There is something rather peculiar about the fact that troubles of any sort never seem to come singly. This has been noticed by almost every person of wide experience, and the idea is crystallized in the proverb: "It never rains but it pours." The adage certainly held true in Fred's case.
Only a few days after the occurrence related in the preceding chapter, and when Fred had begun to feel a little more at ease in his mind, he was called up sharply one night by his employer, who said to him:
"Fred, what have you done with the twenty dollar bill that was in this drawer?"
"I have seen no such bill there to-day, sir," replied the clerk.
"You have seen no such bill, do you say? I took a new twenty dollar bill of James D. Atwood this afternoon, when he settled his account, and I put it in this drawer," pointing to the open cash drawer before him.
"It seems queer, sir; but I am sure that I have not paid it out or seen it. Didn't you giveit to Woodman and Hardy's man when you paid him some money to-day?"
"No!" replied the merchant nervously, "he was here early in the afternoon, before I took the bill. There has been no one to the cash drawer but you and myself—unless you neglected your business and allowed some scoundrel in behind the counter while I was at tea."
Fred flushed up at this intimation that he might have been false to his trust, and replied, with some show of injured feeling:
"Mr. Rexford, if any money has been lost, I am sorry for you; but as I said, I know nothing about it. You say you took in a twenty dollar bill, and that now it is gone. If a mistake has occurred in making change, I don't know why it should be laid to me any more than yourself, for I am as careful as I can be."
"Do you mean to say, young man, that I have made a mistake of this size in making change?"
"I simply say, there must be a mistake somewhere. Have you figured up your cash account to know just how it stands?"
Mr. Rexford had not figured it up, but on discovering that the bill was missing, and noticing that there was little increase in the other money, he jumped to the conclusion that the drawer was twenty dollars short. But on carefully going over his cash and sales accounts, and reckoningthe money on hand, he found that there was just eighteen dollars missing.
This discovery only added mystery to the already perplexing matter. It certainly looked now as though some cunning method had been employed to swindle him.
The merchant's brow contracted at the thought, and after a few moments he said, in an excited and angry manner:
"Worthington, you know about that bill, and are trying to deceive me. I can see no way but that you took it during my absence, and in trying to cover up your act put two dollars in the drawer; but, young man, I'd have you know that such tricks can't be played on me!"
The flush that had appeared upon Fred's face was now gone, and in its stead appeared the paleness of anger. He stepped squarely up to his accuser, and said, in a determined tone:
"Do you mean to say that I stole your money? If you mean that, sir, you say what is false, and you shall——"
"No, no; I don't—er—er—I won't say that—but—but be calm and let me see!"
"Do you withdraw your accusation, then?" demanded the youth, whose manner was such that Rexford was glad, for the time being, to retract his statement, or make any admission whatever, for he saw that in the boy's eyes whichwarned him to adopt a more conciliatory policy and to do it speedily.
He consequently retreated from his position, and assured Fred that he had spoken too hastily in accusing him. He also moved cautiously backward to another part of the store, doubtless feeling that the air would circulate more freely between them if they were some distance apart; then he added:
"But the bill is gone, and as I have not paid it out, I want it accounted for."
"No doubt you do," said Fred. "I should like to know where it is myself. As long as you put it on that ground I will not object, but you shall not charge me squarely with committing a theft."
"No, I won't charge you directly with taking it, but I have my opinion as to where it has gone," rejoined Rexford, with an insinuating air.
Fred knew well what that opinion was; but it was beyond his power to challenge it while unexpressed, and he could not at that time change it by proving his innocence, so he replied:
"Very well, you can think as you like, if that gives you any satisfaction."
"Yes, yes; very good! But I will get my satisfaction, not in thinking, but in acting! You were hired as my clerk, and it was yourduty to work for my interest, and look out for this store in my absence. As this bill disappeared while under your charge, I shall hold you responsible for it," said the merchant, as he rubbed his thin, bony hands together.
This made the color again change in Fred's face, which, being noticed by Rexford, influenced him to move a few paces nearer to the door, as he possibly thought it still a little warm for his comfort, while young Worthington exclaimed:
"You will never get a cent of my money for this purpose! Now you just remember that!"
"Not so fast, young man! You forget that I owe you about fifteen dollars, and I'll keep that amount in partial payment for this loss. Don't think you are going to get ahead of me quite so easy!"
