340
Soon the young man seemed to be aware of the presence and watchful eye, and looked behind him, peering into the dusk. Then the man left his place and came toward him, with slow, sauntering step.
“Hullo!” he said, with an insinuating, rising inflection and in the soft voice of the Scandinavian.
“Hallo!” replied the young man.
“Seek?”
“Sick? No.” The young man laughed slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I yust make it leetle valk up here.”
“Same with me, and now I’ll make it a little walk back to town.” The young man rose and stretched himself and turned his steps slowly back along the winding path.
“Vell, I tank I make it leetle valk down town, too,” and the figure came sauntering along at the young man’s side.
“Oh, you’re going my way, are you? All right.”
“Yas, I tank I going yust de sam your way.”
The young man set the pace more rapidly, and for a time they walked on in silence. At last, “Live here?” he asked.
“Yas, I lif here.”
“Been here long?”
“In America? Yes. I guess five––sax––year. Oh, I lak it goot.”
“I mean here, in this place.”
“Oh, here? Yas, two, t’ree year. I lak it goot too.”
“Know any one here?”
“Oh, yas. I know people I vork by yet.”
“Who are they?”
“Oh, I vork by many place––make garten––und vork341wit’ horses, und so. Meesus Craikmile, I vork by her on garten. She iss dere no more.”
The young man paused suddenly in his stride. “Gone? Where is she gone?”
“Oh, she iss by ol’ country gone. Her man iss gone mit.” They walked on.
“What! Is the Elder gone, too?”
“Yas. You know heem, yas?”
“Oh, yes. I know everybody here. I’ve been away for a good while.”
“So? Yas, yust lak me. I was gone too goot wile, bot I coom back too, yust lak you.”
Here they came to a turn in the road, and the village lights began to wink out through the darkness, and their ways parted.
“I’m going this way,” said the young man. “You turn off here? Well, good night.”
“Vell, goot night.” The Swede sauntered away down a by-path, and the young man kept on the main road to the village and entered its one hotel where he had engaged a room a few hours before.
342CHAPTER XXVIITHE SWEDE’S TELEGRAM
As soon as the shadows hid the young man’s retreating form from the Swede’s watchful eye, that individual quickened his pace and presently broke into a run. Circling round a few blocks and regaining the main street a little below the hotel, he entered the telegraph office. There his haste seemed to leave him. He stood watching the clerk a few minutes, but the latter paid no attention to him.
“Hullo!” he said at last.
“Hallo, yourself!” said the boy, without looking up or taking his hand from the steadily clicking instrument.
“Say, I lak it you send me somet’ing by telegraph.”
“All right. Hold on a minute,” and the instrument clicked on.
After a little the Swede grew impatient. He scratched his pale gold head and shuffled his feet.
“Say, I lak it you send me a little somet’ing yet.” He reached out and touched the boy on the shoulder.
“Keep out of here. I’ll send your message when I’m through with this,” and the instrument clicked on. Then the Swede resigned himself, watching sullenly.
“Everybody has to take his turn,” said the boy at last. “You can’t cut in like that.” The boy was newly promoted and felt his importance. He took the soiled scrap of paper343held out to him. It was written over in a clear, bold hand. “This isn’t signed. Who sends this?”
“You make it yust lak it iss. I send dot.”
“Well, sign it.” He pushed a pen toward him, and the Swede took it in clumsy fingers and wrote laboriously, “Nels Nelson.”
“You didn’t write this message?”
“No. I vork by de hotel, und I get a man write it.”
“It isn’t dated. Been carrying it around in your pocket a good while I guess. Better date it.”
“Date it?”
“Yes. Put down the time you send, you know.”
“Oh, dat’s not’ing. He know putty goot when he get it.”
“Very well. ‘To Mr. John Thomas,––State Street, Chicago. Job’s ready. Come along.’ Who’s job is it? Yours?”
“No. It’s hees yob yet. You mak it go to-night, all right. Goot night. I pay it now, yas. Vell, goot night.”
He paid the boy and slipped out into the shadows of the street, and again making the detour so that he came to the hotel from the rear, he passed the stables, and before climbing to his cupboard of a room at the top of the building, he stepped round to the side and looked in at the dining room windows, and there he saw the young man seated at supper.
