club to have an outsider carry off two prizes.”
“I am perfectly satisfied,” said Carl; “I ought to be, for I did not expect to carry off any.”
Carl decided not to compete for any other prize. He had invested twenty cents and got back a dollar, which left him a profit of eighty cents. This, with his original quarter, made him the possessor of a dollar and five cents.
“My luck seems to have turned,” he said to himself, and the thought gave him fresh courage.
It was five o’clock when the games were over, and Carl prepared to start again on his journey.
“Where are you going to take supper?” asked Downie.
“I—don’t—know.”
“Come home with me. If you are in no hurry, you may as well stay overnight, and go on in the morning.”
“Are you sure it won’t inconvenience you?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I’ll accept with thanks.”
After breakfast the next morning Carl started again on his way. His new friend, Edward Downie, accompanied him for a mile, having an errand at that distance.
“I wish you good luck, Carl,” he said, earnestly. “When you come this way again, be sure to stop in and see me.”
“I will certainly do so, but I hope I may find employment.”
“At any rate,” thought Carl, as he resumed his journey alone, “I am better off than I was yesterday morning. Then I had but twenty-five cents; now I have a dollar.”
This was satisfactory as far as it went, but Carl was sensible that he was making no progress in his plan of earning a living. He was simply living from hand to mouth, and but for good luck he would have had to go hungry, and perhaps have been obliged to sleep out doors. What he wanted was employment.
It was about ten o’clock when, looking along the road, his curiosity was excited by a man of very unusual figure a few rods in advance of him. He looked no taller than a boy of ten; but his frame was large, his shoulders broad, and his arms were of unusual length. He might properly be called a dwarf.
“I am glad I am not so small as that,” thought Carl. “I am richer than he in having a good figure. I should not like to excite attention wherever I go by being unusually large or unusually small.”
Some boys would have felt inclined to laugh at the queer figure, but Carl had too much good feeling. His curiosity certainly was aroused, and he thought he would like to get acquainted with the little man, whose garments of fine texture showed that, though short in stature, he was probably long in purse. He didn’t quite know how to pave the way for an acquaintance, but circumstances favored him.
The little man drew out a handkerchief from the side pocket of his overcoat. With it fluttered out a bank bill, which fell to the ground apparently unobserved by the owner.
Carl hurried on, and, picking up the bill, said to the small stranger as he touched his arm: “Here is some money you just dropped, sir.”
The little man turned round and smiled pleasantly.
“Thank you. Are you sure it is mine?”
“Yes, sir; it came out with your handkerchief.”
“Let me see. So it is mine. I was very careless to put it loose in my pocket.”
“You were rather careless, sir.”
“Of what denomination is it?’
“It is a two-dollar note.”
“If you had been a poor boy,” said the little man, eying Carl keenly, “you might have been tempted to keep it. I might not have known.”
Carl smiled.
“What makes you think I am not a poor boy?” he said.
“You are well dressed.”
“That is true; but all the money I have is a dollar and five cents.”
“You know where to get more? You have a good home?”
“I had a home, but now I am thrown on my own exertions,” said Carl, soberly.
“Dear me! That is bad! If I were better acquainted, I might ask more particularly how this happens. Are you an orphan?”
“No, sir; my father is living.”
“And your mother is dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is your father a poor man?”
“No, sir; he is moderately rich.”
“Yet you have to fight your own way?”
“Yes, sir. I have a stepmother.”
“I see. Are you sure you are not unreasonably prejudiced against your stepmother? All stepmothers are not bad or unkind.”
“I know that, sir.”
“Yours is, I presume?”
“You can judge for yourself.”
Carl recited some incidents in his experience with his stepmother. The stranger listened with evident interest.
“I am not in general in favor of boys leaving home except on extreme provocation,” he said, after a pause; “but in your case, as your father seems to take part against you, I think you may be justified, especially as, at your age, you have a fair chance of making your own living.”
“I am glad you think that, sir. I have begun to wonder whether I have not acted rashly.”
“In undertaking to support yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“At fourteen I was obliged to undertake what you have now before you.”
“To support yourself?”
“Yes; I was left an orphan at fourteen, with no money left me by my poor father, and no relatives who could help me.”
“How did you make out, sir?” asked Carl, feeling very much interested.
“I sold papers for a while—in Newark, New Jersey—then I got a place at three dollars a week, out of which I had to pay for board, lodging and clothes. Well, I won’t go through my history. I will only say that whatever I did I did as well as I could. I am now a man of about middle age, and I am moderately wealthy.”
