CHAPTER XXX.BERT OBTAINS AN IMPORTANT CLEW.
Mr. Harding was not a literary man, and his papers would hardly have been of any value to a publisher. They consisted principally of letters, some of them ten years old. It seemed to have been a habit of Ralph Harding to keep his letters, though he probably set no great value upon them.
Bert opened fifteen or twenty, and glanced over them, only to find that they related to matters in which he felt no interest whatever. He began to doubt whether they were even worth the small sum he had paid for them, when all at once he made a discovery. He found a letter dated Lakeville.
"Who can have written him from Lakeville?" he asked himself, and naturally turned the page to read the signature.
His heart beat quickly when he read the name of the writer—Albert Marlowe. It was dated about two years previous, and ran as follows:
Dear Sir: I have received your letter, and am surprised that you should have the boldness to write to me for money. I am sorry to hear that you have been in bad luck, but I presume it is your own fault. You are able to earn good wages, and ought to pay your own way without depending on anybody. Look at me! I was once a common workman like you, but, thanks to my energy and enterprise, I am now the owner of a large factory, and able to live in comparative luxury. I don't know why you should expect me to support you. I have a family of my own to care for, and my first duty is to them.You intimate that you are in possession of a secret which, if made known, will injure me. I suppose I know what you mean. I don't think, however, that you will find any one to believe what you may say to my disadvantage, and I warn you to be careful what you do, or I may testify that you yourself took the missing bonds. Don't trouble yourself to write to me again, for it will be time thrown away.Albert Marlowe.
Dear Sir: I have received your letter, and am surprised that you should have the boldness to write to me for money. I am sorry to hear that you have been in bad luck, but I presume it is your own fault. You are able to earn good wages, and ought to pay your own way without depending on anybody. Look at me! I was once a common workman like you, but, thanks to my energy and enterprise, I am now the owner of a large factory, and able to live in comparative luxury. I don't know why you should expect me to support you. I have a family of my own to care for, and my first duty is to them.
You intimate that you are in possession of a secret which, if made known, will injure me. I suppose I know what you mean. I don't think, however, that you will find any one to believe what you may say to my disadvantage, and I warn you to be careful what you do, or I may testify that you yourself took the missing bonds. Don't trouble yourself to write to me again, for it will be time thrown away.
Albert Marlowe.
Underneath the signature were a few lines, evidently written by Ralph Harding:
Who would believe that the writer of this letter is a thief, and that the capital on which he started in business was stolen? I bitterly repent that I was induced to join in the plot against poor Barton. He—poor fellow—is in exile, afraid to return to his own country, while the man who committed the crime which has shadowed his life, is rich and prosperous, and holds up his head in society. And I—miserable tool that I was—by my testimony helped him to fasten the crime on an innocent man. I don't know whether it will do any good to write again. I am a poor man, and Albert Marlowe is rich. He will defy me, and perhaps swear that I was implicated in the robbery myself. So I was, alas! for I accepted a bribe of two hundred dollars for my part in the matter. I wish I could see poor Barton righted!
Who would believe that the writer of this letter is a thief, and that the capital on which he started in business was stolen? I bitterly repent that I was induced to join in the plot against poor Barton. He—poor fellow—is in exile, afraid to return to his own country, while the man who committed the crime which has shadowed his life, is rich and prosperous, and holds up his head in society. And I—miserable tool that I was—by my testimony helped him to fasten the crime on an innocent man. I don't know whether it will do any good to write again. I am a poor man, and Albert Marlowe is rich. He will defy me, and perhaps swear that I was implicated in the robbery myself. So I was, alas! for I accepted a bribe of two hundred dollars for my part in the matter. I wish I could see poor Barton righted!
Bert read this letter with flushed face and beating heart. Here was proof positive that his father was innocent; and Albert Marlowe, the rich manufacturer, the magnate of Lakeville, was guilty not only of robbery, but, what was even more contemptible, had schemed successfully to throw the guilt upon an innocent man, the husband of his cousin. Through him John Barton had suffered a ten-years' exile, and had been deprived for that time of his good name and the society of his family.
"I wouldn't take a thousand dollars for this letter," said Bert to himself in exultation. "I don't know what it amounts to in the eyesof the law, but I am sure it is valuable. Now, if I could only find Ralph Harding himself."
Bert continued his search among the letters, and finally found one postmarked Peoria, Illinois, which appeared to have been received by Ralph Harding about a week before he left Harrisburg.