“All right,” he said softly.
The omnibus sent regularly by the hotel management brought only one passenger from the early train next day. Times had been dull of late and travel had greatly fallen off, as the proprietor complained. There was nothing unusual about this passenger,––the ordinary traveling man, representing a well-known New York dry-goods house.
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Nels Nelson drove the omnibus. He had done so ever since Elder Craigmile went to Scotland with his wife. The young man he had found on the river bluff was pacing the hotel veranda as he drove up, and Nels Nelson glanced at him, and into the eyes of the traveling man, as he handed down the latter’s heavy valise.
Standing at the desk, the newcomer chatted with the clerk as he wrote his name under that of the last arrival the day before.
“Harry King,” he read. “Came yesterday. Many stopping here now? Times hard! I guess so! Nothing doing in my line. Nobody wants a thing. Guess I’ll leave the road and ‘go west, young man,’ as old Greeley advises. What line is King in? Do’ know? Is that him going into the dining room? Guess I’ll follow and fill up. Anything good to eat here?”
In the dining room he indicated to the waiter by a nod of his head the seat opposite Harry King, and immediately entered into a free and easy conversation, giving him a history of his disappointments in the way of trade, and reiterating his determination to “go west, young man.”
He hardly glanced at Harry, but ate rapidly, stowing away all within reach, until the meal was half through, then he looked up and asked abruptly, “What line are you in, may I ask?”
“Certainly you may ask, but I can’t tell you. I would be glad to do so if I knew myself.”
“Ever think of going west?”
“I’ve just come from there––or almost there––whereever it is.”
“Stiles is my name––G. B. Stiles. Good name for a345dry-goods salesman, don’t you think so? I know the styles all right, for men, and women too. Like it out west?”
“Yes. Very well.”
“Been there long?”
“Oh, two or three years.”
“Had enough of it, likely?”
“Well, I can scarcely say that.”
“Mean to stay east now?”
“I may. I’m not settled yet.”
“Better take up my line. If I drop out, there’ll be an opening with my firm––good firm, too. Ward, Williams & Co., New York. Been in New York, I suppose?”
“No, never.”
“Well, better try it. I mean to ‘go west, young man.’ Know anybody here? Ever live here?”
“Yes, when I was a boy.”
“Come back to the boyhood home. We all do that, you know. There’s poetry in it––all do it. ‘Old oaken bucket’ and all that sort of thing. I mean to do it myself yet,––back to old York state.” G. B. Stiles wiped his mouth vigorously and shoved back his chair. “Well, see you again, I hope,” he said, and walked off, picking his teeth with a quill pick which he took from his vest pocket.
He walked slowly and meditatively through the office and out on the sidewalk. Here he paused and glanced about, and seeing his companion of the breakfast table was not in sight, he took his way around to the stables. Nels Nelson was stooping in the stable yard, washing a horse’s legs. G. B. Stiles came and stood near, looking down on him, and Nels straightened up and stood waiting, with the dripping rags in his hand.
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“Vell, I tol’ you he coomin’ back sometime. I vaiting long time all ready, but yust lak I tol’ you, he coom.”
“I thought I told you not to sign that telegram. But it’s no matter,––didn’t do any harm, I guess.”
“Dot vas a fool, dot boy dere. He ask all tam, ’Vot for? Who write dis? You not? Eh? Who sen’ dis?’ He make me put my name dere; den I get out putty quvick or he ask yet vat iss it for a yob you got somebody, eh?”
“Oh, well, we’ve got him now, and he don’t seem to care to keep under cover, either.” G. B. Stiles seemed to address himself. “Too smart to show a sign. See here, Nelson, are you ready to swear that he’s the man? Are you ready to swear to all you told me?”
“It is better you gif me a paper once, vit your name, dot you gif me half dot money.”
Nels Nelson stooped deliberately and went on washing the horse’s legs. A look of irritation swept over the placid face of G. B. Stiles, and he slipped the toothpick back in his vest pocket and walked away.
“I say,” called the Swede after him. “You gif me dot paper. Eh?”
