Milton Graham, on reaching a place where he could do so unobserved, drew from his pocket the roll of bills, with a smile of exultation. But the smile faded, and was succeeded by a look of dismay, when he recognized the worthlessness of his booty. An oath rose to his lips, and he thrust the roll back into his pocket, as he noticed the approach of a passenger.
"It's a cursed imposition!" he muttered to himself, and he really felt that he had been wronged by Mr. Waterbury.
"What are you doing out here, Graham?" asked Vincent, for it was his confederate who approached.
"Nothing in particular. Why?" responded Graham.
"What makes you look so glum?"
"Do I look glum?"
"You look as if you had but one friend in the world, and were about to lose him."
"That may be true enough," muttered Graham.
"Come, man, don't look so downcast."
"I'm out of luck, and out of cash, Vincent."
"We're both in the same boat, as far as that goes; but that isn't going to last. How about our stout friend? Can't we make him contribute to our necessities?"
"I don't believe he's got any money."
"No? Why, I heard him tell the boy he had six hundred dollars."
"Where does he keep it?"
"In his pocketbook probably."
"Will you oblige me by stating how we are going to get hold of it?"
"I look to you for that."
"He's too careful. I leave you to try your hand."
"Let me go in to breakfast. There's nothing like a full stomach to suggest ideas."
So the two went to the breakfast table, and Graham, in spite of his disappointment, managed to eat a hearty meal.
An hour later Mr. Waterbury and Tom were standing on deck, conversing with Jennie Watson and her mother, when Graham and Vincent approached arm in arm. As soon as they were within hearing distance Mr. Waterbury purposely remarked, "By the way, Mrs. Watson, I met with a loss last night."
"Indeed!" returned the lady.
Graham was about to push on, not wishing Vincent to hear the disclosure, as it might awaken his suspicions; but the latter's curiosity was aroused.
"Wait, Graham," he said; and Graham, against his will, was compelled to slacken his pace.
"A man entered my stateroom during the night, and stole a wallet from my coat pocket."
Graham changed color a little, and Vincent seemed amazed.
"Did you hear that, Graham?" he asked.
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
"How can I tell?"
"I hope you did not lose much," said Mrs. Watson, in a tone of sympathy.
"I lost the wallet," said Mr. Waterbury, laughing.
"Was there nothing in it?"
"It was full of bills."
Vincent looked at Graham with new-born suspicion, but Graham looked indifferent.
"It appears to me that you take the loss cheerfully," said Mrs. Watson, puzzled.
"I have reason to. The fact is, I was prepared for the visit, and had filled the wallet with bogus bills. I fancy they won't do my visitor much good."
The lady smiled.
"You were fortunate, Mr. Waterbury," said she. "Do you suspect any one of the theft?"
"I know pretty well who robbed me," returned Mr. Waterbury, and he suffered his glance to rest on Graham, who seemed in a hurry to get away.
"Come along, Vincent," he said sharply.
Vincent obeyed. Light dawned upon him, and he determined to verify his suspicions.
"Graham," said he, in a low voice, "you did this."
"Did what?"
"You got that wallet."
Graham concluded that he might as well make a clean breast of it, since it had become a matter of necessity.
"Well," said he, "suppose I did?"
"You were not going to let me know of it," said Vincent suspiciously.
"That is true. I was ashamed of having been imposed upon."
"When did you find out that the money was bogus?"
"Immediately."
"If it had been good, would you have shared with me honorably?"
"Of course. What do you take me for?"
Vincent was silent. He did not believe his companion. He suspected that the latter had intended to steal a march on him.
"You might have told me of it," he continued, in a tone of dissatisfaction.
"There was no need to say anything, as there was nothing to divide."
"Have you got the wallet with you now?"
"No; I threw it overboard."
"And the bills?"
"You may have them all, if you like."
"Come into the stateroom, where we can be unobserved, and show them to me."
Graham complied with his suggestion.
"It would have been a good haul if they had been genuine," said Vincent, as he unfolded the roll.
"Yes, but they are not; worse luck!"
"I didn't give the old fellow credit for being so sharp."
"Nor I. There's more in him than I supposed there was."
"Well, what is to be done?"
"Nothing. The old man is on his guard, and, besides, he suspects me. He was probably awake when I entered the stateroom. He and the boy have probably laughed over it together. I hate that boy."
"Why?"
"Because he is a green country boy, and yet he has succeeded in thwarting me. I am ashamed whenever I think of it."
"Would you like to play a trick on him in turn?"
"Yes."
"Then give me this roll of bills."
"What do you want to do with them?"
"Put them in his pocket."
"Can you do it unobserved?"
"Yes. The fact is, Graham, I served an apprenticeship as a pickpocket, and flatter myself I still have some dexterity in that line."
"Very well, it will be some satisfaction, and if the old man didn't see me enter the stateroom, he may be brought to believe that the boy robbed him. If that could be, I should feel partly compensated for my disappointment. I should like to get that boy into trouble."
"Consider it done, so far as I am concerned. Now let us separate, so as to avoid suspicion."
Vincent began to pace the deck in a leisurely manner, in each case passing near Tom, who was still engaged in conversation with Jennie Watson and her mother. For a time he was unable to effect his purpose, as our hero was sitting down. But after a while Tom rose, and stood with his back to Vincent. He wore a sack coat, with side pockets. This was favorable to Vincent, who, as he passed, adroitly slipped the bills into one of them, without attracting the attention of our hero.