"I'm not trying to get ahead of you, but I want my rights and what is due me, and I will have both. I don't more than half believe there was a twenty dollar bill here at all! It is one of your mean tricks to beat me out of my money. It is not much more, sir, than I have seen you do by customers—adulterating goods, giving short weight and measures, and——"
"Stop there! you vil—er—insinuating rascal," yelled the proprietor, in a rage, his limbs and features twitching nervously. "Do you mean to say that I cheat my customers, and——"
"Yes, that is just what I mean," replied Fred firmly.
"I'll have you arrested at once. I won't be insulted by such a scamp!"
"Be careful whom you call a scamp!" said Fred, while Rexford again edged off. "I'd like to have you arrest me, for then I could tell things about you and your store that would make a stir in this village! What if some of the folks find out that the XXX St. Louis brand of flour, for which they pay you ten dollars a barrel, is a cheap grade that you bought in plain barrels and stamped yourself? Now do you want to arrest me? If you do there are many other things I can tell, and I wouldn't pass your accounts by either. I know something of what has been going on here—more than you think, perhaps."
These rapid and earnest utterances from young Worthington wrought a complete change in the merchant. They alarmed him, for he saw that the boy had the advantage, and out of policy he must stop matters before they became any worse. So he said, in a humble and subdued tone:
"Fred, it's no use for us to quarrel about this. You know it is not proper for you to go outside and tell your employer's business, and——"
"I know it is not, and I would only do so to defend myself; but when you threaten to keepmy money, and to have me arrested, then I will show what kind of a man is trying to take advantage of me."
"Very well, then, if I pay you your money, you will say nothing about the business of this store, I suppose?"
"No, I will say nothing about what I have just mentioned, unless I should be put on trial; then, of course, I should be obliged to testify."
"You will not be put on trial. I take you at your word—your word of honor," added the merchant impressively.
"Yes, my word of honor!" repeated Fred, "and that means that your secrets are safe."
The wily Rexford had now gained his point—Fred's promise—and he quickly changed front and cried:
"Well, there's your money—fifteen dollars—now consider yourself discharged from my employ!"
"'Discharged,' did you say, sir?" ejaculated Fred, utterly taken aback at this sudden turn of events.
"I said 'discharged,'" repeated the merchant, fidgeting about; "you know what the word means, I presume?"
Fred did know what it meant. It meant more than Rexford's narrow spirit could even comprehend. It meant disgrace, perhaps ruin.
Fred took the money, the few bills, the last he would earn in the old store, and stood for a moment turning them over listlessly—evidently not counting them, but as if to aid him in solving the problem that rested heavily upon his mind.
"Isn't the money all right?" asked the merchant, finally.
"Mr. Rexford," said Fred, not noticing the inquiry, "I want you to tell me if I lost my place on account of that missing bill."
"That is exactly why," replied the merchant, "for I have always been satisfied with your work. Had you never got into that drunken scrape, though, I probably should not have thought so much of it, even if I could see no way in which to account for the mystery."
Fred felt it a cruel injustice that he should be discharged and disgraced simply on the suspicion of a crime of which he was, in fact, entirely innocent: still he could see that the merchant had some grounds for his distrust, for when a boy once gets a stain upon his character it is almost impossible to utterly efface it. It may be forgotten for a time, but if any untoward circumstance afterward arises, the remembrance of the old misdeed comes speedily to the surface and combines with later developments to work injury to him. Thus my readers can see the greatimportance of always doing what is right, thereby keeping their reputations unsullied.
Had Fred not fallen a victim to De Vere's revengeful plot, he would have been saved the shame that caused him so much misery; he would have retained the good opinion of the people of Mapleton; he would not have forfeited a certain very desirable friendship; and he would, in all probability, have held his position with Mr. Rexford, regardless of the mysterious disappearance of the bill.
Our young friend left the store where he had worked hard and faithfully, and where he was gaining an insight into a business, the knowledge of which, he hoped, would some day enable him to become an active and prosperous merchant. But now, alas! he had been discharged and sent away in disgrace.
Fred started for home with a more sorrowful heart than he had ever known before. His last chance of success seemed, for a time, to be gone. The villagers would now lose all faith in him, he would have no friends, and even his father and mother might doubt his honesty. It would be useless for him to try for a situation in another store, when it became known why he was discharged from John Rexford's.
It was not surprising that young Worthington was so cast down, while the shock was fresh uponhim, for there seemed now to be no way by which he could build himself up. But in this country there is always a chance for an honest, ambitious, and determined boy to succeed by careful thought, patient endurance, and hard work. Sometimes, to be sure, one can see very little ahead to encourage him to push on and hope to come out victorious. This is the very point at which many fail. They cannot stand up "under fire," but fall back when by sufficient will force they might win a decisive victory in the battle of life.