This is an extract therefrom:
It is five years since I have seen you. This is a long separation considering that we two are the only ones left of the family. If you are in your old business as I infer from your letter, why can't you get work just as well here in Peoria as in Harrisburg? There is a large shop here, where I think you would not have any difficulty in securing employment. I presume as good wages are paid here as at the East. We have a small room which you could occupy, and it would be pleasant for a brother and sister who have been so long separated to find themselves under the same roof.My husband is a carpenter, as you know. His earnings are not large, and he doesn't always have work, but we have a little sum saved up which we can fall back upon in time of need. I can't lend you any money, and indeed you ought not to expect it, as you are a single man, and have no one to take care of but yourself. I am afraid you are not a very good manager. Come to Peoria, and I will see if I can't help you save money. Consider what a position you would be in if you should fall sick.Your affectionate sister,Helen Clifton.
It is five years since I have seen you. This is a long separation considering that we two are the only ones left of the family. If you are in your old business as I infer from your letter, why can't you get work just as well here in Peoria as in Harrisburg? There is a large shop here, where I think you would not have any difficulty in securing employment. I presume as good wages are paid here as at the East. We have a small room which you could occupy, and it would be pleasant for a brother and sister who have been so long separated to find themselves under the same roof.
My husband is a carpenter, as you know. His earnings are not large, and he doesn't always have work, but we have a little sum saved up which we can fall back upon in time of need. I can't lend you any money, and indeed you ought not to expect it, as you are a single man, and have no one to take care of but yourself. I am afraid you are not a very good manager. Come to Peoria, and I will see if I can't help you save money. Consider what a position you would be in if you should fall sick.
Your affectionate sister,
Helen Clifton.
Underneath, in Ralph Harding's handwriting, was this brief indorsement:
All true, every word of it! Helen was always prudent and a good manager. It is true, as she says, that there are but two of us. Why shouldn't I go to Peoria, and see her?
All true, every word of it! Helen was always prudent and a good manager. It is true, as she says, that there are but two of us. Why shouldn't I go to Peoria, and see her?
There was no more; but as Ralph Harding a week later left Harrisburg, it seemed fair to infer that he had adopted his own half-expressed intention, and gone to Peoria, to see his sister, especially as there seemed a good chance of his obtaining work there in his own line.
"Peoria!" repeated Bert thoughtfully. "The chances are that Ralph Harding went there from Harrisburg, and it is very probable that he is there now. I wish I could find some one that could tell me about the place."
"Mr. Pearson," he said, when he met the associate manager at rehearsal, "can you tell me anything about Peoria?"
"Yes," answered the actor. "What do you want to know about it?"
"How large a place is it?"
"About the size of Harrisburg. I don't believe there is a thousand difference in the population."
"Is it far from here?"
"A matter of six or seven hundred miles, I should think, perhaps a little more. It is southeast of Chicago. Why do you want to know?"
"I want to find a man who, I have reason to think, is now living there. I may have toleave the company, as it is very important for me to find this man."
"There will be no occasion for you to leave the company. When we leave Harrisburg, we jump to Chicago, and probably three weeks from now we shall be playing in Peoria. It is on our list of places, and is a very good city for a short engagement. Will that be soon enough?"
Bert hesitated. If he remained with the company, his expenses would be paid out to Peoria, and he would be earning fifteen dollars a week besides.
"Come, now, don't hesitate!" said Mr. Pearson. "We shouldn't know how to get along without you."
Naturally this pleased Bert, and helped to fix his resolution.
"I don't know but I can wait two or three weeks," he said slowly, "if you are sure we shall play at Peoria."
"I am certain of it. The route was made up this morning. We are having some new bills printed in which your name is substituted for that of Bob Hazleton. So you see, my boy, you will be getting a reputation under your own colors."
This had its effect, for Bert felt that he should like to have a bill of the play in whichhis own name appeared. Otherwise he might find his friends incredulous as to his having actually been upon the stage. Later in the day he gave his promise that he would go with the company when they left Harrisburg, but would not sign an engagement for any definite time, as he did not wish to put any obstacle in the way of his following any clew that might lead to the discovery of Harding.
"Well, Mr. Barton," said Mrs. Stubbs after supper, "did you find anything of value in that box of papers?"
"Yes; I obtained some information that will probably be of value. Besides it gave me a clew to his present residence."
"Indeed," said Angelica, who was present, "where is he?"
"In Peoria, Illinois. He has a married sister living there."
"Shall you go out West to find him?"
"I expect to go with the company. They will play an engagement in Peoria."
"If you see Mr. Harding, please remember me to him. Say—that is, you may hint that I still think of him with interest, and—and hope he will some day return to us."
"That message ought to bring him, Miss Angelica."