“I can’t stand talking to you here. You’ll promise to swear to all you told me when I was here the first time. If you do that, you are sure of the money, and if you change it in the least, or show the least sign of backing down, we neither of us get it. Understand?”
Again the Swede arose, and stood looking at him sullenly. “It iss ten t’ousand tallers, und I get it half, eh?”
“Oh, you go to thunder!” The proprietor of the hotel came around the corner of the stable, and G. B. Stiles addressed himself to him. “I’d like the use of a horse to-day,347and your man here, if I can get him. I’ve got to make a trip to Rigg’s Corners to sell some dry goods. Got a good buggy?”
“Yes, and a horse you can drive yourself, if you like. Be gone all day?”
“No, don’t want to fool with a horse––may want to stay and send the horse back––if I find a place where the grub is better than it is here. See?”
“You’ll be back after one meal at any place within a hundred miles of here.” The proprietor laughed.
“Might as well drive yourself. You won’t want to send the horse back. I’m short of drivers just now. Times are bad and travel light, so I let one go.”
“I’ll take the Swede there.”
“He’s my station hand. Maybe Jake can drive you. Nels, where’s Jake?”
“He’s dere in the stable. Shake!” he shouted, without glancing up, and Jake slouched out into the yard.
“Jake, here’s a gentleman wants you to drive him out into the country,––”
“I’ll take the Swede. Jake can drive your station wagon for once.”
G. B. Stiles laughed good-humoredly and returned to the piazza and sat tilted back with his feet on the rail not far from Harry King, who was intently reading theNew York Tribune. For a while he eyed the young man covertly, then dropped his feet to the floor and turned upon him with a question on the political situation, and deliberately engaged him in conversation, which Harry King entered into courteously yet reluctantly. Evidently he was preoccupied with affairs of his own.
348
In the stable yard a discussion was going on. “Dot horse no goot in buggy. Better you sell heem any vay. He yoomp by de cars all tam, und he no goot by buggy.”
“Well, you’ve got to take him by the buggy, if he is no good. I won’t let Jake drive him around the trains, and he won’t let Jake go with him out to Rigg’s Corners, so you’ll have to take the gray and the buggy and go.” The Swede began a sullen protest, but the proprietor shouted back to him, “You’ll do this or leave,” and walked in.
Nels went then into the stable, smiling quietly. He was well satisfied with the arrangement. “Shake, you put dot big horse by de buggy. No. Tak’ d’oder bridle. I don’t drive heem mit ol’ bridle; he yoomp too quvick yet. All tam yoomping, dot horse.”
Presently Nels drove round to the front of the hotel with the gray horse and a high-top buggy. Harry King regarded him closely as he passed, but Nels looked straight ahead. A boy came out carrying Stiles’ heavy valise.
“Put that in behind here,” said Stiles, as he climbed in and seated himself at Nels Nelson’s side. The gray leaped forward on the instant with so sudden a jump that he caught at his hat and missed it. Harry King stepped down and picked it up.
“What ails your horse?” he asked, as he restored it to its owner.
“Oh, not’in’. He lak yoomp a little.” And again the horse leaped forward, taking them off at a frantic pace, the high-topped buggy atilt as they turned the corner of the street into the country road. Harry King returned to his seat. Surely it was the Scandinavian who had walked349down from the bluff with him the evening before. There was no mistaking that soft, drawling voice.
“See here! You pull your beast down, I want to talk with you. Hi! There goes my hat again. Can’t you control him better than that? Let me out.” Nels pulled the animal down with a powerful arm, and he stood quietly enough while G. B. Stiles climbed down and walked back for his hat. “Look here! Can you manage the beast, or can’t you?” he asked as he stood beside the vehicle and wiped the dust from his soft black felt with his sleeve. “If you can’t, I’ll walk.”
“Oh, yas, I feex heem. I leek heem goot ven ve coom to place nobody see me.”
“I guess that’s what ails him now. You’ve done that before.”
“Yas, bot if you no lak I leek heem, ust you yoomp in und I lat heem run goot for two, t’ree mile. Dot feex heem all right.”
“I don’t know about that. Sure you can hold him?”
“Yas, I hol’ heem so goot he break hee’s yaw off, if he don’t stop ven I tol’ heem. Now, quvick. Whoa! Yoomp in.”