When Fred reached home, wearing a most dejected look, Mrs. Worthington exclaimed:
"Why, my son, what brings you home so early? I hope you are not ill!"
"No, I'm well enough, mother, but I'm tired of trying to amount to anything."
"What has happened now?" exclaimed the mother, with an alarmed expression on her face.
"I have been discharged by Mr. Rexford, on suspicion of having stolen money from the store."
"Stolen money!" uttered both parents simultaneously, as they grew pale at the terrible thought.
"Yes, that is what I am charged with, though I know nothing about the missing money. That is what makes it so hard to bear."
"Tell me the particulars," said the anxious father; whereupon his son related all that had taken place between himself and the merchant—all save that which related to Rexford's sharp practices, of which he had promised to say nothing.
After the story was finished, all were silent for a time. Both mother and boy looked heart sick, and gazed wistfully into the blaze that burned brightly in the open grate, as if they might discover there the secret of the mystery, while the father sat with knitted brows, studying carefully the statements which Fred had made.
At length he broke the silence, and said:
"My son, you have never deceived me. You came to your mother and me with true manhood, and told us of your first disgrace, while many boys would have tried hard to keep it from their parents. Though I never had reason to suspect you of wrong doing, yet that voluntary act upon your part proved to me that you had the courage to do right and own the truth. Now something has taken place that seems worse than the other; but as you say you are innocent, I believe it, and think that some great mistake has been made. I don't know where it can be, but we must try to clear it up."
Though these were welcome words to Fred, he was much cast down notwithstanding.
"But, father," he replied, "the people will all believe me guilty when they see I am out of the store, and learn the circumstances."
"It is far better for you, my boy, that they should suppose you guilty, when you are conscious of your innocence, than that the whole world should believe you innocent, if you were really guilty."
"Well, I don't see how we can show that I did not take the money."
"Neither do I, at present; but time will straighten this matter, as it does almost everything. Don't expect that we can accomplish much while we are sitting here and talking about it."
"What shall we do, then, father?"
"Wait until we can see how to proceed."
"Well, I don't see any way; and, besides, I am about discouraged, now this is added to the other disgrace; and to think that I am not responsible for either!" exclaimed Fred, with deep emotion.
"I think you were responsible, to a certain extent, for the first," said his father.
"How was I responsible when De Vere led me into it, and had my drink adulterated?"
"You were to be blamed for going to the bar at all. You should not have been influenced by such a fellow as that scamp."
"Yes, I know I didn't do right in that respect, but I had no reason to suppose that such a result would follow."
"One hardly ever does when he is being led on to do some wrong act by a crafty villain."
"Matthew probably would have had his revenge in some other way, if he had not succeeded in his first trial."
"Very true; but had it been in some other form, it might have been shown that he was the guilty party; whereas now it would seem that you were the author of your own misfortune, while the real agent of the occurrence goes unsuspected, and exults in your downfall."
"I thought he wanted to be friends with me, so I tried not to displease him."
"Well, I hope that affair will be a valuable lesson to you. It has certainly proved itself a costly one. You should learn to look at the motives of people, and not trust them too far, simply because they smile upon you once and seem friendly. I don't think that your judgment was very keen, or you would have seen through De Vere's sudden change of manner when you had reason to suppose he would maintain a more hostile attitude than ever."
"Don't be too hard upon him, Samuel," interrupted Mrs. Worthington, who saw that Fred was growing restive under his father's rebukes.
"I am not trying to be hard upon him," replied her husband, "but simply wish to bring this matter before him in a way that will enable him to make the most of this experience. I want to teach him to avoid such errors in the future; for this is an almost fatal mistake in his case, which will follow him for years, and will, so far as I can see, change his whole life's career."
"Why, how is that, father?" inquired Fred, in a half frightened voice.
"It is simply this: your mother and I always intended that you should become a merchant. We instilled that idea into you from a child, and as you grew older, to our satisfaction you showed a decided taste for such a life. At last I got you a place in a store where I thought you could build yourself up, and, in course of time, go into business for yourself. You showed an aptitude for the work, and Mr. Rexford assured me that you were one of the very best clerks that ever worked for him. This, however, was before he was led to suspect you because of the De Vere affair. Now you have been discharged by him on the suspicion of having stolen money from his drawer. Under these circumstances, no one in town would take you into his store as clerk; so you may as well give up, first as last, the idea of becoming a trader."
"Couldn't I get a place in Boston, or somewhere else?"
"I think not; and if you could, I should not be willing to have you go away from home."
"Why not, father? Wouldn't it be better than for me to stay here, where I can get nothing to do?"
"No, my son; you are too young to go away from home, where you would have no one to look after you, and where you would be subject to many evil influences."