Presently Tom thrust his hand into his pocket mechanically. They encountered the bills. In surprise he drew them out, and looked at them in amazement.
"What's that, Tom?" asked Jennie, with great curiosity.
"It looks like money," answered Tom, not yet understanding what had happened.
"You seem to be rich."
"By gracious!—it's Mr. Waterbury's money," exclaimed Tom. Then he colored, as it flashed upon him that its presence in his pocket might arouse suspicion. "I don't see how it got there," he continued, in a bewildered way.
Just then Mr. Waterbury came up, and was made acquainted with the discovery.
"I don't know what you'll think, Mr. Waterbury," said Tom, coloring; "I haven't the slightest idea how the money came in my pocket."
"I have," said Mr. Waterbury quietly.
Tom looked at him, to discover whether he was under suspicion.
"The companion of your friend Graham slipped it into your pocket. He was veryquick and adroit, but I detected him. He wanted to throw suspicion upon you."
"It is lucky you saw him, sir."
"Why?"
"You might have suspected me."
"My dear boy, don't trouble yourself about that. No circumstantial evidence will shake my confidence in your integrity."
"Thank you, sir," said Tom gratefully.
"What a wicked man to play a trick on you, Tom!" exclaimed Jennie indignantly.
"I see there is somebody else who has confidence in you, Tom," said Mr. Waterbury, smiling; "I'd like to give him a piece of my mind."
"I am ready to forgive him," said Mr. Waterbury, "as he has restored the money. It will do as a bait for the next thief."
"I believe, Tom," said Mr. Waterbury, "that I will come to an understanding with these officious acquaintances of yours. I will intimate to them that their persecution must cease."
"Will they mind what you say, sir?"
"I think they will," answered his friend quietly.
Graham and Vincent were standing together, and apart from the rest of the passengers, when Mr. Waterbury approached them.
"A word with you, gentlemen," said he gravely.
"I don't know you, sir," blustered Vincent.
"Perhaps not. Permit me to remark that I have no special desire for your acquaintance."
"Then why do you take the liberty of addressing me?"
"I rather admire the fellow's impudence," said Mr. Waterbury to himself.
"Are you associated with this gentleman?" he asked, indicating Graham.
"We are friends."
"Then I will address an inquiry to him. I am not in the habit of receiving calls in my stateroom during the hours of sleep."
"I don't understand you, sir," said Milton Graham, with hauteur.
"Oh, yes, you do, unless your memory is singularly defective. Our staterooms are close together. You entered mine last night."
"You must have been dreaming."
"If so, I was dreaming with my eyes open. Perhaps it was in my dreams that I saw you extract a wallet from my coat pocket."
"Do you mean to insult me, sir?" demanded Graham.
"Really, sir, your remarks are rather extraordinary," chimed in Vincent.
"Do you mean to say that I robbed you?" demanded Graham, confident in the knowledge that the booty was not on his person.
"I find a wallet missing. That speaks for itself."
"Let me suggest that your roommate probably took it," said Vincent.
"Extremely probable," said Graham. "He roomed with me in Pittsburg, and I caught him at my pockets during the night."
"Did you ever hear the fable of the wolf and the lamb, Mr. Graham?" asked Mr. Waterbury.
"Can't say I have."
"It's of no consequence. I am reminded of it, however."
"Come to think of it," said Vincent, "I saw the boy with a roll of bills. You had better search him. If he is innocent, he can't object."
"I see your drift," returned Mr. Waterbury, after a pause. "I saw you thrust the bills into his pocket, as he stood with his back turned, conversing with one of the passengers. It was very skilfully done, but I saw it."
Vincent started, for he had supposed himself unobserved.
"I see you are determined to insult us," he said. "I will charitably conclude that you are drunk."
"I can't be so charitable with you, sir. I believe you are a pair of precious scoundrels, who, if you had your deserts, would be in the penitentiary instead of at large."
"I have a mind to knock you down," said Vincent angrily.
As Vincent was several inches shorter and much slighter than the person whom he threatened, this menace sounded rather ridiculous.
"You are at liberty to try it," said the latter, smiling. "First, however, let me warn you that, if you continue to annoy us, it will be at your peril. If you remain quiet I shall leave you alone. Otherwise I will make known your true character to the captain and passengers, and you will undoubtedly be set ashore when we reach the next landing. I have the honor to wish you good morning."
"It strikes me, Graham," said Vincent, as Mr. Waterbury left them, "that we have tackled the wrong passenger."
"I believe you are right," said Graham. "Just my luck."
"There isn't much use in staying on the boat. He will keep a good lookout for us."
"True; but I don't want to give up the boy."
"He is under the guardianship of this determined old party."
"They will separate at Cincinnati."
"Well?"
"He has money enough to take him to California. He is worth following up."
"Then you are in favor of going on to Cincinnati?"
"By all means."
"Very well. There are always chances of making an honest penny in a large city."
"Money or no money, I want to get even with the boy."
So the worthy pair decided to go on to Cincinnati.
Itwas a bright, sunny morning when theRiver Belletouched her pier at Cincinnati. The passengers gathered on deck, and discussed their plans. In one group were Tom,Mr. Waterbury, Jennie Watson, and her mother.
"I am sorry you are going to leave us, Tom," said Jennie; "I shall feel awfully lonely."
"So shall I," said Tom.
"What's the use of going to that hateful California? Why can't you stay here with us?"
"Business before pleasure, Jennie," said her mother. "You mustn't forget that Tom has his fortune to make."