G. B. Stiles scrambled in with unusual agility for him, and again they were off, the gray taking them along with leaps and bounds, but the road was smooth, and the dust laid by frequent showers was like velvet under the horse’s feet. Stiles drew himself up, clinging to the side of the buggy and to his hat.
“How long will he keep this up?” he asked.
“Oh, he stop putty quvick. He lak it leetle run. T’ree, four mile he run––das all.” And the Swede was right.350After a while the horse settled down to a long, swinging trot. “Look at heem now. I make heem go all tam lak dis. Ven I get my money I haf stable of my own und den I buy heem. I know heem. I all tam tol’ Meester Decker dot horse no goot––I buy heem sheep. You go’n gif me dot money, eh?”
“I see. You’re sharp, but you’re asking too much. If it were not for me, you wouldn’t get a cent, or me either. See? I’ve spent a thousand hunting that man up, and you haven’t spent a cent. All you’ve done is to stick here at the hotel and watch. I’ve been all over the country. Even went to Europe and down in Mexico––everywhere. You haven’t really earned a cent of it.”
“Vat for you goin’ all offer de vorld? Vat you got by dot? Spen’ money––dot vot you got. Me, I stay here. I fin’ heem; you not got heem all offer de vorld. I tol’ you, of a man he keel somebody, he run vay, bot he goin’ coom back where he done it. He not know it vot for he do it, bot he do it all right.”
“Look here, Nelson; it’s outrageous! You can’t lay claim to that money. I told you if he was found and you were willing to give in your evidence just as you gave it to me that day, I’d give you your fair share of the reward, as you asked for it, but I never gave you any reason to think you were to take half. I’ve spent all the money working up this matter, and if I were to go back now and do nothing, as I’m half a mind to do, you’d never get a cent of it. There’s no proof that he’s the man.”
“You no need spen’ dot money.”
“Can’t I get reason into your head? When I set out to get hold of a criminal, do you think I sit down in one place351and wait? You didn’t find him; he came here, and it’s only by an accident you have him, and he may clear out yet, and neither of us be the better off because of your pig-headedness. Here, drive into that grove and tie your horse a minute and we’ll come to an understanding. I can’t write you out a paper while we’re moving along like this.”
Then Nels turned into the grove and took the horse from the shafts and tied him some distance away, while G. B. Stiles took writing materials from his valise, and, sitting in the buggy, made a show of drawing up a legal paper.
“I’m going to draw you up a paper as you asked me to. Now how do you know you have the man?”
“It iss ten t’ousand tallers. You make me out dot paper you gif me half yet.”
“Damn it! You answer my question. I can’t make this out unless I know you’re going to come up to the scratch.” He made a show of writing, and talked at the same time. “I, G. B. Stiles, detective, in the employ of Peter Craigmile, of the town of Leauvite, for the capture of the murderer of his son, Peter Craigmile, Jr., do hereby promise one Nels Nelson, Swede,––in the employ of Mr Decker, hotel proprietor, as stable man,––for services rendered in the identification of said criminal at such time as he should be found,–––Now, what service have you rendered? How much money have you spent in the search?”
“Not’ing. I got heem.”
“Nothing. That’s just it.”
“I got heem.”
“No, you haven’t got him, and you can’t get him without352me. Don’t you think it. I am the one to get him. You have no warrant and no license. I’m the one to put in the claim and get the reward for you, and you’ll have to take what I choose to give, and no more. By rights you would only have your fee as witness, and that’s all. That’s all the state gives. Whatever else you get is by my kindness in sharing with you. Hear?”
A dangerous light gleamed in the Swede’s eyes, and Stiles, by a slight disarrangement of his coat in the search for his handkerchief, displayed a revolver in his hip pocket. Nels’ eyes shifted, and he looked away.
“You’d better quit this damned nonsense and say what you’ll take and what you’ll swear to.”
“I’ll take half dot money,” said Nels, softly and stubbornly.
“I’ll take out all I’ve spent on this case before we divide it in any way, shape, or manner.” Stiles figured a moment on the margin of his paper. “Now, what are you going to swear to? You needn’t shift round. You’ll tell me here just what you’re prepared to give in as evidence before I put down a single figure to your name on this paper. See?”