"Here every one will think I am a thief, and probably my friends will not speak to me," added Fred, in a more sorrowful tone than ever.
"So much the more reason why you should remain here. Were you to go away now, the people would surely think you guilty. No, no, my son! You must stay here, where circumstances have conspired against you, and show by your life that you are innocent. Then, too, by living here, you can gather evidence that may be of value to you."
"Where can I get any evidence?"
"You can give it, if you can't get it," replied his father, "by going to work tomorrow morning, and thus showing your good intentions."
"There is nothing to do in this dull town that I know of."
"There is always something to be done. Butwork won't come to you; you must look it up. The important thing with you now is to find something to do; for nothing so injures a boy or man in the sight of others as loafing."
"Can't I be with you in the shop, father?"
"No, I don't want you to learn a shoemaker's trade. If I had been in some other business, I might, perhaps, have been rich now. Shoemaking doesn't afford one much chance to rise, however hard he works. You will have to give up the idea of being a merchant, for the present, at least, and perhaps forever; so I want you to engage in something where your opportunities for advancement will not be limited as mine have been. No matter if you have to commence at the very bottom of the ladder; you can build yourself up by hard and intelligent work."
Fred now began to brighten up a little, and after some further conversation with his father and mother, in which they tried to encourage him as much as possible, he said:
"Father, you know I have always had an ambition to be somebody. When I saw that De Vere was trying to turn my friends against me, because I was a poor man's son, I made up my mind that I would push ahead harder than ever; but now"—he spoke with a good deal of determination and force for a boy—"I will succeed if I have to work day and night to accomplish it."
The village of Mapleton had but three manufacturing industries: a lumber mill, where logs were sawed up into various dimensions; a box shop, in which were made wooden boxes of many different sizes and shapes; and a large woolen factory. After leaving home, Fred went directly to the agent of the lumber mill and tried to get a chance to work for him, but in this he was unsuccessful. At the box shop he likewise received no encouragement, for there they needed no help. So there was but one more place left to try—that was the woolen factory, where he might still find a vacancy.
The idea of becoming a factory hand, after having been behind the counter as clerk, was repulsive to him; still he must do something; anything was better than idleness. Consequently he went to the mill, and climbed four long flights of stairs, which took him to the top of the building. Here he opened a large, heavy iron door, and entered the spinning room, down which he passed until he came to the overseer's desk.
The latter—a large, gruff, red faced man—was not there at the time, but on spying Fred he hurriedly came forward and demanded to know the boy's business. On being informed that employment was wanted, he said he needed no help, and indicated by his manner that he wished to be bothered no further.
Young Worthington now dropped down a flight and tried to get work in the card room, but with no success. On the next floor below was the weaving room, and here he soon learned that the overseer considered that he could get along very successfully without his help.
But two more departments—the finishing and the dyeing rooms—remained to be visited, and then the ordeal would be over.
As the boy descended the stairs to the former, he had very little hope of accomplishing his purpose, for thus far he had received no encouragement whatever.
Fred knew the gentleman in charge of the department perfectly well, for he was his Sunday school teacher, and moreover, was the father of his friend Dave; nevertheless he passed down the long hall with many a misgiving, and approaching the overseer timidly, said:
"Good morning, Mr. Farrington."
"Good morning, Fred," said the latter cordially. "What brings you here this morning?"
"I came in, sir," replied Fred, with an evident sense of humiliation, "to see if you could give me work in your department."
"Why, you can't mean it! You have not left the store, I hope?"
"Yes, I do mean that I want a job, and I am sorry to say I got through in the store last night."
"You surprise me! What could have been the trouble?"
Fred knew he was now talking to a large hearted, sympathetic man, and one who had always seemed to take a keen interest in his welfare, so he related the entire incident.
Mr. Farrington watched him closely as he recited what had taken place at the store, and then the kind hearted man expressed, both by words and manner, his regret that matters should have taken such a turn. "My boy, don't look so discouraged," he said. "I will do what I can to help you. Mr. Rexford should not have judged you so hastily; from what you tell me, I can't see that he has any good proof that you are guilty."
"I am certain that I am not guilty, but how can I prove my innocence?"
"Ah, that may be difficult, as it is a mysterious affair. But I believe you have told me the truth, and I shall do all I can to help you in every way."
Our young friend brightened up somewhat at this cheering statement, and with a grateful look, replied:
"You know, Mr. Farrington, I just told you why he so readily suspected me, and he has had no faith in me ever since that time."
"That was an unfortunate occurrence, to be sure, but from what Dave says, I think if the whole truth were known you would be blamed less."
