Walter's announcement, recorded at the close of the preceding chapter, fell like a thunderbolt on his room-mate.
“You have lost your money?” repeated Gates, in a tone of incredulity. “You don't mean it!”
“Read that letter, Gates,” said Walter, pushing it over to his chum.
The letter was, of course, from Doctor Mack, and ran thus:
“DEAR WALTER: Your letter asking for an extra check for one hundred dollars came to hand three or four days since. I have delayed answering for two reasons. I am satisfied that you are spending more money than is necessary, and, moreover, I have shrunk from communicating to you some unpleasant intelligence. Upon me have devolved the investment and management of your property, and while I have tried to be cautious, there have been losses which I regret. In one case three-fourths of an investment has been lost. Of course, you didn't know this, or you would have been less free in your expenditures.
“I am not prepared to tell you how you stand. I think it will be prudent for you to leave college at the end of this term, and for a year to seek some employment. During that time I will do what I can to settle matters on a better footing, and perhaps at the end of that time you will be able to return to your studies. You are so young—I think you must be younger than the majority of your classmates—that you can afford to lose the time.
“I send you a check for sixty dollars in place of a hundred. I wish you to have your regular term bills sent to me, and I will forward checks in payment. I will see that you leave Euclid owing no man anything. When you come home for the vacation we can consult as to the future. I hope you will not be much depressed or cast down by the news I send. Your money is not all lost, and I may be able, in the course of twelve months, to recover in a large measure what has been sunk.
“Your affectionate guardian, EZEKIEL MACK.”
“A regular sockdolager, isn't it, Gates?” said Walter.
“I don't see that it's so bad,” answered Gates slowly. “Your money isn't all lost.”
“But I must leave college.”
“True; but, as your guardian says, you are young, and if you come back at the end of a year you will still be a year younger than I for your standing. Of course, I am sorry to have you go.”
“I am sure of that, Gates.”
“Is the prospect of working for a year so unpleasant to you, Walter?”
“No, I can't say it is,” said Walter, brightening up, “not if I can choose my employment. I shouldn't like to go behind the counter in a grocery store, or—”
“Black boots for a living?”
“Well, hardly,” said Walter, laughing.
“Probably your guardian will consult your preferences.”
“I wish I could arrange to travel. I should like to see something of the world.”
“Why not? You might get an agency of some kind. One college vacation—last summer—I traveled about as book agent.”
“How did you like it?”
“Not very much. I met with a good many rebuffs, and was occasionally looked upon with suspicion, as I could see. Still, I made a living, and brought back thirty dollars to start me on my new term.”
“Just what my supper cost the other evening.”
“Yes; I didn't think it wise to spend the money in the same way.”
“You have cheered me up, Gates. I really believe I shall like to spend a year in some kind of business.”
“Write your guardian to that effect. He may be blaming himself for his agency in your misfortune, and a cheerful letter from you will brighten him up.”
“All right! I will.”
Walter sat down and dashed off the following note:
“DEAR GUARDIAN: Your letter just received. I won't pretend that I am not sorry for the loss of my money, but I am sure that you acted for the best. Don't trouble yourself too much about the matter. Perhaps it will all come out right in a year or so. In the meantime I think I shall find it not unpleasant to work for a year if you will let me select the kind of business I am to follow.
“I will make the money you sent me do for the present, and will send you my term bills as you desire. You can depend upon my settling up as cheap as possible, though I confess I have not hitherto been nearly as economical as I might have been. Now that I know it is necessary, you shall have no reason to complain of me.
“Your affectionate ward, WALTER SHERWOOD.”
“What do you think of that, Gates?” asked Walter, giving the letter to his chum to read.
“Excellent! It shows the right spirit.”
“I am glad you think so.”
“Do you know, Walter, I think I have more occasion for regret than you? I must bid farewell to my room-mate and this pleasant room.”
“To your room-mate, yes, but not necessarily to the room.”