"Of course I only think of him as a friend, but we were very congenial, and it is not often that one meets a congenial spirit."
"Why not send a letter to Mr. Harding by me?"
"I—that is; mamma, do you think it would be proper?" asked Angelica with bashful hesitation.
"I don't know why not," answered Mrs. Stubbs promptly. "You might ask in the letter when it will be convenient for him to pay his board bill."
"Oh, ma, how unromantic!"
"It may not be romantic, Angelica, but it's business," said the practical mother.
Miss Stubbs did write the letter, but it is certain she did not mention the board bill in it.
CHAPTER XXXI.SQUIRE MARLOWE IS SURPRISED.
It may be well to return to Lakeville, as something has occurred there which deserves to be recorded.
It is needless to say that Mrs. Barton missed Bert, whose bright and cheerful presence had filled the little house with comfort and gladdened his mother's heart. Still she knew that he was well, and heard from him every week, though Bert only detailed his experiences in general terms, not caring to raise expectations which perhaps might prove illusive.
Bert's absence from Lakeville excited some surprise and speculation. Squire Marlowe, to whom it had been mentioned by Percy, stopped Mrs. Barton in the street one day, and said: "Percy tells me that your son is away."
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"He went to New York."
"Is he at work there?"
"No, he is travelling."
"Travelling? What do you mean?"
"Uncle Jacob has sent him off on some mission. He is at Harrisburg, I believe."
"That is very strange!" remarked the squire, arching his eyebrows. "What possible mission can Jacob have for the boy?"
"He doesn't write particulars; but his expenses are paid."
"I don't see how Jacob Marlowe, with his paltry twelve dollars a week, can make such arrangements."
"Nor I; but probably Uncle Jacob has interested his employer in Bert."
"It may be so, but I think it very unwise to send off a boy by himself. What judgment has he, or what can he do?"
"I don't very well know. He seems to enjoy the trip."
"Of course; but it will spoil him for solid work. He had better have stayed at home."
"What encouragement was there for him to stay in Lakeville? If you had not discharged him, he would be here now. If you will take him back into the factory, I will write him to that effect, and perhaps it will induce him to return."
"Ahem! I will think of it. Does he send you any money?"
"Not yet."
"Then how do you live?"
"Without calling upon you, Albert," said Mrs. Barton, with a little tinge of bitterness. "I hardly think you feel enough interest in me to care how I live."
Albert Marlowe was somewhat embarrassed, and regretted that he had asked the question. Mrs. Barton might take it into her head that he was willing to contribute to her support, and this was far from being the case.
"Women look at things from a peculiar point of view," he said. "Of course I wish you well, and for that reason regret that youare so injudicious in your management of Bert."
"I have no fear but that Bert will turn out well," rejoined Mrs. Barton proudly.
"Ahem! I hope so, though that twenty-dollar affair led me to fear that he had inherited loose ideas about honesty."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Barton, her cheeks aflame with indignation.
"I shouldn't think you would need to ask. Of course we both know why Mr. Barton is an exile, unable to return home."
"Yes, Albert Marlowe, we do know! He is an innocent man, suffering for the crime of another."
"That is what he says, is it?" sneered the squire. "That might be expected."
"Because it is true; but, Albert Marlowe, I have good hopes that his innocence may be vindicated, and the real criminal brought to light."
Her intense gaze made the squire uncomfortable. "Did she mean anything?" he asked himself.
"It is natural for you to take the most favorable view of the matter," he said; "but your hope is hardly likely to be realized. Good-morning."
Mrs. Barton looked after him, and her spiritrose in revolt against the inequalities of fortune. Here was the real criminal, as she fully believed—rich, prosperous, enjoying a high social position, while her poor husband, the scapegoat for another's offense, was an exile from home.
The next day Squire Marlowe went to New York on business. He occasionally visited Wall Street, and now and then made an investment. He looked the embodiment of dignity and respectability, with his ample figure, fine broadcloth suit, and gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and might readily have been taken for a prosperous and wealthy city banker.
About one o'clock he entered an expensive restaurant, a stone's throw from Broadway, and taking up the bill of fare made a selection of dishes for his dinner. As he did so, he said to himself, with a comfortable smile: "When I was a common workman in a shoe shop, how little did I think that I should ever be able to sit down in a restaurant like this, and pay a dollar and a half for my dinner. Why, I didn't earn much more than that by a day's labor. Here I am surrounded by brokers, bankers, and wealthy merchants, and quite as good as they."
The thought led Squire Marlowe to look around him. What he saw almost paralyzedhim with surprise. There—at a neighboring table—sat Uncle Jacob, enjoying a luxurious dinner, the cost of which the squire, with the bill of fare before him, estimated must come to a high figure.