"I am glad you know something of the facts of that affair, and have some charity for me; before coming in here, I began to think that every one had turned against me, and I hardly had courage to ask you for a place, they treated me so in all the upper rooms."
"Did you go up there to try to get work?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you come to me first?"
"I hardly know, only I didn't feel like asking you for favors under the circumstances, for I couldn't tell what you would think of me since being discharged by Mr. Rexford."
"Well, that is human nature, I suppose, for I have often noticed that when one gets into trouble, instead of going to his friends for advice and assistance, he will seek the aid of those who care nothing for his welfare. I am glad, however, that you did not get work in the otherrooms, for then you would not have come to me, and I should not have heard your version of this matter. Moreover, I suspect the feeling that kept you away from me this morning would have influenced you to leave my class at the Sunday school. But now you won't do that, will you?"
"No, I will not. Father and mother would not allow me to, any way."
"You are fortunate in having such parents; but as to coming here to work, I want to see you get something better. You are too smart and ambitious a boy to come into a factory, for such labor, as a rule, makes one stupid and unfits him for anything else."
"I would like something better," replied Fred more cheerfully. "I couldn't bear the thought of always being a common mill hand; still I should be very glad to get even this for a while, rather than lie idle. Isn't there a chance to work up, the same way that you did?"
"Yes, there is a chance, but it is a small one; for I should say that from the great number who enter a factory, not one out of ten thousand ever gets as high as an overseer. Still, you are right in wanting to get to work, and you had better be here than on the street corners; but instead of taking up with this, can't it be shown what became of the missing money? If so, perhaps I can influence Mr. Rexford to take you back.Or, if I couldn't, yet by your showing yourself innocent of his charge you would then be in a fair way of getting a position in some other store, for you were popular with customers, I understand."
"I don't know of any way to account for the missing bill. I never saw it at all."
"You never saw it, and you say there were just eighteen dollars missing?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Farrington mused thoughtfully a moment, then muttered to himself, yet audibly: "Eighteen dollars missing!"
Presently he said aloud: "I will think this matter over, and see what I can do for you. Come and see me tomorrow forenoon."
John Rexford cared very little for the interests of others. His humanity was dwarfed and his regard for Fred's feelings or reputation amounted to nothing. In fact, he cherished malice against the boy for getting the better of him in the matter of his dealings with his customers.
That our young friend should have found out so much about his business methods, and should dare to hold the threat of exposure over his head, rankled in the breast of J. Rexford, Esq. With something of a spirit of revenge he took good care to let his suspicions become generally known regarding his former clerk, knowing, as he must, that the injury to him would be almost irreparable.
In consequence of the merchant's free expression of opinion, by noon nearly all of the villagers knew of Fred's discharge and his dishonesty—or rather what they supposed and were willing to accept as his dishonesty.
They further coupled this episode with the bar room occurrence, and at once decided thatWorthington was a dissipated young scamp, and whatever good opinions they might have held of him before were straightway forgotten.
Thus was Fred rated by the people of Mapleton, many of whom he met on coming from the mill. As he passed up the street towards his home some of them spoke to him in a strained, unnatural manner, others looked at him in a knowing way, and a few small boys crowded about him, as though he was on exhibition.
Here and there, also, curious feminine heads appeared at the windows, and though Fred walked with his eyes apparently fixed upon the ground, they were turned upward sufficiently to catch glimpses of certain well known forms, and he believed himself the subject of their thoughts and conversation.
Once he raised his head as if by an irresistible impulse, for he was then passing the residence of Dr. Dutton. Why he did so he could not satisfy himself, for he half expected to see Miss Nellie at the window, and he dreaded meeting her eyes; yet there was a strange fascination about the house, and with this sense of dread, strong as it was, he was conscious of a much stronger desire to look on her sweet face, hoping that her eyes might show at least a kindly feeling towards him, if nothing more. But instead of Nellie he saw her mother, who seemed looking directly at him.
"She must have heard everything from the new clerk," thought Fred, and he fancied that in his single hasty glance he saw a look of mingled sympathy and sorrow.
He knew her for a noble, tender hearted woman, one who had shown him many a kindness, and who possessed such delicacy of feeling that she had never referred in his presence to that wretched night when he called there in a state of intoxication.
When our young friend reached home, he was despondent, as you may imagine. He threw himself upon the lounge, and thought over the occurrences of the morning—of his unsuccessful attempt to get work, and of the general attitude of the people—and it seemed to his young and sensitive mind that he could not bear their unjust suspicions.