"I wish he could make it in Cincinnati, mother."
"So do I; but I must admit that California presents a better prospect just at present. You are both young, and I hope we may meet Tom in after years."
"When I have made my pile," suggested Tom.
"Precisely."
"You won't go right on, Tom, will you?" asked Jennie. "You'll stay here a day or two."
"Yes; I should like to see something of Cincinnati."
"And you'll call on us?"
"I shall be very happy to do so. Where are you going to stay?"
"At the Burnet House. Won't you come there, too?"
"Is it a high-priced hotel?"
"I believe it is."
"Then I can't afford to stay there; but I can call on you all the same."
"Stay there as my guest, Tom," said Mr. Waterbury cordially. "It shall not cost you anything."
"Thank you, sir. You are very kind, but I don't like to accept unnecessary favors. I will put up at some cheap hotel, and call upon you both."
"You would be heartily welcome, my boy," said Mr. Waterbury.
"Idon'tdoubt it, sir, and the time may come when I will gladly accept your kindness," replied Tom.
"But now you mean to have your own way; is that it, Tom."
"You won't be offended, sir?"
"On the contrary, I respect you for your manly independence. You won't forget that I am your friend?"
"I don't want to forget that, sir."
So it happened that while Mrs. Watson, Jennie, and Mr. Waterbury registered at the Burnet House, Tom, carpetbag in hand, walked through the streets till he came to a plain inn, bearing the name Alleghany House. It is not now in existence, having given way to an imposing business block.
"That looks as if it might suit my purse," thought Tom.
He walked in, and, approaching the desk, inquired: "How much do you charge at this hotel?"
"A dollar a day," answered the clerk. "Will you have a room?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please register your name." Tom did so.
"Cato," called the clerk—summoning a colored boy, about Tom's size—"take this young man to No. 18."
"All right, sar," said Cato, showing his ivories.
"When do you have dinner?" asked Tom.
"One o'clock."
Preceded by Cato, Tom walked up-stairs, and was ushered into a small, dingy room onthe second floor. There was a single window, looking through dingy panes upon a back yard. There was a general air of cheerlessness and discomfort, but at any rate it was larger than the stateroom on theRiver Belle.
"Is this the best room you have?" asked Tom, not very favorably impressed.
"Oh, no, sar," answered Cato. "If your wife was with you, sar, we'd give you a scrumptious room, 'bout twice as big."
"I didn't bring my wife along, Cato," said Tom, amused. "Are you married?"
"Not yet, sar," answered his colored guide, with a grin.
"I think we can wait till we are a little older."
"Reckon so, sar."
"Just bring up a little water, Cato. I feel in need of washing."
"Dirt don't show on me," said Cato, with a guffaw.
"I suppose you do wash, now and then, don't you?"
"Yes, sar, sometimes," answered Cato equivocally.
When Tom had completed his toilet hefound that it was but ten o'clock. He accordingly went down-stairs, intending to see a little of the city before dinner.
Grahamand Vincent had kept quiet during the latter part of the voyage. They had a wholesome fear of Mr. Waterbury, and kept aloof from him and Tom. They even exchanged their stateroom for one at a different part of the boat. All was satisfactory to Tom and his companion.
When the worthy pair reached Cincinnati they were hard up. Their united funds amounted to but seven dollars, and it seemed quite necessary that they should find the means of replenishing their purses somewhere. They managed to ascertain that Tom and his friend were going to separate, and this afforded them satisfaction, since it made their designsupon our hero more feasible. At a distance they followed Tom to the Alleghany House, and themselves took lodgings at a small, cheap tavern near-by. Like Tom, they set out soon after their arrival in quest of adventure.
"We must strike a vein soon, Graham," said Vincent, "or we shall be in a tight place."
"That's so," answered Graham.
"Thus far our trip hasn't paid very well. It's been all outgo and no income."
"You're right, partner; but don't give up the ship," responded Graham, whose spirits returned, now that he was on dry land. "I've been in the same straits about once a month for the last five years."
"I've known you for three years, Graham, and, so far as my knowledge extends, I can attest the truth of what you say. By the way, you never say anything of your life before that date."
A shadow passed over Graham's face.
"Because I don't care to think of it; I never talk of it," he said.
"Pshaw, man, we all of us have some ugly secrets. Suppose we confide in eachother. Tell me your story, and I will tell you mine. It won't change my opinion of you."
"Probably not," said Graham. "Well, there is no use in holding back. For this once I will go back to the past. Five years ago I was a favorite in society. One day an acquaintance introduced me into a gambling house, and I tried my hand successfully. I went out with fifty dollars more than I brought in. It was an unlucky success, for it made me a frequent visitor. All my surplus cash found a market there, and when that was exhausted I borrowed from my employer."
"Without his knowledge?"
"Of course. For six months I evaded discovery. Then I was detected. My friends interceded, and saved me from the penitentiary, but I lost my situation, and was required to leave the city. I went to New York, tried to obtain a situation there, failed, and then adopted my present profession. I need not tell you the rest."
"My dear friend, I think I know the rest pretty well. But don't look sober. A fig for the past. What's the odds, as long as you're happy?"
"Are you happy?" inquired Graham.
"As long as I'm flush," answered Vincent, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm nearly dead-broke now, and of course I am miserable. However, my story comes next in order. I was a bank teller, appropriated part of the funds of the bank, fled with it, spent it, and then became an ornament to our common profession."
"Where was the bank?"