“I shall have to furnish it in very different style for the present. I am not sure that I can afford a carpet. The luxury of my present surroundings, I am afraid, will spoil me for humble quarters.”
“Don't borrow any trouble about that. I shall leave you the furniture as it stands, and when I come back to college, even if we are in different classes, you must take me in again.”
“Of course I will agree to an arrangement so much in my favor, but perhaps your guardian will think you had better sell the furniture and realize what you can.”
“No, I am sure he won't. There's nothing mean about Doctor Mack. You can take in any one you please in my place, only I am to come back at the end of a year if things turn out well.”
“I heartily hope you will come back, and if you will excuse my saying so, with a more earnest spirit, and a determination to do justice to your really excellent talents.”
“Good advice! I'll adopt it. I'll begin to do better at once. I was intending to take a drive this evening, but it would cost me two dollars, and I will stay at home and save the money.”
“Come with me on a walk, instead.”
“I will.”
“We will go to the top of Mount Legar. At sunset there will be a fine view from there.”
“I must stop on the way and pay Mr. Daniels what I owe him. He will lose a good deal by my going away.”
“True; but his loss will be your gain.”
At the outset of their walk the two students called at the hotel, and found Mr. Daniels on the piazza.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Sherwood,” said the landlord briskly.
“I think you will be, Mr. Daniels, for I have come to pay your bills.”
“Money is always welcome, Mr. Sherwood. You have no idea how much I lose by trusting students. There was Green, of the last graduating class, left college owing me forty-five dollars. He has gone West somewhere, and I never expect to get a cent of my money.”
“You came pretty near losing by me, Daniels.”
“How is that?” queried the landlord, looking surprised.
“I've lost a lot of money, or my guardian has for me, and I've got to leave college at the end of this term.”
“You don't say so!” ejaculated Mr. Daniels regretfully.
“It's all true. My guardian wrote me about it this morning.”
“I suppose you're a good deal cut up about it, Mr. Sherwood.”
“Well, I was at first, but I may be able to come back after a year or two. I shall go into some business, and meanwhile my guardian will do what he can to recover the money lost. It isn't so bad, after all.”
“I shall be sorry to have you go, Mr. Sherwood.”
“You will miss my bills, at any rate. I wouldn't have given that supper the other evening if I had known how things stood. I would have put the thirty dollars to better use.”
“Well, you've paid up like a gentleman, anyway. I hope you'll come back in a year as rich as ever. You wanted a team to-night, James told me.”
“That was before I got my guardian's letter. I shall walk, instead of taking a carriage-ride.”
“I will let the account stand, if you wish.”
“No. I can't afford to run up any bills. Good night, Mr. Daniels.”
“You did right, Walter,” said Gates. “It is a bad thing to run up bills.”
“Especially when you are poor. It seems odd to be poor.”
“I am used to it, Walter. You don't seem very sad over it.”
“I am not. That is what puzzles me. I really begin to think I like it.”
A college community is for the most part democratic. A poor student with talent is quite as likely to be a favorite as the heir to a fortune, often more so. But there are always some snobs who care more for dollars than sense. So Walter was destined to find out, for he made no secret of his loss of fortune. Most of his college friends sympathized with him, but there was one who proved unreliable.
This was Harvey Warner, the son of a man who had made a fortune during the Civil War, some said as a sutler. Harvey professed to be very aristocratic, and had paid especial attention to Walter, because he, too, had the reputation of being wealthy. He had invited Walter to pass a couple of weeks at the summer residence of the Warners, near Lake George. This, however, was before he had heard of Walter's loss of fortune. As soon as he learned this, he decided that the invitation must be withdrawn. This would be awkward, as he had been on very intimate terms with our hero, and had been a guest at the banquet.
Not foreseeing the effect of his changed circumstances on the mind of his late friend, Walter, meeting him on the campus the day afterward, called out, familiarly: “How are you, old fellow? Why didn't you come round to my room last evening?”