"Can that be Uncle Jacob?" Albert Marlowe asked himself in amazement. "How on earth can a clerk on twelve dollars a week salary afford to dine at a restaurant like this?"
As he had not yet given his order, he moved over to the table occupied by Uncle Jacob, and took a seat opposite him.
"Albert Marlowe!" exclaimed the old man, recognizing him with surprise.
"Yes, Uncle Jacob, it is I. But what on earth brings you here?"
"I should think it was pretty evident," said Jacob Marlowe with a smile, "I came in for my dinner."
"Yes, but do you usually come here?"
"Not always—perhaps half the time. I make my heartiest meal of the day at this time—unlike most New Yorkers—and like it to be a good one."
"Of course, but—how can you afford to eat here? Didn't you say that your salary was twelve dollars a week?"
"I think I said so."
"You are spending at that rate for your dinners alone. I don't understand how you can do it."
"I am an old man, Albert. I can't live many years, and I think it sensible to get as much comfort out of life as possible for my few remaining years."
"Still——"
"I had a little money, you know, five hundred dollars, and I have managed to turn it to good account, so that I don't feel quite so cramped as when I was at Lakeville."
"The old man's been speculating!" thought Albert Marlowe, "and he has had a stroke of luck; but he's a fool to think he can live like a banker on the strength of that. Very likely his next venture will sweep away his small amount of capital. Well, if he comes to grief, he needn't apply to me. Henceforth I wash my hands of him and his affairs altogether."
"Of course it's your own lookout," he said, "but to me you seem recklessly extravagant."
"Because I come in here? Well, perhaps so. When I find I can't afford it, I'll go to a cheaper place. Have you seen Mary Barton lately?"
"Yes; she is well. By the way, what have you done with her boy?"
"He is traveling."
"So I heard. It seems to me a very foolish proceeding. Who is paying his expenses?"
"Himself."
"Is he working, then?" asked the squire in surprise.
"Yes; he is a member of the 'Streets of Gotham' company, and is earning his living as an actor."
"What does he know about acting?" asked the squire in amazement.
"It appears that he is giving satisfaction. He sent me a paper containing a highly commendatory notice of his first appearance."
"It won't last," said Albert Marlowe, his wish being father to the thought.
When he returned to Lakeville that evening, he carried with him two pieces of news—first, that Uncle Jacob was living in luxury, and secondly, that Bert Barton was on the stage.
"If he can act, I can," said Percy jealously. "They must have been hard up for an actor when they took Bert Barton. A boy brought up in a country town. Never been to a theatre in his life before. Pooh! I dare say he appeared for one night only. The idea of Mary Barton's son acting before a regular audience, a boy who has hoed corn for farmer Wilson!"
CHAPTER XXXII.HIRAM FRENCH, OF CHICAGO.
From Harrisburg the dramatic company with which Bert was connected went directly to Chicago.
"We don't like to make such long jumps," said Mr. Pearson, with whom Bert had become quite friendly, "but we could secure Hooley's Theatre this week, and no other. Were you ever in Chicago?"
"No," answered Bert. "I have never traveled much. I suppose you have."
"Yes; I went out to San Francisco last year with the 'Silver King.' You will find Chicago a pleasant city."
"Are the hotels dear?"
"No; only moderate in price. The theatrical people get a discount, you know."
"I think I should rather live in a boarding house."
"That will be cheaper. I don't mind going with you to keep you company."
"Do you know of any good house?"
"I know a very comfortable boarding-house on Monroe Street, kept by Mrs. Shelby, a widow lady. My sister once boarded there, when visiting Chicago."
"That will suit me, I think. Would you mind going 'round with me?"
"I'll take you there, with pleasure."
The two, on arriving in Chicago, went at once to Monroe Street, and called at the boarding-house.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Pearson," said the widow cordially. "Is your sister with you?"
"Not this time."
"Are you going to play here?"
"Yes; I shall appear at Hooley's Theatre all next week."
"Is that young gentleman your brother?"
"No, he is one of our actors, Mr. Bert Barton."
"He looks young for an actor," said the landlady, surprised.
"I appeared on the stage when I was only twelve. But we have come on business, Mrs. Shelby. Have you a vacant room?"
"Yes; I had one vacated yesterday."
"Suppose Mr. Barton and myself take it for a week?"
"I shall be glad to have you. I can't afford to have my rooms remain vacant."
"What will be your terms?"
"Six dollars each, including board."
"Is that satisfactory, Bert?" asked Pearson.