"In Canada. I haven't been there since. The climate don't suit me. It's bleak, but I fear it might prove too hot for me. Now we know each other."
"You don't allow it to worry you, Vincent," said Graham.
"No, I don't. Why should I? I let the dead past bury its dead, as Longfellow says, and act in the living present. That reminds me, we ought to be at work. I have a proposal to make. We won't hunt in couples, but separate, and each will try to bring home something to help the common fund. Is it agreed?"
"Yes."
"Au revoir, then!"
"That fellow has no conscience," thought Graham. "Mine is callous, but he goes beyond me. Perhaps he is the better off."
Graham shook off his transient dull spirits, and walked on, keeping a sharp lookout for a chance to fleece somebody. In front of a railroad ticket office he espied a stolid-looking German, who was trying to read the placard in the window.
Graham approached him, and said politely, "My friend, perhaps I can help you. Are you thinking of buying a railroad ticket?"
The German turned, and his confidence was inspired by the friendly interest of Graham's manner.
"I go to Minnesota," he said, "where my brother live."
"Exactly, and you want a ticket to go there?"
"Yes, I want a ticket. Do they sell him here?"
"No," said Graham. "That is, they do sell tickets here; but they ask too much."
"I will not pay too much," said the German, shaking his head decisively.
"Of course not; I will take you to a cheaper place."
"That is good," said the German, well pleased. "It is luck I meet mit a friend like you."
"Yes," said Graham, linking his arm in that of his new acquaintance. "I don't like to see a worthy man cheated. Come with me. How much money have you?"
This inquiry ought to have excited the suspicions of the German; but he was trustful, and answered promptly, "Two hundred dollar."
Graham's eyes sparkled.
"If I could only get the whole of it," he thought. But that didn't seem easy.
They walked through street after street till Graham stopped in front of an office.
"Now," said he, "give me your money, and I will buy the ticket."
"How much money?" asked his new acquaintance.
"I don't know exactly," said Graham carelessly. "Just hand me your pocketbook, and I will pay what is needed."
But here the German's characteristic caution came in.
"I will go with you," he said.
"If you do, I can't get the tickets so cheap. The agent is a friend of mine, and if he thinks it is for me he will give it to me for less. Don't give me all your money. Fifty dollars will do. I will buy the ticket, and bring you the rest of the money."
This seemed plausible enough, and Graham would have got what he asked for, but for the interference of Tom, who had come up just in time to hear Graham's proposal. He had no difficulty in comprehending his purpose.
"Don't give him the money," he said. "He will cheat you."
Both Graham and his intended victim wheeled round, and looked at our hero.
"Clear out of here, you young vagabond!" said Graham angrily.
"This man wants to cheat you," persisted Tom. "Don't give him your money."
The bewildered foreigner looked from one to the other.
"This is no ticket office," said Tom. "Iwill lead you to one, and you shall buy a ticket for yourself."
"He wants to swindle you," said Graham quickly.
"You shall keep your money in your own hands," said Tom. "I don't want it."
"I go with you, my young friend," said the German, convinced by Tom's honest face. "The other man may be all right, but I go with you."
Graham protested in vain. His victim went off with Tom, who saw that he was provided with the ticket he wanted. His new friend tried to force a dollar upon him; but this Tom steadily refused.
"I'll get even with you yet!" said Graham furiously; but our hero was not disturbed by this menace.
Vincent, meantime, was making a tour of observation, ready for any adventure that might put an honest or dishonest penny into his pocket. About half an hour later he found himself on the leading retail street in Cincinnati. In front of him walked a lady, fashionably attired, holding a mother-of-pearl portemonnaie carelessly in her hand. He brushedby her, and at the same moment the pocketbook was snatched from her hand.
The lady screamed, and instinctively clutched Vincent by the arm.
"This man has robbed me, I think," she said. The crowd began to gather about Vincent, and he saw that he was cornered. Among the crowd, unluckily for himself, was Tom. By a skilful movement Vincent thrust the portemonnaie into our hero's pocket.
"You are mistaken, madam," he said coolly; "I saw that boy take your money."
Instantly two men seized Tom.
"Search him," said Vincent, "and see it I am not right."
The portemonnaie was taken from Tom's pocket, amid the hootings of the crowd.
"So young, and yet so wicked!" said the lady regretfully.
"I didn't take the money, madam," protested Tom, his face scarlet with surprise and mortification.
"Don't believe him, ma'am. I saw him take it," said Vincent virtuously.
Poor Tom looked from one to another; butall faces were unfriendly. It was a critical time for him.
Toone who is scrupulously honest a sudden charge of dishonesty is almost overwhelming. Now, Tom was honest, not so much because he had been taught that honesty was a virtue, as by temperament and instinct. Yet here he saw himself surrounded by hostile faces, for a crowd soon collected. Not one believed in his innocence, not even the lady, who thought it was such a pity that he was "so young and yet so wicked."
"Will somebody call a policeman?" asked Vincent.
A policeman soon made his appearance. He was a stout, burly man, and pushed his way through the crowd without ceremony.
"What's the row?" he inquired.
"This boy has picked a lady's pocket," exclaimed Vincent.
The officer placed his hand roughly on Tom's shoulder.
"You were a little too smart, young feller!" said he. "You must come along with me."
"I didn't take the money," protested Tom, pale, but in a firm voice.
"That's too thin," said Vincent, with a sneer.
"Yes, it's too thin," repeated two or three in the crowd.
"It's true," said Tom.