“I had another engagement, Sherwood,” answered Warner, stiffly.
“You ought to give me the preference,” said Walter, not observing the other's change of manner.
“Ahem! a man must judge for himself, you know. By the way, is it true that you have lost all your money?”
“I don't know how much I have lost, but I am not coming back to college next year.”
“You are in hard luck,” said Warner coldly. “By the way, I think we shall have to give up that plan for the summer.”
“What plan?”
“Why, you know I invited you to visit me at Lake George.”
Walter began to comprehend.
“Why, are you not going to be there?” he asked,
“Yes, but the house will be full of other fellows, don't you know.”
“So that there will be no room for me,” said Walter calmly, looking Warner full in the face.
“Awfully sorry, and all that sort of thing,” drawled Warner. “Besides, I suppose you will have to go to work.”
“Yes, I expect to go to work—after awhile. Probably I shall take a few weeks for rest. By the way, when did you find out that your home would be full—of other fellows?”
“Got a letter from my sister this morning. Besides—in your changed circumstances, don't you know, you might find it awkward to be living in a style you couldn't keep up.”
“Thank you, Warner. You are very considerate. I really didn't give you credit for so much consideration.”
“Don't mention it! Of course with your good sense you understand?”
“I think I do.”
“And, by the way, I believe you borrowed two dollars of me last week. If it is inconvenient for you to pay the whole at once, you might hand me a dollar.”
“And I called that fellow my friend!” said Walter to himself.
“You are very considerate again, but I think I would rather pay the whole at once. Can you change a ten?”
Harvey Warner looked surprised. He had jumped to the conclusion that Walter was the next thing to a pauper, and here he was better supplied with money than himself.
“I am not sure that I have as much money here,” he said.
“Then come with me to the drug-store; I am going to buy a bottle of tooth-wash, and will change the bill there.”
Warner accepted this proposal.
“I'd better make sure of my money while he has it,” he reflected.
“I hope you're not very much disappointed about the visit?” he said.
“Not at all! I should have had to decline. I have been invited to spend a month at the Adirondacks with Frank Clifford.”
“You don't mean it!” ejaculated Warner enviously.
Clifford was a member of an old family, and an invitation from him was felt to confer distinction. Warner himself would have given a good deal to be on sufficiently intimate terms to receive such a compliment.
“When did he invite you?” he asked suggestively.
Walter saw what was in his mind, and answered, with a smile:
“He invited me this morning.”
“Had he heard—”
“Of my loss of fortune? Oh, yes! But why should that make any difference?”
“I wouldn't go, if I were you.”
“Why not?”
“You are going to be a poor man.”
“I don't know about that.”
“You are poor now, at any rate.”
“Well, perhaps so, but am I any the worse for that?”
“I thought you would understand my meaning.”
“I do, but I am glad that all my friends don't attach the importance you do to the possession of fortune. Good morning!”
“I suppose it's the way of the world!” thought Walter, as his quondam friend left him. “But, thank Heaven, all are not mercenary! I've got a few friends left, anyhow.”
A few rods farther on he met Victor Creswell, perhaps the richest student in the junior class.
“What's this I hear, Walter?” he asked. “Have you lost your money?”
“Some of it, I believe.”
“And you are not coming back to college?”
“I shall stay out a year. Perhaps I can come back then.”
“You needn't leave at all. My governor allows me a hundred dollars a month for my own use—spending money, you know. I'll give you half of it, if that will enable you to pull through.”
Walter was touched.
“You are a friend worth having, Creswell,” he said. “But I really think I shall enjoy being out of college for a year. I shall find out what is in me. But I sha'n't forget your generous offer.”
“Better accept it, Sherwood. I can get along well enough on fifty dollars a month.”
“I won't accept it for myself, but I'll tell you something. My chum, Gates, is very hard pushed. You know he depends wholly on himself, and twenty-five dollars just at this time would be a godsend to him. He is worried about paying his bills. If, now, you would transfer a little at your generosity to him—”
“I don't know him very well, but if you speak well of him that is enough. I shall be glad to help him. Let me see how much I can spare.”