"Quite so, Mr. Pearson."
"Then we will take possession. I hope it is almost time for a meal, Mrs. Shelby. I am almost famished."
"You will only have to wait an hour. I will show you to your rooms, and then I must be excused, as my presence is required downstairs."
The room shown by the landlady was of fair size and neatly furnished. Bert looked about him in satisfaction.
"I would rather be here than at a hotel," he said.
"So would I, as long as I have a companion," returned Mr. Pearson. "Besides, I shall be saving from four to five dollars a week. I ought to pay more than half of it, as I am receiving a considerably higher salary than you."
"No, Mr. Pearson, I prefer to pay my share. But for you I should be paying more at a hotel."
Bert felt a little diffidence in appearing before a Chicago audience. He had, to be sure, been favorably received in Harrisburg, but he had an idea that in a larger city it would be more difficult to achieve success. The first night undeceived him. He received a liberal share of applause, and was called before the curtain.
"I congratulate you, Bert," said Mr. Pearson. "You seem to have made yourself solid with the audience."
"I am glad that I give satisfaction," returned Bert. "It will encourage me to do better."
"You had better adopt the profession of an actor," continued his friend.
Bert shook his head.
"I prefer to enter a business of some kind," he said. "Though I have succeeded in one part, I am not sure that I should succeed in others."
Bert was about leaving the theatre that night when the call boy brought him a card.
"There is a gentleman at the door would like to see you," he said.
Bert glanced at the card, and found it bore the name of
It was a name he had never before heard, and when he reached the door he looked inquiringly at the middle-aged gentleman who stood before him.
"You are young Barton?" said the visitor.
"Yes; that is my name."
"Are you the son of John Barton, who once worked in the shoe factory of Weeks Brothers?"
"Yes, sir," answered Bert, coloring, for he knew that the stranger must be aware that his father was resting under a criminal charge.
"I thought I could not be mistaken. You look as your father did at your age."
"Then you knew my father as a boy?" said Bert, eagerly.
"I was a schoolmate of his. Later on I was employed in the same factory with him—that of Weeks Brothers."
"Did you know under what circumstances he left the factory?" asked Bert, with some embarrassment.
"Yes, I knew all about it. But I want you to come home and pass the night at my house, and we will talk over that and other matters."
"Thank you, sir. I will give notice to a friend who rooms with me."
Bert found Mr. Pearson, and informed him that he would absent himself for one nightfrom Mrs. Shelby's boarding-house. Then he returned to Mr. French.
"I live on Indiana Avenue," explained the latter. "We shall find a car at the corner of State and Madison Streets."
As they walked to the car, Bert's new friend asked: "How long have you been on the stage, Mr. Barton?"
"Only two weeks."
"You don't mean that that comprises your whole experience."
"Yes. I stepped in at Harrisburg to supply the place of a young actor who was taken sick."
"You act as if you had been trained to it. But how came you to be at Harrisburg? That is not your home?"
"No. As you were my father's friend, I will tell you what brought me out there."
Bert briefly related the story that is already known to the reader. Hiram French listened with great attention.
"I remember Ralph Harding," he said. "He was not popular among his shopmates, especially after his agency in throwing suspicion upon your father."
"Was it generally thought that my father was guilty?" asked Bert.
"No; while circumstances were strongagainst him, no one could believe that a man whose reputation for integrity was as high as your father's would be guilty of stealing. But the good will of his associates could not help him."
"Did you know Mr. Marlowe?"
"Albert Marlowe? Yes."
"Was he well liked?"
"Not by me. He was far from being as highly respected as your father."
"Yet he has prospered. He is the owner of a factory in Lakeville, and is considered worth thirty thousand dollars."
"I am surprised to hear it. When I knew him he was always in debt."
"If he really took the bonds charged upon my father, that would account for his start in business."
"Exactly so. Now that I think of it, two or three days after the theft, I saw him and Ralph Harding walking together, apparently engaged in earnest conversation. They evidently had a good understanding with each other. I believe you are on the right track, and I heartily hope you will succeed in making your father's innocence evident to the world. John Barton was my favorite friend, and I hope some day to see him in Chicago."
"Are you in business here, Mr. French?"
"Yes; I am in the old line. Like Albert Marlowe, I am the owner of a large shoe factory, and I am worth, I should say, considerably more money."
Hiram French occupied a handsome house on Indiana Avenue, furnished with taste, and was, as his style of living showed, in easy circumstances. He introduced Bert to his wife and daughter, who seemed at once drawn to the young actor. When he left the house the next morning after breakfast he was urgently invited to call again during his stay, and partially promised to do so. But he was in haste to reach Peoria, for there it was he hoped to find a witness that would vindicate his father's name and fame.