“I am very much encouraged by what you tell me, sir.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand what a hard struggle I had. More than once I have had to go to bed hungry. Sometimes I have had to sleep out, but one mustn’t be afraid to rough it a little when he is young. I shouldn’t like to sleep out now, or go to bed without my supper,” and the little man laughed softly.
“Yes, sir; I expect to rough it, but if I could only get a situation, at no matter what income, I should feel encouraged.”
“You have earned no money yet?”
“Yes, sir; I earned a dollar yesterday.”
“At what kind of work?”
“Archery.”
The little man looked surprised.
“Is that a business?” he asked, curiously.
“I’ll explain how it was,” and Carl told about the contest.
“So you hit the mark?” said the little man, significantly.
Somehow, there was something in the little man’s tone that put new courage into Carl, and incited him to fresh effort.
“I wonder, sir,” he said, after a pause, “that you should be walking, when you can well afford to ride.”
The little man smiled.
“It is by advice of my physician,” he said. “He tells me I am getting too stout, and ought to take more or less exercise in the open air. So I am trying to follow his advice.”
“Are you in business near here, sir?”
“At a large town six miles distant. I may not walk all the way there, but I have a place to call at near by, and thought I would avail myself of the good chance offered to take a little exercise. I feel repaid. I have made a pleasant acquaintance.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“There is my card,” and the little man took out a business card, reading thus:
HENRY JENNINGS, FURNITURE WAREHOUSE, MILFORD.
“I manufacture my furniture in the country,” he continued, “but I ship it by special arrangements to a house in New York in which I am also interested.”
“Yes, sir, I see. Do you employ many persons in your establishment?”
“About thirty.”
“Do you think you could make room for me?”
“Do you think you would like the business?”
“I am prepared to like any business in which I can make a living.”
“That is right. That is the way to look at it. Let me think.”
For two minutes Mr. Jennings seemed to be plunged in thought. Then he turned and smiled encouragingly.
“You can come home with me,” he said, “and I will consider the matter.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Carl, gladly.
“I have got to make a call at the next house, not on business, though. There is an old schoolmate lying there sick. I am afraid he is rather poor, too. You can walk on slowly, and I will overtake you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“After walking half a mile, if I have not overtaken you, you may sit down under a tree and wait for me.”
“All right, sir.”
“Before I leave you I will tell you a secret.”
“What is it, sir?”
“The two dollars you picked up, I dropped on purpose.”
“On purpose?” asked Carl, in amazement.
“Yes; I wanted to try you, to see if you were honest.”
“Then you had noticed me?”
“Yes. I liked your appearance, but I wanted to test you.”
Carl walked on slowly. He felt encouraged by the prospect of work, for he was sure that Mr. Jennings would make a place for him, if possible.
“He is evidently a kind-hearted man,” Carl reflected. “Besides, he has been poor himself, and he can sympathize with me. The wages may be small, but I won’t mind that, if I only support myself economically, and get on.” To most boys brought up in comfort, not to say luxury, the prospect of working hard for small pay would not have seemed inviting. But Carl was essentially manly, and had sensible ideas about labor. It was no sacrifice or humiliation to him to become a working boy, for he had never considered himself superior to working boys, as many boys in his position would have done.
He walked on in a leisurely manner, and at the end of ten minutes thought he had better sit down and wait for Mr. Jennings. But he was destined to receive a shock. There, under the tree which seemed to offer the most inviting shelter, reclined a figure only too well-known.
It was the tramp who the day before had compelled him to surrender the ten-dollar bill.
The ill-looking fellow glanced up, and when his gaze rested upon Carl, his face beamed with savage joy.
“So it’s you, is it?” he said, rising from his seat.
“Yes,” answered Carl, doubtfully.
“Do you remember me?”
“Yes.”
“I have cause to remember you, my chicken. That was a mean trick you played upon me,” and he nodded his head significantly.
“I should think it was you that played the trick on me.”
“How do you make that out?” growled the tramp.
“You took my money.”
“So I did, and much good it did me.”
Carl was silent.
“You know why, don’t you?”
Carl might have denied that he knew the character of the bill which was stolen from him, but I am glad to say that it would have come from him with a very ill grace, for he was accustomed to tell the truth under all circumstances.
“You knew that the bill was counterfeit, didn’t you?” demanded the tramp, fiercely.
“I was told so at the hotel where I offered it in payment for my bill.”