"Perhaps you'll tell us how the money came in your pocket," suggested a bystander.
"That man put it in," answered Tom, indicating Vincent.
The latter shrugged his shoulders.
"He says so, because I exposed him," he remarked, turning to the crowd.
"Of course; that's a common game," interposed the policeman.
"Have you any reason for what you say, my boy?" asked a quiet-looking man, with a pleasant face.
"Of course he hasn't," replied Vincent hastily.
"I spoke to the boy, sir."
"I have a reason," answered Tom. "A friend of this man roomed with me at Pittsburg, and during the night tried to rob me. We were both passengers on theRiver Belleon the last trip. During the trip he entered our stateroom, and stole a wallet from my roommate. This man slyly put it into my pocket, in order to escape suspicion."
"It's a lie!" exclaimed Vincent uneasily. "Gentlemen, the boy is very artful, and the greatest liar out."
"Of course he is!" assented the policeman. "Come along, young feller!"
"Wait a minute," said the quiet man. "Have you any proof of your statements, my boy, except your own word?"
"Yes, sir; my roommate will tell you the same thing."
"Who is he? Where can he be found?"
"He is Mr. Nicholas Waterbury, of Marietta. He is now at the Burnet House."
"That's all gammon!" said the officer roughly. "Come along. I can't wait here all day."
"Don't be in a hurry, officer," said the quietman. "I know Mr. Waterbury, and I believe the boy's story is correct."
"It ain't any of your business!" said the officer insolently. "The boy's a thief, and I'm goin' to lock him up."
"Look out, sir!" said the quiet man sternly. "You are overstepping the limits of your duty, and asserting what you have no possible means of knowing. There is reason to believe that this man"—pointing out Vincent—"is the real thief. I call upon you to arrest him."
"I don't receive no orders from you, sir," said the policeman. "I'm more likely to take you along."
"That's right, officer," said Vincent approvingly. "The man is interfering with you in the exercise of your duty. You have a perfect right to arrest him."
"I have a great mind to," said the officer, who was one of the many who are puffed up by a little brief authority, and lose no opportunity of exercising it.
The quiet man did not seem in the least alarmed. He smiled, and said, "Perhaps, officer, it might be well for you to inquire my name, before proceeding to arrest me."
"Who are you?" demanded the officer insolently.
"I am Alderman Morris."
A great change came over the policeman. He knew now that the quiet man before him was President of the Board of Aldermen, and he began to be alarmed, remembering with what rudeness he had treated him.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said humbly; "I didn't know you."
"What is your name, sir?" demanded the alderman, in a tone of authority.
"Jones, sir."
"How long have you been on the force?"
"Six months, your honor."
"Then you ought to be better fitted for your position by this time."
"I hope you won't take no offense at what I said, not knowing you, alderman."
"That's no personal offense, but I object to your pronouncing upon the guilt of parties arrested when you know nothing of the matter."
"Shall I take the boy along, sir?"
"Yes, and this man also. I don't wish tointerfere with the exercise of justice, but it is my opinion that the boy is innocent."
"I protest against this outrage," said Vincent nervously. "Am I to be punished because I expose a thief?"
"Come along, sir," said the policeman. "The alderman says so."
"I appeal to the gentlemen present," said Vincent, hoping for a forcible deliverance.
"Madam," said the alderman to the lady who had been robbed, "did you see the boy take your pocketbook?"
"No, sir! I thought it was the man, till he told me it was the boy, and the money was found on the boy."
"I should think that told the story," said Vincent. "Any man here might be arrested as soon as I. Fellow citizens, is this a free country, where a man of reputation can be summarily arrested at the bidding of another? If so, I would rather live under a monarchy."
There was a murmur of approval, and some sympathy was excited.
"There will be no injustice done, sir," said the alderman. "I propose to follow up thismatter myself. I will see my friend, Mr. Waterbury, and I can soon learn whether the boy's story is correct."
"He may lie, too!" said Vincent, who had very good reasons for fearing Mr. Waterbury's testimony.
"Mr. Waterbury is a gentleman of veracity," said Alderman Morris sharply. "I see you recognize the name."
"Never heard of him," said Vincent. "I suppose it is one of the boy's confederates."
"I will answer for him," said the alderman. "My boy," he said, "I hope we shall be able to prove your innocence. Be under no anxiety. Go with the officer, and I will seek out Mr. Waterbury. Officer, take care to treat him gently."
"All right, sir."
There was no fear now that Tom would be roughly treated. He had too much regard for his own interest, and his tenure of office, to disoblige a man so influential and powerful as Alderman Morris.
Notwithstanding there had been such a turn in his favor, Tom felt humiliated to feel that he was under restraint, and his cheeks burnedwith shame as he walked beside the officer. Vincent, upon the other side, gnashed his teeth with rage, as he thought of his unexpected detention. Just as revenge was in his grasp, he had been caught in the same trap which he had so willingly set for Tom.
"That Alderman Morris is a fool!" he said. "He isn't fit to be in office."
"Don't you say nothin' against him!" said the policeman. "It won't be best for you. He's one of our leadin' citizens, Alderman Morris is."
"He snubbed you!" sneered Vincent. "He talked to you as if you were a dog."
"No, he didn't. You'd better shut up, prisoner."
"Oh, well, if you're willing to be trampled upon, it isn't any of my business. I wouldn't stand it, alderman or no alderman. Such things wouldn't be allowed in New York, where I live."
"Oh, New York's a model city, so I've heard," retorted the policeman, in a tone of sarcasm. "We don't pretend to come up to New York."