CHAPTER XXXIII.A LATE ARRIVAL AT MRS. BARTON'S COTTAGE.
One evening, about eight o'clock, Mrs. Barton was sewing in her little sitting-room when an unusual feeling of loneliness overcame her. Circumstances had separated her from her husband, and her only son was hundreds of miles away.
"Why," she asked herself, "can I not fareas well as other wives and mothers? I am a wife, yet I cannot enjoy my husband's society. Fortunately I am not likely long to be separated from Bert. If he only succeeds in his mission, and comes home able to vindicate the fame of his father, and restore him to me, I shall be perfectly happy."
She felt unusually restless, and found it difficult to keep on with her work.
"I feel as if something were going to happen. I hope no misfortune is impending over me."
She had hardly spoken when the door bell rang.
"It is some neighbor come to make a call," she thought. "I am glad of it, for I am not in the mood for work."
She rose and opened the door. She started back in surprise when in her visitors she recognized Uncle Jacob, and leaning upon his arm the husband of whom she had just been thinking.
"May we come in?" asked Uncle Jacob, cheerily.
"Surely, but—has anything happened?"
"Only this; that your husband is sick and has come here to be nursed back to health by my advice."
"But—is it safe?"
"I think so. The fact is, Bert has made an important discovery, and is likely to make more. We are in a fair way to prove your husband's innocence, and put the guilt where it belongs."
"And where does it belong?"
"The man who stole the bonds, we have every reason to believe, is Albert Marlowe."
"I do not wish to get him into trouble, but if it is necessary in order to vindicate my husband's reputation, I will not object."
"Albert Marlowe has been a cruel enemy to you and your family," said Jacob Marlowe, sternly. "He is entitled to no consideration. The past ten years cannot be recalled; but I think that we shall be able to provide a brighter future for yourself and Mr. Barton. The first thing to do is to get him well."
"What is the matter with you, John?" asked Mrs. Barton, now for the first time noting with alarm her husband's pale face.
"The doctor says my system is run down, and that I need time to recuperate. I was living in a boarding-house in Montreal, and the prospect of being sick there was too much for me. I wanted my wife to take care of me, and, taking the first train to New York, I consulted Uncle Jacob as to whether it would be safe. In the light of Bert's discoveries he toldme to take the risk. So here I am. May I stay?"
"Do you need to ask that?" said Mrs. Barton, with an affectionate glance at her husband. "There is no place where you have a better right to be."
Then, as she thought of her scanty means, a momentary look of anxiety overspread her face lest she should not be able to provide him with the medicines and nourishing food that he required. Uncle Jacob, who was a keen observer, read her thoughts, and reassured her by saying: "Mr. Barton is provided with what money may be required for at least a month, and after that time I think some more can be found."
"But, Uncle Jacob, I cannot consent to impose upon your liberality any further. You have but a small sum of money yourself. What would happen to you if you should fall sick?"
"I think I should follow your husband's example, and come here to be nursed back to health," replied Uncle Jacob.
"What am I to say to the neighbors, for they will be sure to inquire?"
"Say that you are taking care of a sick gentleman from New York."
"It will not do to give his real name?"
"No; call me Mr. Robinson, as you did on my former visit," said Mr. Barton.
"Now that this matter is arranged, can you take care of us both to-night?" asked Uncle Jacob.
"Yes, there is Bert's room."
"Then I will trespass upon your hospitality for one night."
"Can't you stay longer, Uncle Jacob?"
"No, I must get back to business. I must not run any risk of losing my situation, you know."
"To be sure not," said Mrs. Barton, earnestly. "Do you like your employer, Uncle Jacob?"
"I have no reason to complain of him," answered the old man, with a smile. "He lets me do about as I please."
"You were very lucky in getting in with him."
"As you say, I am in good luck. But I think I ought to get higher pay."
"It seems to me twelve dollars a week is a very good salary," said Mrs. Barton, soberly. "You could save something out of that if you were not so generous."
"I must think seriously of that, Mary. If I get mean and close-fisted, you mustn't besurprised. It will be only because I follow your advice."
"You can never become mean or close-fisted, Uncle Jacob. It isn't in your nature to be either. But I hope you will be reasonably economical, and not give away so much money to others."
"You are a good little woman, Mary," said Uncle Jacob, feelingly. "If you are ever blessed with means, you will do just as you advise me not to do. Don't be worried about me, Mary. God loves a cheerful giver, you know, and whatever I give to you is cheerfully given."