Then he remembered the kindness of Mr. Farrington, who had promised to assist him in trying to clear his reputation, and expressed a desire to aid him in other ways. The thought made him sincerely thankful that he had been one of Mr. Farrington's scholars in Sunday school, and had thereby gained the friendship of such a man. To have a friend like him at this time was worth everything, for Mr. Farrington was a prominent man and had great influence throughout the village.
Our young friend remained at home the rest of the day. In the evening his friend Dave called.
"Tell me how it all happened, Fred," said he, taking him by the hand with a friendly grasp.
"I suppose you have heard the whole story long before this."
"Yes, but I want to hear your side, and then I shall know the truth."
"Thank you, Dave, for your confidence in me. I only wish others had half as much. Yes, I am through at the old store that I thought so much of."
"But is it possible you were discharged, as I heard at school?"
"Yes, I was discharged," replied Fred sorrowfully. "I tell you, Dave," he continued, "it is pretty hard to be discharged on an unjust suspicion, and to be looked upon in the village as I am tonight."
"It's too bad! I'm sorry for you, Fred, and I think De Vere is the cause of the whole trouble."
"I don't see how he could have been at the bottom of what came up yesterday between Mr. Rexford and me."
"Well, I believe, from what he said, that he was the means of your first trouble, and I can't see why you won't charge him with it, and notlet every one think he is so nice and that you are guilty."
"What has he said?" asked Fred eagerly, thinking perhaps Matthew had exultingly told the boys his trick.
"He told Tom Martin that he was glad you showed up as you did, for it gave the people a chance to see what kind of a fellow you were."
"Was that all he said?"
"No; Tom said to him that he supposed he and you were great friends, as he had seen you together so much. De Vere replied that he knew what he was about, and had gained his point. That's all I heard. Isn't that enough?"
"Oh, that doesn't count for anything!" replied Fred, turning the matter off. "But tell me," he continued, "what was said at school about me. You said you heard the report there."
"Do you really want me to tell you?"
"Yes; I am not expecting anything complimentary, and may as well know the worst."
Dave Farrington hesitated a moment, unwilling to repeat the unkind words of Fred's former schoolmates.
"The worst came from De Vere," he said at length.
Fred's face colored.
"I expected this," he replied; "but what did he say?"
"When I got to the school house for the afternoon session, De Vere was there, and knowing that I always stood up for you, he cried out in a sneering way:
"'Well, Farrington, what have you to say for your friend Worthington now? I suppose, of course, you know what he has done, and that John Rexford discharged him last night?'
"I said, 'Yes, I know about his discharge, but I don't know that he has done anything to deserve it.'
"'He stole some money from the drawer,' he returned.
"'How do you know that?' I asked.
"'Why, everybody says so! I always said that you would get enough of him,' he replied.
"'That is no proof, and, besides, I want you to know I haven't enough of him yet,' said I. 'I have not been friends with him for the same reason that you were, nor do I propose to leave him under such circumstances.' I guess that must have hit him pretty hard, for he colored up as red as could be and acted mad."
Fred found it difficult to restrain his anger as he saw the bitter enmity of De Vere, and realized his gratification over his own misfortune—a misfortune of which Matthew was the cause. But he finally asked what the other scholars had to say about him.
"Well, they all talked about the matter, and most of them seemed to think that you were guilty, though Grace Bernard said she heard her father say that there might have been some mistake about the bill, and that she didn't believe you stole it, for you were always one of the best boys in school."
"That's better than I expected," replied Fred, with a brighter look. "But is that all?" he asked, with some anxiety.
Dave noticed this, and suspecting his meaning, hesitated. "I guess it is about all," he answered.
Fred seemed disappointed at not getting the answer he sought. Seeing he was not likely to get at what interested him most—Miss Nellie's opinion—he asked openly if she were not there, and what she said.
"I don't remember exactly what she said," replied Dave, "but she seemed to side with Matthew. You know they are pretty intimate now; he seems to have better success there than when you went to school. I tell you what it is, Fred, if you hadn't got tipsy, he wouldn't have had much show, but that's what killed you. The girls all said more about that than they did about this."
Fred had his answer now, and it was anything but welcome intelligence to him. There is no denying that he cared more for Nellie's goodopinion than for what all the rest of the school thought of him.
"She has condemned me at once," he said to himself bitterly, "while Grace Bernard has proved my friend; and she has not only condemned me without reason, but has taken up with my enemy—with that scoundrel De Vere, who has been the cause of all my trouble."
Fred was keenly affected by the spirit Nellie had shown concerning him. That she had no faith in him, and cared nothing for his downfall, seemed evident, while the thought that she had gone over to De Vere and joined with him in his utterances galled our hero sorely.