“Yet you passed it on me!”
“I didn’t pass it on you. You took it from me,” retorted Carl, with spirit.
“That makes no difference.”
“I think it does. I wouldn’t have offered it to anyone in payment of an honest bill.”
“Humph! you thought because I was poor and unfortunate you could pass it off on me!”
This seemed so grotesque that Carl found it difficult not to laugh.
“Do you know it nearly got me into trouble?” went on the tramp.
“How was that?”
“I stopped at a baker’s shop to get a lunch. When I got through I offered the bill. The old Dutchman put on his spectacles, and he looked first at the bill, then at me. Then he threatened to have me arrested for passing bad money. I told him I’d go out in the back yard and settle it with him. I tell you, boy, I’d have knocked him out in one round, and he knew it, so he bade me be gone and never darken his door again. Where did you get it?”
“It was passed on me by a man I was traveling with.”
“How much other money have you got?” asked the tramp.
“Very little.”
“Give it to me, whatever it is.”
This was a little too much for Carl’s patience.
“I have no money to spare,” he said, shortly.
“Say that over again!” said the tramp, menacingly.
“If you don’t understand me, I will. I have no money to spare.”
“You’ll spare it to me, I reckon.”
“Look here,” said Carl, slowly backing. “You’ve robbed me of ten dollars. You’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
“It was no good. It might have sent me to prison. If I was nicely dressed I might pass it, but when a chap like me offers a ten-dollar bill it’s sure to be looked at sharply. I haven’t a cent, and I’ll trouble you to hand over all you’ve got.”
“Why don’t you work for a living? You are a strong, able-bodied man.”
“You’ll find I am if you give me any more of your palaver.”
Carl saw that the time of negotiation was past, and that active hostilities were about to commence. Accordingly he turned and ran, not forward, but in the reverse direction, hoping in this way to meet with Mr. Jennings.
“Ah, that’s your game, is it?” growled the tramp. “You needn’t expect to escape, for I’ll overhaul you in two minutes.”
So Carl ran, and his rough acquaintance ran after him.
It could hardly be expected that a boy of sixteen, though stout and strong, could get away from a tall, powerful man like the tramp.
Looking back over his shoulder, Carl saw that the tramp was but three feet behind, and almost able to lay his hand upon his shoulder.
He dodged dexterously, and in trying to do the same the tramp nearly fell to the ground. Naturally, this did not sweeten his temper.
“I’ll half murder you when I get hold of you,” he growled, in a tone that bodied ill for Carl.
The latter began to pant, and felt that he could not hold out much longer. Should he surrender at discretion?
“If some one would only come along,” was his inward aspiration. “This man will take my money and beat me, too.”
As if in reply to his fervent prayer the small figure of Mr. Jennings appeared suddenly, rounding a curve in the road.
“Save me, save me, Mr. Jennings!” cried Carl, running up to the little man for protection.
“What is the matter? Who is this fellow?” asked Mr. Jennings, in a deep voice for so small a man.
“That tramp wants to rob me.”
“Don’t trouble yourself! He won’t do it,” said Jennings, calmly.
The tramp stopped short, and eyed Carl’s small defender, first with curious surprise, and then with derision.
“Out of my way, you midget!” he cried, “or ‘ll hurt you.”
“Try it!” said the little man, showing no sign of fear.
“Why, you’re no bigger than a kid. I can upset you with one finger.”
He advanced contemptuously, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the dwarf. In an instant Jennings had swung his flail-like arms, and before the tramp understood what was happening he was lying flat on his back, as much to Carl’s amazement as his own.
He leaped to his feet with an execration, and advanced again to the attack. To be upset by such a pigmy was the height of mortification.
“I’m going to crush you, you mannikin!” he threatened.
Jennings put himself on guard. Like many small men, he was very powerful, as his broad shoulders and sinewy arms would have made evident to a teacher of gymnastics. He clearly understood that this opponent was in deadly earnest, and he put out all the strength which he possessed. The result was that his large-framed antagonist went down once more, striking his head with a force that nearly stunned him.
It so happened that at this juncture reinforcements arrived. A sheriff and his deputy drove up in an open buggy, and, on witnessing the encounter, halted their carriage and sprang to the ground.
“What is the matter, Mr. Jennings?” asked the sheriff, respectfully, for the little man was a person of importance in that vicinity.
“That gentleman is trying to extort a forced loan, Mr. Cunningham.”
“Ha! a footpad?”