An hour was spent in conversation, and then, as Mr. Barton showed fatigue, he and Uncle Jacob retired to bed, and Mrs. Barton mixed some flour so as to be able to give her guests warm biscuits in the morning, for she remembered that her husband had been very fond of them in former years.
The next morning after breakfast Uncle Jacob took his departure.
"I leave you in good hands, John," he said to Mr. Barton. "Now, get well as fast as you can."
"There is one thing that will make me well," said Barton, "and that is, vindication from the false charge that has darkened mylife and destroyed my happiness during the last ten years."
"That is coming, and coming soon," said Uncle Jacob. "Only be patient a little while. Bert has already made a discovery that makes it clear who is the real criminal."
"I hope he will never suffer as I have done," said the sick man.
"You have a more Christian spirit than I, John. I think it only right that he should suffer for the wrong he has done you. Well, good-by. Let me hear from you, and if Bert makes any further progress in his mission, I will apprise you and Mary."
Uncle Jacob left the village without being seen by Albert Marlowe or Percy, who alone were likely to recognize him. But it leaked out that Mrs. Barton had a boarder, Percy being the first to hear of it.
"What do you think, papa?" he said one day. "Bert Barton's mother has taken a boarder from the city."
"A boarder from the city?" repeated Squire Marlowe, surprised.
"Yes."
"What brought him to Lakeville?"
"I don't know. I can tell you who brought him here."
"Who, then?"
"Uncle Jacob."
"Has he been here, then?"
"Yes; he came in the evening and went back the next morning."
"I wonder he did not call upon us," said the squire thoughtfully.
"It's no great loss if he didn't," returned Percy, pertly. "He would probably want to borrow money."
"No; he appears to be doing very well in the city; that is, for him. But what could induce a gentleman from the city to come here to Lakeville to board in a humble cottage?"
"I hear he is in poor health," said Percy.
"Have you seen him? Do you know what his appearance is?"
"Yes. I saw him sitting at Mrs. Barton's window. He is of dark complexion, and has dark hair. Then he seemed to have a high forehead."
Squire Marlowe started in surprise.
"Dark complexion, dark hair, a high forehead! Is it possible that it can be——"
"Who, father?" asked Percy, curiously.
"Never mind, my son. Some one whom I used to know answers to that description."
As Percy went out, Albert Marlowe said to himself: "If it should be he, what shall I do about it? It is not for my interest that he should remain in Lakeville. I might denounce him to the authorities, but I would warn him first. Then, if he still lingers, he must take the consequences."
CHAPTER XXXIV.BERT INTERVIEWS HARDING'S SISTER.
The next week Bert found himself in Peoria. His heart beat with excitement, for here he hoped he would attain the object he had in view.
The first day he was occupied in obtaining a boarding place, and in matters connected with the play. He understood his duty to his employers, and, eager as he was to seek out Ralph Harding, he waited till he could do so without intrenching upon their time.
After considerable inquiry he found himself standing in front of a neat-looking frame house of two stories in a quiet street. The plate on the front door bore the name
Bert rang the bell.
The door was opened by a girl about twelve years of age.
"Is Mrs. Clifton at home?" asked Bert.
"Yes, sir. Won't you walk in?"
She led the way into a tiny parlor, so small that the owner would have found it difficult to give a fashionable party, or indeed any party at all.
"Sit down here," said the young girl, pointing to a rocking-chair, "and I will call ma."
Bert took a seat, and was startled a minute later by a hoarse voice saying, with much energy, "Get out, you tramp!"
He looked around the room in angry amazement, but could see no one.
Directly afterward he heard a discordant laugh, and, guided by the sound, looked up to see that it proceeded from a green parrot in a cage above his head.
Bert smiled. It was impossible for him to be angry with a parrot, however impolite the bird might be.
Just then a lady entered the room—a lady of middle size and middle age, plain in feature, but not unpleasant to look upon.
"Did you wish to see me, sir?" she asked.
"Are you the sister of Ralph Harding?" asked Bert.
The woman's face changed instantly.
"Yes," she answered eagerly. "Do youbring me any news of him? He is not in trouble, is he?"
It was Bert's turn to be surprised.
"I thought he was staying with you," he said.
"Not now."
"But he has been here. He came here from Harrisburg, didn't he?"
"Yes, and he was here till three weeks ago. Then he came home from the shop where he was at work and told me he was going away."
"Did he tell you where he was going?" asked Bert, eagerly.
"He said he should go to Chicago first, but I have not heard from him since he went away."
Ralph Harding then was in Chicago. If Bert had only known that, he would have remained there and prosecuted the search in the Lake City. Yet what chance would he have of finding a man whom he had never seen and would not know by sight in so large and populous a place?