He drew out a wallet, and from it four ten dollar bills.
“Here are forty dollars,” he said. “Give them to him, but don't let him know where they came from.”
“Creswell, you're a trump!” said Walter, shaking his hand vigorously. “You don't know how happy you will make him.”
“Oh, that's all right. But I'm sorry you won't let me do something for you.”
“I will if I need it.”
“Good!” said Creswell, in a tone of satisfaction. “Now, mind, you don't hesitate.”
Walter, happy in the happiness he was going to confer, made his way quickly to his own room. Gates sat at the table with a troubled brow, writing some figures on a piece of paper.
“What are you about, Gates?” asked his chum.
“I have been thinking.” said Gates wearily, “that perhaps I ought to do what you have decided to do.”
“What's that?”
“Leave college.
“But why?”
“I am so troubled to pay my bills. I wrote to my uncle last week—he is a well-to-do farmer—asking him if he wouldn't send me fifteen dollars to help pay my term bills. I promised to come and help him in the farm work during July.”
“What does he say?” asked Walter, smiling, Gates couldn't understand why.
“That he never pays for work in advance—he doesn't approve of it.”
“He could afford it?”
“Oh, yes; he's got a good sum in the savings-bank, but he is a very cautious man. I don't see how I'm going to get through. Perhaps I had better take a year away from college.”
“There is no need of that. I have some money here for you.”
“Some money for me?”
“Yes,” and Walter placed four ten-dollar bills on the table.
“But, Walter, you are in no position to lend me money.”
“True; the money doesn't come from me.”
“But who besides you would do me such a great favor?”
“One of the rich fellows in college—no, I can't tell you his name. You can take it without hesitation.”
“But it must have been to you that he lent it.”
“No, he understands that it is to be given to you. Will it help you?”
“Will it help me? It will carry me through gloriously,” and Gates was radiant with pleasure.
“Are you going to leave college now?”
“No; this help is providential. I will never be distrustful again.”
“I wish Creswell could see how much happiness his gift has brought with it,” thought Walter.
After a conference between Walter and his guardian it was decided that he should wait till the first of September before seeking for any business position. Walter, who was somewhat impulsive, was disposed to start at once, but Doctor Mack said: “No, you are entitled to a vacation. When your class resumes study at Euclid, it will be time for you to begin to earn your living.”
“I am not sure that I deserve a vacation,” said Walter frankly. “I have not studied as hard at I ought.”
“Very probably. You have not been in earnest. You are a year older now, and you have a better understanding of your position.”
“You are very charitable, my dear guardian,” said Walter.
Doctor Mack smiled.
“I am quite aware,” he said, “that old heads are not often to be found on young shoulders.”
“Then you think it will be right for me to enjoy myself this summer?”
“I want you to do so.”
“One of my college friends, Frank Clifford, has invited me to pass a month with him in the Adirondacks. The Cliffords have a lodge not far from Blue Mountain Lake. Frank's mother and sisters will be abroad, and he wants me to keep him company.”
“I can think of no objection. How shall you spend your time?”
“In hunting and fishing. There are splendid chances for both up there, so Clifford says.”
“Go and have your good time. When you come back we will talk of your future plans.”
Walter's stay was prolonged to eight weeks, and when he returned it was already nearing the end of August. He was browned by exposure, and looked the picture of health.
“Now I am ready to go to work, Doctor Mack,” he said. “Have you any plans for me?”
“How would you like to go into a drug-store? I have a college classmate who is a very successful druggist in Syracuse.”
Walter shrugged his shoulders.
“I don't believe I have a taste for making pills,” he said.
“I thought not. What do you think of entering a dry-goods store? I am acquainted with the head of a prominent establishment in New York.”
“It is a very respectable position, but I should feel cabined, cribbed, confined in it.”