“Yes.”
The sheriff sprang to the side of the tramp, who was trying to rise, and in a trice his wrists were confined by handcuffs.
“I think I know you, Mike Frost,” he said. “You are up to your old tricks. When did you come out of Sing Sing?”
“Three weeks since,” answered the tramp, sullenly.
“They want you back there. Come along with me!”
He was assisted into the buggy, and spent that night in the lockup.
“Did he take anything from you, Carl?” asked Mr. Jennings.
“No, sir; but I was in considerable danger. How strong you are!” he added, admiringly.
“Strength isn’t always according to size!” said the little man, quietly. “Nature gave me a powerful, though small, frame, and I have increased my strength by gymnastic exercise.”
Mr. Jennings did not show the least excitement after his desperate contest. He had attended to it as a matter of business, and when over he suffered it to pass out of his mind. He took out his watch and noted the time.
“It is later than I thought,” he said. “I think I shall have to give up my plan of walking the rest of the way.”
“Then I shall be left alone,” thought Carl regretfully.
Just then a man overtook them in a carriage.
He greeted Mr. Jennings respectfully.
“Are you out for a long walk?” he said.
“Yes, but I find time is passing too rapidly with me. Are you going to Milford?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you take two passengers?”
“You and the boy?”
“Yes; of course I will see that you don’t lose by it.”
“I ought not to charge you anything, Mr. Jennings. Several times you have done me favors.”
“And I hope to again, but this is business. If a dollar will pay you, the boy and I will ride with you.”
“It will be so much gain, as I don’t go out of my way.”
“You can take the back seat, Carl,” said Mr. Jennings. “I will sit with Mr. Leach.”
They were soon seated and on their way.
“Relative of yours, Mr. Jennings?” asked Leach, with a backward glance at Carl.
Like most country folks, he was curious about people. Those who live in cities meet too many of their kind to feel an interest in strangers.
“No; a young friend,” answered Jennings, briefly.
“Goin’ to visit you?”
“Yes, I think he will stay with me for a time.”
Then the conversation touched upon Milford matters in which at present Carl was not interested.
After his fatiguing walk our hero enjoyed the sensation of riding. The road was a pleasant one, the day was bright with sunshine and the air vocal with the songs of birds. For a time houses were met at rare intervals, but after a while it became evident that they were approaching a town of considerable size.
“Is this Milford, Mr. Jennings?” asked Carl.
“Yes,” answered the little man, turning with a pleasant smile.
“How large is it?”
“I think there are twelve thousand inhabitants. It is what Western people call a ‘right smart place.’ It has been my home for twenty years, and I am much attached to it.”
“And it to you, Mr. Jennings,” put in the driver.
“That is pleasant to hear,” said Jennings, with a smile.
“It is true. There are few people here whom you have not befriended.”
“That is what we are here for, is it not?”
“I wish all were of your opinion. Why, Mr. Jennings, when we get a city charter I think I know who will be the first mayor.”
“Not I, Mr. Leach. My own business is all I can well attend to. Thank you for your compliment, though. Carl, do you see yonder building?”
He pointed to a three-story structure, a frame building, occupying a prominent position.
“Yes, sir.”
“That is my manufactory. What do you think of it?”
“I shouldn’t think a town of this size would require so large an establishment,” answered Carl.
Mr. Jennings laughed.
“You are right,” he said. “If I depended on Milford trade, a very small building would be sufficient. My trade is outside. I supply many dealers in New York City and at the West. My retail trade is small. If any of my neighbors want furniture they naturally come to me, and I favor them as to price out of friendly feeling, but I am a manufacturer and wholesale dealer.”
“I see, sir.”
“Shall I take you to your house, Mr. Jennings?” asked Leach.
“Yes, if you please.”
Leach drove on till he reached a two-story building of Quaker-like simplicity but with a large, pleasant yard in front, with here and there a bed of flowers. Here he stopped his horse.
“We have reached our destination, Carl,” said Mr. Jennings. “You are active. Jump out and I will follow.”
Carl needed no second invitation. He sprang from the carriage and went forward to help Mr. Jennings out.
“No, thank you, Carl,” said the little man. “I am more active than you think. Here we are!”
He descended nimbly to the ground, and, drawing a one-dollar bill from his pocket, handed it to the driver.
“I don’t like to take it, Mr. Jennings,” said Mr. Leach.
“Why not? The laborer is worthy of his hire. Now, Carl, let us go into the house.”