“I done tol’ you all dot in Chicago dot time.”
“Very well. You’ll give that in as evidence, every word of it, and swear to it?”
“Yas.”
“I don’t more than half believe this is the man. You know it’s life imprisonment for him if it’s proved on him, and you’d better be sure you have the right one. I’m in for justice, and you’re in for the money, that’s plain.”
“Yas, I tank you lak it money, too.”
“I’ll not put him in irons to-night unless you give me353some better reason for your assertion. Why is he the man?”
“I seen heem dot tam, I know. He got it mark on hees head vere de blud run dot tam, yust de sam, all right. I know heem. He speek lak heem. He move hees arm lak heem. Yas, I know putty good.”
“You’re sure you remember everything he said––all you told me?”
“Oh, yas. I write it here,” and he drew a small book from his pocket, very worn and soiled. “All iss here writed.”
“Let’s see it.” With a smile the Swede put it in Stiles’ hand. He regarded it in a puzzled way.
“What’s this?” He handed the book back contemptuously. “You’ll never be able to make that out,––all dirty and––”
“Yas, I read heem, you not,––dot’s Swedish.”
“Very well. Perhaps you know what you’re about,” and the discussion went on, until at last G. B. Stiles, partly by intimidation, partly by assumption of being able to get on without his services, persuaded Nels to modify his demands and accept three thousand for his evidence. Then the gray was put in the shafts again, and they drove to the town quietly, as if they had been to Rigg’s Corners and back.
354CHAPTER XXVIII“A RESEMBLANCE SOMEWHERE”
While G. B. Stiles and the big Swede were taking their drive and bargaining away Harry King’s liberty, he had loitered about the town, and visited a few places familiar to him. First he went to the home of Elder Craigmile and found it locked, and the key in the care of one of the bank clerks who slept there during the owner’s absence. After sitting a while on the front steps, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he rose and strolled out along the quiet country road on its grassy footpath, past the Ballards’ home.
Mary and Bertrand were out in the little orchard at the back of the house, gazing up at the apple blossoms that hung over their heads in great pale pink clouds. A sweet odor came from the lilacs that hung over the garden fence, and the sunlight streamed down on the peaceful home, and on the opening spring flowers––the borders of dwarf purple iris and big clusters of peonies, just beginning to bud,––and on the beehives scattered about with the bees flying out and in. Ah! It was still the same––tempting and inviting.
He paused at the gate, looking wistfully at the open door, but did not enter. No, he must keep his own counsel and hold to his purpose, without stirring these dear old friends355to sorrowful sympathy. So he passed on, unseen by them, feeling the old love for the place and all the tender memories connected with it revived and deepened. On he went, strolling toward the little schoolhouse where he had found dear Betty Ballard sleeping at the big school desk the evening before, and passed it by––only looking in curiously at the tousled heads bent over their lessons, and at Betty herself, where she sat at the desk, a class on the long recitation bench before her, and a great boy standing at the blackboard. He saw her rise and take the chalk from the boy’s hand and make a few rapid strokes with it on the board.
Little Betty a school-teacher! She had suffered much! How much did she care now? Was it over and her heart healed? Had other loves come to her? All intent now on her work, she stood with her back toward him, and as he passed the open door she turned half about, and he saw her profile sharply against the blackboard. Older? Yes, she looked older, but prettier for that, and slight and trim and neat, dressed in a soft shade of green. She had worn such a dress once at a picnic. Well he remembered it––could he ever forget? Swiftly she turned again to the board and drew the eraser across the work, and he heard her voice distinctly, with its singing quality––how well he remembered that also––“Now, how many of the class can work this problem?”
Ah, little Betty! little Betty! Life is working problems for us all, and you are working yours to a sweet conclusion, helping the children, and taking up your own burdens and bearing them bravely. This was Harry King’s thought as he strolled on and seated himself again under the basswood356tree by the meadow brook, and took from his pocket the worn scrap of paper the wind had brought him and read it again.
“Out of my life, and into the night,But never out of my heart, my own.Into the darkness, out of the light,Bleeding and wounded and walking alone.”
Such a tender, rhythmic bit of verse––Betty must have written it. It was like her.