Finding that nothing was to be gained bycontinuing his attacks upon the alderman, Vincent became silent; but his brain was active. He felt that Mr. Waterbury's testimony would be fatal to him. He must escape, if possible. Soon a chance came. He seized his opportunity, shook off the grasp of the officer, and darted away. Not knowing what to do with Tom, who was also under arrest, the officer paused an instant, then, leaving our hero, hastened in pursuit.
"Now's your chance to escape, boy!" said a sympathetic bystander to him.
"I don't want to escape," answered Tom. "I want my innocence proved. I shall stay where I am till the officer returns."
And he kept his word. Ten minutes later the officer came back, puffing and panting, after an unsuccessful pursuit; prepared to find Tom gone also.
"What, are you there?" he asked, staring in wonder.
"Yes," said Tom; "I don't want to escape. I shall come out right."
"I believe you will," said the officer, with a revulsion of sentiment in Tom's favor. "Just walk along beside me, and I won't takehold of you. I'm not afraid of your running away now."
Tomhad not been long in the station-house when Alderman Morris, accompanied by Mr. Waterbury, entered. The latter looked at Tom with a humorous smile.
"You don't appear to get along very well without my guardianship, Tom," he said.
"No, sir," answered Tom. "The trouble is, some of my other friends can't let me alone."
"Was it in a fit of emotional insanity that you relieved the lady of her pocketbook?" asked Mr. Waterbury, bent on keeping up the joke.
"If I ever do such a thing, you may be sure it is because I am insane," answered Tom positively.
"I shall," said Mr. Waterbury seriously."Now, where is this precious acquaintance of ours who got you into this scrape?"
"He has escaped."
"Escaped!" exclaimed the alderman hastily. "How is that?"
Here the policeman took up the story, and explained that Vincent had taken advantage of his double charge to effect his escape.
"I suppose, officer," said Mr. Waterbury, "that you were unwilling to leave Tom in order to pursue him."
"I did leave him, sir, and didn't expect to find him when I got back. But there he was, waiting for me as quietly as—anything."
"Didn't you feel tempted to escape, too, my boy?"
"Why should I, sir? I had done nothing; I had nothing to fear."
"Innocence is not always a protection, for justice is sometimes far from clear-sighted. In the present case, however, I think you will not suffer for your confidence."
Tom was not brought to trial. Mr. Waterbury's statement of what had passed on the voyage of theRiver Bellewas held to be sufficient to establish Tom's innocence, and hewas allowed to walk out with Mr. Waterbury.
"Have you anything to do this morning, Tom?" asked his friend.
"No, sir."
"Then come around and dine with me at the Burnet House. Afterward we will call upon your friends, the Watsons."
Mrs. Watson and Jennie had altered their plans and gone to a boarding-house, preferring that to a hotel.
"That will be agreeable to me, sir."
The dinner was excellent, and Tom did full justice to it.
"At one time this morning, Tom, it looked as if you would dine at quite a different place," said Mr. Waterbury, when they were eating the dessert.
"Yes, sir."
"You won't think much of Cincinnati's hospitality, eh, Tom?"
"Any place would be the same, where Vincent was," returned Tom.
"Very true; he and Graham will bring discredit on any city which they adopt as a home. How long shall you remain here?"
"I should like to stay long enough to seesomething of the city, but I cannot afford it. I must reach California as soon as possible."
"No doubt you are right, in your circumstances. I have been inquiring for you, and find that St. Joseph, in Missouri, is the usual starting-point for travelers across the plains. I find an acquaintance here in the hotel, who will start to-morrow for that place. I have mentioned you to him, and he says he shall be glad to have your company so far. Whether you keep together afterward will depend upon yourselves."
"I shall be glad to have company, sir," said Tom. Though manly and self-reliant, he realized that it was quite a serious undertaking for a boy of his age to make the trip alone. He was not sure of meeting with another friend like Mr. Waterbury, and there might be danger of falling in with another brace of worthies like Graham and Vincent.
"My friend's name is Ferguson—a Scotchman, rather sedate, but entirely trustworthy. I will introduce you this evening."
"Thank you, sir."
After dinner they walked to Mrs. Watson's boarding-house. Somewhere on Vine Street,Mr. Waterbury paused in front of a jewelry store.
"I want to step in here a minute, Tom," he said.
"Certainly, sir."
Tom remained near the door, while Mr. Waterbury went into the back part of the store, where he was occupied for a few minutes with one of the proprietors. When he came back he held a small box in his hand.
"Please carry this for me, Tom," he said.
"With pleasure, sir."
They went out into the street together.
"Do you know what is in the box, Tom?" asked Mr. Waterbury.
"No, sir," answered our hero, a little surprised at the question.
"You didn't see what I was buying, then?" continued Mr. Waterbury.
"No, sir; I was watching the crowds on the sidewalk."
"If you have any curiosity, you may open the box."
Previously Tom had felt no curiosity. Now he did feel a little.
Opening the box, his eye rested on a neat silver watch, with a chain attached. The case was a pretty one, and Tom glanced at it with approval.
"It is very pretty, sir," he said; "but I thought you had a watch already."
"I didn't buy it for myself."
"For your son?" asked Tom innocently.
Mr. Waterbury smiled.
"I thought of asking your acceptance of it," he said.
"You don't mean that you are going to give it to me, sir?" said Tom eagerly.
"If you will accept it."