His face showed the keenness of his disappointment, and Mrs. Clifton was led to inquire:
"Did you wish to see my brother on business of importance?"
"Of importance to me, yes."
"Is it," she asked with hesitation, "likely to get Ralph into trouble?"
"No, madam. On the contrary, if I find him it will be of advantage to him."
"Then I hope you may find him. But I am afraid it will be difficult. Ralph is very restless. We tried all we could to keep him here, but it was of no use. He had a good place, and, though I say it myself, a good home, where he enjoyed every comfort, but all that didn't prevent him leaving us to go among strangers," she concluded, with a sigh.
"I only just came from Chicago. I wish I had known that he was there."
"Did you come to Peoria expressly to see my brother?" asked Mrs. Clifton, showing some curiosity.
"Not entirely. I am connected with the theatrical company. We play the 'Streets of Gotham.'"
"Are you an actor, and so young," asked Mrs. Clifton, in surprise.
"I take a small part in the play," answered Bert, modestly. "Allow me to place two admission tickets at your disposal."
"Oh ma, can I go with you?" asked the young girl who had opened the front door.
"Perhaps so, Belle."
"Have you any picture of your brotherwhich you could show me?" asked Bert, returning to the object of his visit.
"Fortunately, Ralph had some photographs taken while he was here. But for me he would not have done so, but I insisted, and paid for them myself. Belle, go and get one of the pictures of your Uncle Ralph."
The little girl left the room, and soon returned with a photograph.
"You can have that, if you like," said Mrs. Clifton. "I got a dozen, and Ralph did not feel enough interest to keep one for himself, so I have plenty. I suppose it isn't anything extra, but it look like Ralph."
Bert was eagerly scanning the picture which Ralph Harding's sister had given him.
The face was long, the nose aquiline, the cheeks hollow, and the expression was that of a man who was dissatisfied with life. There were side whiskers of scanty growth, and there was a scrubby mustache of yellowish hue. It was a front view, and both ears were visible. They were of extraordinary size and stood out prominently from the head.
"I think I shall know Ralph Harding if I see him," thought Bert.
"I am very much obliged to you for the picture," said Bert. "With it to help me I hope I may find your brother."
"If you do," returned Mrs. Clifton, "will you write to me and let me know, Mr.——?"
"Barton. You will see my name on the playbill—Bert Barton. Yes, I will write to you in that case."
"There is one question I would like to ask you, Mr. Barton. You say you have never met my brother?"
"No."
"Then how did you learn that he had a sister in Peoria, and how did you know that that sister was myself."
"I was staying at his old boarding-house in Harrisburg. He left behind a box of papers, and among those papers was a letter from you, urging him to come to Peoria."
"I remember that letter."
"It was that letter—excuse my reading it—that led me to come to Peoria in search of Mr. Harding."
"I am glad you came, for I have some hope through you of inducing Ralph to return. You see, Mr. Barton, there are only two of us. I had not seen him for five years, and now that he has left us, five years more may roll by before we meet again. I think Ralph would be better with us. He is not a cheerful man. Sometimes I think he is burdened with a secret which is preying upon him. I amsure he would be better off with us than among strangers."
"I agree with you, Mrs. Clifton. You may rest assured that, should I be fortunate enough to find your brother, I will do all I can to induce him to return to you when our business is concluded. This may require him to go East, but afterward he will be free to go where he pleases. The secret you refer to may relate to the business upon which I wished to see him."
As Bert rose to go Mrs. Clifton took his hand, and said, earnestly: "I wish you success, I am sure. I feel better for your visit."
The information which Bert had received made him desirous of going back to Chicago as soon as possible and making every effort to find Ralph Harding. But there was one embarrassment. He did not like to leave the company till they were able to find a substitute. In New York this would have been easy, but here in Peoria there would be a great difficulty.
But he was unexpectedly relieved from this perplexity.
On Friday morning Mr. Pearson, who had just come from the manager's room, said to him, "I have news for you, Bert."
"What is it, Mr. Pearson?"
"Bob Hazleton has just arrived, and wants to take his old place. But, of course, that would not be fair to you."
"Tell the manager to take him back," said Bert eagerly. "I have some important business calling me to Chicago, and I shall be glad to resign."
"You are sure you won't be disappointed?"
"Very sure. I have been wondering how I could resign without embarrassing the company."
"We shall be very sorry to lose you, but if that is the way you feel, Bob is in luck."
Bert played that evening in the presence of his predecessor in the role, and on Saturday took the morning train for Chicago.