After a time he rose and strolled back again past the little schoolhouse, and it was recess. Long before he reached it he heard the voices of the children shouting, “Anty, anty over, anty, anty over.” They were divided into two bands, one on either side of the small building, over which they tossed the ball and shouted as they tossed it, “Anty, anty over”; and the band on the other side, warned by the cry, caught the ball on the rebound if they could, and tore around the corner of the building, trying to hit with it any luckless wight on the other side, and so claim him for their own, and thus changing sides, the merry romp went on.
Betty came to the door with the bell in her hand, and stood for a moment looking out in the sunshine. One of the smallest of the boys ran to her and threw his arms around her, and, looking up in her face, screamed in wildest excitement, “I caught it twice, Teacher, I did.”
With her hand on his head she looked in his eyes and smiled and tinkled her little bell, and the children, big and little, all came crowding through the door, hustling like a flock of chickens, and every boy snatched off his cap as he rushed by her.
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Ah, grave, dignified little Betty! Who was that passing slowly along the road? Like a wild rose by the wayside she seemed to him, with her pink cheeks and in her soft green gown, framed thus by the doorway of the old schoolhouse. Naturally she had no recognition for this bearded man, walking by with stiff, soldierly step, yet something caused her to look again, turning as she entered, and, when he looked back, their eyes met, and hers dropped before his, and she was lost to his sight as she closed the door after her. Of course she could not recognize him disguised thus with the beard on his face, and his dark, tanned skin. She did not recognize him, and he was glad, yet sore at heart.
He had had all he could bear, and for the rest of the morning he wrote letters, sitting in his room at Decker’s hotel. Only two letters, but one was a very long one––to Amalia Manovska. Out in the world he dared not use her own name, so he addressed the envelope to Miss McBride, in Larry Kildene’s care, at the nearest station to which they had agreed letters should be sent. Before he finished the second letter the gong sounded for dinner. The noon meal was always dinner at the hotel. He thrust his papers and the unfinished letter in his valise and locked it––and went below.
G. B. Stiles was already there, seated in the same place as on the day before, and Harry took his seat opposite him, and they began a conversation in the same facile way, but the manner of the dry-goods salesman towards him seemed to have undergone a change. It had lost its swagger, and was more that of a man who could be a gentleman if he chose, while to the surprise of Stiles the manner of the young man was as disarmingly quiet and unconcerned as before,358and as abstracted. He could not believe that any man hovering on the brink of a terrible catastrophe, and one to avert which required concealment of identity, could be so unwary. He half believed the Swede was laboring under an hallucination, and decided to be deliberate, and await developments for the rest of the day.
After dinner they wandered out to the piazza side by side, and there they sat and smoked, and talked over the political situation as they had the evening before, and Stiles was surprised at the young man’s ignorance of general public matters. Was it ignorance, or indifference?
“I thought all you army men would stand by Grant to the drop of the hat.”
“Yes, I suppose we would.”
“You suppose so! Don’t you know? I carried a gun under Grant, and I’d swear to any policy he’d go in for, and what I say is, they haven’t had quite enough down there. What the South needs is another licking. That’s what it needs.”
“Oh, no, no, no. I was sick of fighting, long before they laid me up, and I guess a lot of us were.”
G. B. Stiles brought his feet to the floor with a stamp of surprise and turned to look full in the young man’s face. For a moment he gazed on him thus, then grunted. “Ever feel one of their bullets?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That the mark, there over your temple?”
“No, it didn’t do any harm to speak of. That’s––where something––struck me.”
“Oh, you don’t say!” Harry King rose. “Leaving?”
“No. I have a few letters to write––and––”
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“Sorry to miss you. Staying in town for some time?”
“I hardly know. I may.”
“Plans unsettled? Well, times are unsettled and no money stirring. My plans are all upset, too.”
The young man returned to his room and continued his writing. One short letter to Betty, inclosing the worn scrap of paper the wind had brought him; he kissed it before he placed it in the envelope. Then he wrote one to her father and mother jointly, and a long one to Hester Craigmile. Sometimes he would pause in his writing and tear up a page, and begin over again, but at last all were done and inclosed in a letter to the Elder and placed in a heavy envelope and sealed. Only the one to Amalia he did not inclose, but carried it out and mailed it himself.