"How kind you are, Mr. Waterbury!" exclaimed Tom gratefully. "There is nothing in the world that I should like so much. How can I thank you?"
"By considering it a proof of my interest in you. I was sure you would like it. Before I had reached your age the great object of my ambition was a watch. I received one from my uncle, as a gift, on my seventeenth birthday. I believe I looked at it once in five minutes on an average during the first day."
"I dare say it will be so with me, sir," saidTom, who, at the moment, had the watch in his hand, examining it.
"As you are to rough it, I thought it best to get you a hunting-case watch, because it will be less liable to injury. When you become a man I hope you will be prosperous enough to buy a gold watch and chain, if you prefer them. While you are a boy silver will be good enough."
"Gold wouldn't correspond very well with my circumstances," said Tom. "I didn't dream of even having a silver watch and chain for years to come. I shall write home this evening, and tell mother of my good luck."
"Will you mention that you have already been under arrest?" asked Mr. Waterbury, smiling.
Tom shook his head.
"I am not proud of that," he answered; "and it would only trouble them at home to have an account of it. When I get home, I may mention it sometime."
"Better put on your watch and chain, Tom, before we reach Mrs. Watson's."
Tom needed no second invitation.
"It's lucky mother put a watch-pocket inmy vest," he said. "We didn't either of us suppose there would be any occasion for it; but I asked her to do it."
In a nice-looking brick boarding-house—for brown-stone houses were not then often to be found—Tom and his friend found Mrs. Watson and Jennie.
"I'm so glad to see you, Tom," said Jennie. "I've missed you awfully."
"Thank you," said Tom. "I've come to bid you good-by."
"Good-by! You don't mean that?"
"I expect to start for St. Joseph to-morrow. I am in a hurry to get to California."
"That's real mean. I don't see why you can't stay in Cincinnati a week."
"I should like to."
"Then why don't you?" persisted the young girl.
"Jennie," said her mother, "we must remember that Thomas is not traveling for pleasure. He is going to California to seek his fortune. It won't do for him to linger on his way."
"A week won't make much difference; will it, Tom?"
"I am afraid it will, Jennie. Besides, a friend of Mr. Waterbury will start to-morrow, and has agreed to take me with him."
"I suppose you've got to go, then," said Jennie regretfully. "Oh, where did you get that watch, Tom?"
"A kind friend gave it to me."
"Who do you mean—Mr. Graham?" she asked archly.
"He would be more likely to relieve me of it. No, it is Mr. Waterbury."
"I am going to kiss you for that, Mr. Waterbury," said Jennie impulsively; and she suited the action to the word.
"What will Mr. Waterbury think, Jennie?" said her mother.
"He thinks himself well repaid for his gift," answered that gentleman, smiling; "and half inclined to give Tom another watch."
"Isn't it my turn, now?" asked Tom, with a courage at which he afterward rather wondered; but he was fast getting rid of his country bashfulness.
"I never kiss boys," said Jennie demurely.
"Then I will grow into a man as fast as I can," said Tom, "and give somebody a watch,and then—— But that will be a good while to wait."
"I may kiss you good-by," said Jennie, "if I feel like it."
She did feel like it, and Tom received the kiss.
"It strikes me, Tom," said Mr. Waterbury, as they were walking home, "that you and Jennie are getting along fast."
"She kissed you first," said Tom, blushing.
"But the kiss she gave me was wholly on your account."
"She seems just like a sister," said Tom. "She's a tip-top girl."
Thenext day Tom started on his way. His new companion, Donald Ferguson, was a sedate Scotchman, and a thoroughly reliableman. He was possessed to the full of the frugality characteristic of the race to which he belonged, and, being more accustomed to traveling than Tom, saved our hero something in the matter of expense. He was always ready to talk of Scotland, which he evidently thought the finest country in the world. He admitted that Glasgow was not as large a city as London, but that it was more attractive. As for New York, that city bore no comparison to the chief city of Scotland.
"You must go to Scotland some time, Tom," he said. "If you can't visit but one country in the Old World, go to Scotland."
Privately Tom was of opinion that he should prefer to visit England; but he did not venture to hurt the feelings of his fellow-traveler by saying so.
"I wonder, Mr. Ferguson," he could not help saying one day, "that you should have been willing to leave Scotland, since you so much prefer it to America."
"I'll tell you, my lad," answered the Scotchman. "I would rather live in Scotland than anywhere else on God's footstool; but I won't be denying that it is a poor place for a man tomake money, if compared with a new country like this."
"There are no gold-mines, I suppose, sir?"
"No; and the land is not as rich as the land here. It is rich in historical associations; but a man, you know, can't live on those," he added shrewdly.
"No, I should think not," said Tom. "It would be pretty dry diet. How long have you been in the country, Mr. Ferguson?"
"A matter of three months only, my lad. It's the gold-mines that brought me over. I read of them in the papers at home, and I took the first ship across the Atlantic."
"Have you a family, Mr. Ferguson?"
"I've got an old mother at home, my lad, who looks to me for support. I left fifty pounds with her when I came away. It'll last her, I'm thinkin', till I can send her some from California."
"Then Mr. Ferguson, you are like me," said Tom. "I am going to California to work for my father and mother. Father is poor, and I have brothers and sisters at home to provide for. I hope I shall succeed, for their sake."
"You will, my lad," said the Scotchman, in a tone of calm confidence. "It is a noble purpose, and if you keep to it God will bless you in your undertaking, and give you a good fortune."
"I hope we shall both be fortunate."