Then, too, the fact that Matthew and Nellie had been so much together during the last few weeks stirred Fred's jealousy and indignation, as will be seen in the following letter, which he wrote and mailed that evening:
Mapleton, Nov. 26.Miss Nellie Dutton:—I understand that there is a report circulating in the school that I am guilty of dishonesty, and that you seem quite ready to accept it. I am not surprised that gossips should tell such a story, but I did not expect you to be one of the first to put faith in it and condemn me. You have known me intimately since we were little children, and, I am sure, you have no true reason for believing this wicked slander. Grace Bernard stood by me, I hear, while you did not. I suppose you are no longer my friend, since you find so much pleasure in the society of such a fellow as Matthew De Vere, who is, as you know, my enemy. You probably got your idea of my conduct from him, as I understand he was very much elated over my misfortune. This matter will all be shown up in time, and when it is I shall have thesatisfaction of seeing you regret your present intimacy with one who has no honor. Perhaps you may then be sorry for the treatment you are now showing me. Since that wretched night when I was led to your house by a certain person you have turned against me and avoided me. Had you not done so, I could have explained to you in confidence what I have preferred to keep secret. But since you judge me so hastily, and seem so happy in the presence of De Vere, I will not trouble you with my side of the story.Fred Worthington.
Mapleton, Nov. 26.
Miss Nellie Dutton:—I understand that there is a report circulating in the school that I am guilty of dishonesty, and that you seem quite ready to accept it. I am not surprised that gossips should tell such a story, but I did not expect you to be one of the first to put faith in it and condemn me. You have known me intimately since we were little children, and, I am sure, you have no true reason for believing this wicked slander. Grace Bernard stood by me, I hear, while you did not. I suppose you are no longer my friend, since you find so much pleasure in the society of such a fellow as Matthew De Vere, who is, as you know, my enemy. You probably got your idea of my conduct from him, as I understand he was very much elated over my misfortune. This matter will all be shown up in time, and when it is I shall have thesatisfaction of seeing you regret your present intimacy with one who has no honor. Perhaps you may then be sorry for the treatment you are now showing me. Since that wretched night when I was led to your house by a certain person you have turned against me and avoided me. Had you not done so, I could have explained to you in confidence what I have preferred to keep secret. But since you judge me so hastily, and seem so happy in the presence of De Vere, I will not trouble you with my side of the story.Fred Worthington.
During the day Mr. Farrington gave a great deal of careful thought to the mystery that now enveloped his young friend, and in the morning he called upon Mr. Rexford, to see if he could learn anything that would be to Fred's advantage. After chatting awhile with the merchant, he said, as if he were entirely ignorant of what had taken place:
"Where is Fred?"
"He is not here."
"Out delivering goods?"
"No; he is through here. I discharged him."
"Discharged him!" returned Mr. Farrington, with seeming surprise.
"Yes; I don't want him any longer."
"I thought he was an excellent clerk."
"Yes, he was, in some respects; but I suspected him of dishonesty, and so let him go."
In the conversation that followed, the trader confirmed the statements of Fred in every particular. It was a good bit of tact on the part ofMr. Farrington to draw Rexford out as he did, for not only did it prove that Fred had told the truth, but the merchant's manner gave him some ideas which he thought would prove valuable in solving the money mystery.
When Fred called at the mill to see Mr. Farrington at the time appointed, the latter greeted him cheerfully.
"Good morning, my boy; I see you are on time," looking at his handsome gold watch.
"Yes, I believe so; I always try to keep my appointments."
"That is in your favor."
"Thank you, Mr. Farrington. I hope it is. But have you seen Mr. Rexford?"
"Yes, I just came from there."
"Did you learn anything new?" asked Fred, with breathless interest.
"No; not exactly new."
"I suppose you went over the matter with Mr. Rexford?"
"Yes, he told the story practically as you gave it, but during our conversation I gathered a few points that may be of service to us."
"What is your theory, Mr. Farrington?"
"As it is little more than a suspicion at best, I think it would be wiser to keep it to myself at present."
"But if I knew it couldn't I help you?"
"No, I think not, and it might even make matters worse. The only way to work up this affair is to do it quietly. If others find out what is going on, perhaps we shall never be able to locate the money. Besides, it wouldn't do for it to get out that I am working up your case."
"But I would say nothing about it," put in Fred, whose curiosity and interest were both excited as he thought that perhaps Mr. Farrington had the secret that would free him from suspicion and prove his honesty.
"I don't doubt that in the least; but for good reasons of my own I will say nothing of my theory until I test it thoroughly, though it may take a long time. If it should prove to be the true solution of the mystery, I will then tell you all about it."