Passing the bank on the way to the post office, he dropped in and made quite a heavy deposit. It was just before closing time and the clerks were all intent on getting their books straight, preparatory to leaving. How well he remembered that moment of restless turning of ledgers and the slight accession of eagerness in the younger clerks, as they followed the long columns of figures down with the forefinger of the left hand––the pen poised in the right. The whole scene smote him poignantly as he stood at the teller’s window waiting. And he might have been doing that, he thought! A whole lifetime spent in doing just that and more like it, year in and year out!
How had his life been better? He had sinned––and failed. Ah! But he had lived and loved––lived terribly and loved greatly. God help him, how he loved! Even for life to end here––either in prison or in death––still he had felt the tremendous passions, and understood the360meaning of their power in a human soul. This had life brought him, and a love beyond measure to crown all.
The teller peered at him through the little window behind which he had stood so many years peering at people in this sleepy little bank, this sure, safe, little bank, always doing its conservative business in the same way, and heretofore always making good. He reached out a long, well-shaped hand,––a large-veined hand, slightly hairy at the wrist, to take the bank notes. How often had Harry King seen that hand stretched thus through the little window, drawing bank notes toward him! Almost with a shock he saw it now reach for his own––for the first time. In the old days he had had none to deposit. It was always for others it had been extended. Now it seemed as if he must seize the hand and shake it,––the only hand that had been reached out to him yet, in this town where his boyhood had been spent.
A young man who had preceded Harry King at the teller’s window paused near by at the cashier’s desk and began asking questions which Harry himself would have been glad to ask, but could not.
He was an alert, bright-eyed young chap with a smiling face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Copeland. Any news for me to-day?”
Mr. Copeland was an elderly man of great dignity, and almost as much of a figure there as the Elder himself. It was an act of great temerity to approach him for items of news for theLeauvite Mercury. Of this fact the young reporter seemed to be blithely ignorant. All the clerks were covertly watching the outcome, and thus attention was turned from Harry King; even the teller glanced frequently361at the cashier’s desk as he counted the bank notes placed in his hand.
“News? No. No news,” said Mr. Copeland, without looking up.
“Thank you. It’s my business to ask for it, you know. We’re making more of a feature of personal items than ever before. We’re up to date, you see. ‘Find out what people want and then give it to them.’ That’s our motto.” The young man leaned forward over the high railing that corralled the cashier in his pen apart from the public, smilingly oblivious of that dignitary’s objections to an interview. “Expecting the return of Elder Craigmile soon?”
At that question, to the surprise of all, the cashier suddenly changed his manner to the suave affability with which he greeted people of consequence. “We are expecting Elder Craigmile shortly. Yes. Indeed he may arrive any day, if the voyage is favorable.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Craigmile accompanies him, I suppose?”
“It is not likely, no. Her health demands––ahem––a little longer rest and change.”
“Ah! The Elder not called back by––for any particular reason? No. Business going well? Good. I’m told there’s a great deal of depression.”
“Oh, in a way––there may be,––but we’re all of the conservative sort here in Leauvite. We’re not likely to feel it if there is. Good afternoon.”
No one paid any attention to Harry King as he walked out after theLeauvite Mercuryreporter, except Mr. Copeland, who glanced at him keenly as he passed his desk.362Then, looking at his watch, he came out of his corral and turned the key in the bank door.
“We’ll have no more interruptions now,” he said, as he paused at the teller’s window. “You know the young man who just went out?”
“Sam Carter of theMercury. Old Billings no doubt sent him in to learn how we stand.”
“No, no, no. Sam Carter––I know him. Who’s the young man who followed him out?”
“I don’t know. Here’s his signature. He’s just made a big deposit on long time––only one thousand on call. Unusual these days.”
Mr. Copeland’s eyes glittered an instant. “Good. That’s something. I decided to give the town people to understand that there is no need for their anxiety. It’s the best policy, and when the Elder returns, he may be induced to withdraw his insane offer of reward. Ten thousand dollars! It’s ridiculous, when the young men may both be dead, for all the world will ever know.”