"I have no fear. I put my trust in the Lord, who is always ready to help those who are working for him."
Tom found that Mr. Ferguson, though his manner was dry and unattractive, was a religious man, and he respected and esteemed him for his excellent traits. He was not a man to inspire warm affection, but no one could fail to respect him. He felt that he was fortunate in having such a man for his companion, and he was glad that Mr. Ferguson appeared to like him in turn.
He also found that the Scotchman, though a man of peace, and very much averse to quarreling, was by no means deficient in the trait of personal courage.
One evening they arrived at a small tavern in a Missouri town. Neither Tom nor his companion particularly liked the appearance of the place nor its frequenters, but it appearedto be the only place of entertainment in the settlement.
The barroom, which was the only public room set apart for the use of the guests, was the resort of a party of drunken roisterers, who were playing poker in the corner, and betting on the game. At the elbow of each player was set a glass of whisky, and the end of each game was marked by a fresh glass all around.
Tom and Mr. Ferguson took a walk after supper, and then sat down quietly at a little distance from the card-players, attracting at first but little attention from them.
Presently, at the close of a game, glasses were ordered for the party, at the expense of those who had suffered defeat.
"What'll you have, strangers?" inquired a tipsy fellow, with an Indian complexion and long black hair, staggering toward Ferguson.
"Thank you, sir," said the Scotchman; "but I don't drink."
"Don't drink!" exclaimed the former, in evident surprise. "What sort of a man, pray, may you be?"
"I am a temperance man," said Ferguson,adding indiscreetly, "and it would be well for you all if you would shun the vile liquor which is destroying soul and body."
"—— your impudence!" ejaculated the other, in a rage. "Do you dare to insult gentlemen like us?"
"I never insult anybody," said the Scotchman calmly. "What I have said is for your good, and you would admit it if you were sober."
"Do you dare to say I'm drunk?" demanded the man, in a fury.
"Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, in a low voice, "I wouldn't provoke him if I were you."
But the Scotchman was no coward, and, though generally prudent, he was too fond of argument to yield the point.
"Of course, you're drunk," he said calmly. "If you will reflect, you show all the signs of a man that has taken too much liquor. Your face is flushed, your hand is unsteady, and——"
He was interrupted by a volley of execrations from the man whom he was coolly describing, and the latter, in a fit of fury, struck the Scotchman in the face. Had the blow beenwell directed it would, for the time, have marred the small share of personal beauty with which nature had endowed Mr. Ferguson; but it glanced aside and just struck him on his prominent cheek-bone.
"A ring! a ring!" shouted the men in the corner, jumping to their feet in excitement. "Let Jim and the Scotchman fight it out."
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Ferguson, "I don't wish to fight with your friend. He is drunk, as you can see plainly enough. I don't wish to fight with a drunken man."
"Who says I am drunk?" demanded the champion of whisky. "Let me get at him."
But his friends were now holding him back. They wanted to see a square fight, according to rule. It would prove, in their opinion, a pleasant little excitement.
"I meant no offense," said Ferguson; "I only told the truth."
"You are a —— liar!" exclaimed the man, known as Jim.
"I do not heed the words of a man in your condition," said the Scotchman calmly.
"Pull his nose, Jim! Make him fight!" exclaimedthe friends of the bully. "We'll back you!"
The hint was taken. Jim staggered forward, and, seizing the Scotchman's prominent nose, gave it a violent tweak.
Now there are few men, with or without self-respect, who can calmly submit to an insult like this. Certainly Mr. Donald Ferguson was not one of them. The color mantled his high cheek-bones, and anger gained dominion over him. He sprang to his feet, grasped the bully in his strong arms, dashed him backward upon the floor of the barroom, and, turning to the companions of the fallen man, he said, "Now come on, if you want to fight. I'll take you one by one, and fight the whole of you, if you like."
Instead of being angry, they applauded his pluck. They cared little for the fate of their champion, but were impressed by the evident strength of the stranger.
"Stranger," said one of them, "you've proved that you're a man of honor. We thought you were a coward. It's a pity you don't drink. What may your name be?"
"Donald Ferguson."
"Then, boys, here's to the health of Mr. Ferguson. He's a bully boy, and no coward."
"Gentlemen," said the Scotchman, "it's a compliment you mean, no doubt, and I'm suitably thankful. If you'll allow me, I'll drink your health in a liquor which will not injure any one. I'll wish you health and prosperity in a glass of cold water, if the barkeeper happens to have any of that beverage handy. Tom, join with me in the toast."
Tom did so, and the speech was well received.
"As for this gentleman," said Mr. Ferguson, addressing Jim, who had struggled to his feet, and was surveying the scene in rather a bewildered way, "I hope he won't harbor malice; I've only got even with him. We may as well forgive and forget."
"That's the talk! Jim, drink the stranger's health!"
Jim looked a little doubtful, but when a glass of whisky was put into his hand he could not resist the seductive draft, and tossed it down.
"Now shake hands!" said one of the players.
"With all my heart," said Ferguson, and the two shook hands, to the great delight of the company.
"You got off pretty well, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, when they retired for the night.
"Yes, my lad, better than I expected. I thought once I would have to fight the whole pack. Poor fellows! I pity them. They are but slaves to their appetites. I hope, my lad, you'll never yield to a like temptation."
"No fear for me, Mr. Ferguson. I feel as you do on the subject."
The journey continued till one day, about noon, they reached the town of St, Joseph, popularly called St. Joe.