Fred colored a little at this, for he had grown somewhat sensitive now, and said earnestly:
"I hope, Mr. Farrington, you too don't suspect me. It almost seems——"
"Oh, no, my boy," interrupted his good friend, "don't worry about that. My suspicions run in a totally different direction."
"I am very glad to hear you say so, for I didn't know but Mr. Rexford had convinced you that I took the bill."
"No, indeed; I believe you are innocent, and I shall do all I can to aid you."
"You are very kind to me, and I thank you sincerely."
"I am glad to help you, Fred. It is my duty to do all the good I can."
"And you are always helping some one," replied Fred gratefully. "Now that I can do nothing to clear up this mystery, I would like to get to work. Can you give me anything to do?" he continued.
"Yes; I have arranged a place for you temporarily down stairs on the 'flockers.' You said yesterday that you would like factory work better than nothing. This is about the meanest job in the whole mill, but it is the only thing that I can possibly give you."
"All right; I guess I can stand it for a while," returned Fred.
"Then you may try it and see how you get along. I will advance you as soon as there is a vacancy—if I find that you deserve it," he added, with a significant smile.
"Very well, sir; I shall try to satisfy you. When shall I commence?"
"You may come in tomorrow morning at the regular hour—six o'clock. I will discharge Tim Short tonight."
"Oh, you are not going to send him away simply to give me a place, are you?" inquired Fred, with evident regret.
"No; I should never discharge one for such a cause, even if I wanted the place for my own brother. I have been looking around for several days, trying to find a boy, as I had made up my mind to get rid of Tim, who isn't faithful in his work."
"I am sorry to have him discharged; I would rather go without work myself than to feel I have his place. His parents will be obliged to support him, and they are very poor."
"I like to hear you talk that way, for it shows that you have a kind heart. I, too, am sorry for them, but it will not do to let sympathy interfere with the proper management of business. Such a course would not be just to my employers, for I am convinced that Tim causes more mischief than a little, every day."
"Then if you are bound to discharge him any way, there would be nothing wrong in my taking the place, would there?"
"Certainly not. Some one else will have it if you don't."
Mr. Farrington's assurance that there would be nothing dishonorable in the proposed course seemed to satisfy Fred's compunctions to some extent; still, as he entered the mill the next morning at the call of the shrill whistle, long before daylight, he could not help feeling a little guilty. He also felt that he was entering upona new career, and one that seemed anything but pleasing. An utter change had taken place in his life. He was now only a common factory hand, and was about to begin work as such.
The "flockers" were located under the stairs, down in the basement of the mill, in a dark and dingy corner. When Fred arrived there, he saw standing beside one of the machines a medium sized man with small gray eyes, that were shaded with immense bushy brows nearly an inch in length. His features were dull and expressionless, and over the lower portion of his wrinkled face a scraggy, mud colored beard seemed struggling for existence. His clothing appeared to indicate a penurious, grasping nature.
A single look at this uncouth specimen was sufficient to make our young friend shudder at the thought of being under his control; however, he walked straight up to him, and said:
"Is this Mr. Hanks?"
"That's my name—Christopher Hanks. Be you the new boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"What's yer name?"
"My name is Fred Worthington."
"Fred Worthington, d'ye say?"
"Yes, sir."
"I s'pose yer father's the cobbler?"
"He has a shoe shop, sir."
"Be you the chap I heerd them men speakin' of as stole some money?" said Hanks, with a fiendish grin, which revealed two upper front teeth that seemed long because they alone guarded that portion of his mouth. They had been in use so many years, or had been so poorly treated, that they were loose, and rattled together.
"Perhaps they referred to me, sir," retorted Fred with dignity, "but they had no right to accuse me of stealing."
"Yis, yis; that's how such allers talks. But I guess thar ain't nothin' here fer yer to git yer hands on to, 'ceptin' work—I'll see't yer ain't sufferin' fer that."
"Very well, sir; I came here to work."
"I s'pose ye're perty strong, ain't yer?"
"I'm strong enough for a boy."
"Glad yer are, fer yer can do the liftin' work an' help Carl there. He ain't good for much, any way. Tim Short used ter shirk on him 'ceptin' when I knowed it, an'—— Hey! here she goes!" (as the machinery suddenly started). "Set this 'ere flocker again, Carl, and then show this feller how to run t'other. I'll start up the grinder, an' go up to the drier."
Accordingly Christopher Hanks departed, while Fred put on a gingham frock which his mother had made him as a working blouse, and, at the hands of Carl, received his first lesson.