“If we could do that––but I’ve known the Elder too long to hope for it. This deposit stands for a year, see? And the ten thousand the Elder has set one side for the reward gives us twenty thousand we could not count on yesterday.”
“In all the history of this bank we never were in so tight a place. It’s extraordinary, and quite unnecessary. That’s a bright boy––Sam Carter. I never thought of his putting such a construction on it when I admitted the fact that Mrs. Craigmile is to remain. Two big banks closed in Chicago this morning, and twenty small ones all over the country during the last three days. One goes363and hauls another down. If we had only cabled across the Atlantic two weeks ago when I sent that letter––he must have the letter by now––and if he has, he’s on the ocean.”
“This deposit tides us over a few days, and, as I said, if we could only get our hands on that reserve of the Elder’s, we’d be safe whatever comes.”
“He’ll have to bend his will for once. He must be made to see it, and we must get our hands on it. I think he will. He’d cut off his right hand before he’d see this bank go under.”
“It’s his son’s murder that’s eating into his heart. He’s been losing ground ever since.”
The clerks gradually disappeared, quietly slipping out into the sunshine one by one as their books were balanced, and now the two men stood alone. It was a time used by them for taking account of the bank’s affairs generally, and they felt the stability of that institution to be quite personal to them.
“I’ve seen that young man before,” said Mr. Copeland. “Now, who is he? Harry King––Harry King,––the Kings moved away from here––twelve years ago––wasn’t it? Their son would not be as old as this man.”
“Boys grow up fast. You never can tell.”
“The Kings were a short, thickset lot.”
“He may not be one of them. He said nothing about ever having been here before. I never talk with any one here at the window. It’s quite against my rules for the clerks, and has to be so for myself, of course. I leave that sort of thing to you and the Elder.”
“I say––I’ve seen him before––the way he walks––the364way he carries his head––there’s a resemblance somewhere.”
The two men also departed, after looking to the safe, and the last duties devolving on them, seeing that all was locked and double-locked. It was a solemn duty, always attended to solemnly.
365CHAPTER XXIXTHE ARREST
Sam Carter loitered down the street after leaving the bank, and when Harry King approached, he turned with his ready smile and accosted him.
“Pleasant day. I see you’re a stranger here, and I thought I might get an item from you. Carter’s my name, and I’m doing the reporting for theMercury. Be glad to make your acquaintance. Show you round a little.”
Harry was nonplussed for a moment. Such things did not use to occur in this old-fashioned place as running about the streets picking up items from people and asking personal questions for the paper to exploit the replies. He looked twice at Sam Carter before responding.
“Thank you, I––I’ve been here before. I know the place pretty well.”
“Very pretty place, don’t you think so? Mean to stop for some time?”
“I hardly know as yet.” Harry King mused a little, then resolved to break his loneliness by accepting the casual acquaintance, and to avoid personalities about himself by asking questions about the town and those he used to know, but whom he preferred not to see. It was an opportunity. “Yes, it is a pretty place. Have you been here long?”
“I’ve been here––let’s see. About three years––maybe a little less. You must have been away from Leauvite366longer than that, I judge. I’ve never left the place since I came and I never saw you before. No wonder I thought you a stranger.”
“I may call myself one––yes. A good many changes since you came?”
“Oh, yes. See the new courthouse? It’s a beauty,––all solid stone,––cost fifty thousand dollars. TheMercuryhad a great deal to do with bringing it about,––working up enthusiasm and the like,––but there is a great deal of depression just now, and taxes running up. People think government is taking a good deal out of them for such public buildings, but, Lord help us! the government is needing money just now as much as the people. It’s hard to be public spirited when taxes are being raised. You have people here?”
“Not now––no. Who’s mayor here now?”
“Harding––Harding of the iron works. He makes a good one, too. There’s the new courthouse. The jail is underneath at the back. See the barred windows? No breaking out of there. Three prisoners did break out of the old one during the year this building was under construction,––each in a different way, too,––shows how badly they needed a new one. Quite an ornament to the square, don’t you think so?”
“The jail?”
“No, no,––The building as a whole. Better go over it while you’re here.”
“I may––do so––yes.”
“Staying some time, I believe you said.”
“Did I? I may have said so.”
“Staying at the hotel, I believe?”