“I am at the end of my tether. Have you formed any plans of your own?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“But you have thought somewhat on the subject?”
“Yes,” answered Walter.
“If at all possible, I shall let you have your own way.”
“You may think me foolish,” said Walter hesitatingly.
“I don't know. Let me hear what you have to propose.”
“I thought,” said Walter eagerly, “I would like to go out West.”
“What would you do when you got there?”
“There must be lots of things to do.”
“Very likely. You might buy an ax and clear the virgin forests.”
“I am afraid I wouldn't be a success at that.”
“You have no definite idea as to what you would do?”
“No. I could tell better when I got out there.”
“Now, about the expense. How much money would you need? You would require to live till you begin to earn something.”
“How much will it cost me to get to Chicago?”
“Say about twenty-five dollars.”
“I think, guardian, if you will advance me a hundred dollars, that will be sufficient.”
“For how long a time?”
“For a year. You see, I expect to earn my own living by the time I have spent fifty dollars in all. I should go to a cheap boarding-place, of course. I should be able to pay my way.”
“You will be content, then, with a hundred dollars, Walter?”
“Yes; perhaps I could make it do on less.”
“No; you shall have a hundred. If absolutely necessary, you can send for more.”
“No,” said Walter confidently; “I won't do that. I shall get along somehow. I want to make a man of myself.”
“That is a commendable ambition. Still, sometimes a young man finds it hard to obtain employment. If you had a trade, now, it might be different. Suppose, for instance, you were a journeyman tailor, you could readily find a place in Chicago or any good-sized city.”
“I shouldn't care to be a tailor.”
“I shouldn't care to employ you if you were,” said his guardian, smiling. “One thing I would like to guard you against. Don't be too particular about what you take up. With so small an outfit as you have stipulated for, you will have to go to work at something soon. Then, again, you won't be able to live as well as you have been accustomed to do here and in college.”
“I understand that, and am prepared for it. I want to rough it.”
“Possibly you will have your wish granted. I don't want to discourage you, Walter. I only want to prepare you for what may, and probably will, come.”
“Do you know any one in Chicago, Doctor Mack? I might find it pleasant to have an acquaintance.”
“Yes, I know a retired merchant named Archer. He lives on Indiana Avenue. I don't remember the number, but you can easily find his name in the directory. His name is Allen Archer.”
Walter noted the name in a new memorandum book which he had purchased.
“Where would you advise me to put up on my arrival in Chicago?” he asked.
“There are several good houses—the Sherman, Tremont, Palmer House; but they will be beyond your means. Indeed, any hotel will be. Still you might go to some good house for a day. That will give you time to hunt up a modest boarding-house.”
“An excellent plan!” said Walter, in a tone of satisfaction. “Do you know, my dear guardian, I shall go out in the best of spirits. I feel—in Shakespeare's words—that the world is mine oyster.”
“I hope you will be able to open it, Walter. You have my best wishes. Don't forget that you will have to depend on yourself.”
“I won't forget it. I wish it was time for me to start.”
“It will come soon enough. You had better get out your clothes, and get them mended, if necessary, and put in order. Nancy will do all she can for you, and the tailor will do the rest. Better not take much with you. When you get settled I will forward your trunk by express.”
When Nancy Sprague heard of Walter's plans she was much disturbed.
“Oh, Master Walter,” she said, in a tragic tone, “is it true that you've lost all your money and have got to go out into the cold world to make a living?”
“I believe I have lost some money, Nancy, but I rather like the idea of working for my living.”
“Oh, you poor child, you little know what it is. I can't bear to think of it. I can't see how Doctor Mack can let you go.”
“I should be very sorry if he refused. It isn't so bad, to work for a living. Haven't you always done it?”
“Yes, but that's different. I was always poor, and I am used to it.”
“I'm going to get used to it.”
“Walter—don't tell your guardian what I am saying—but I've got two hundred dollars in the savings bank, and I shall be very glad to give you some of it. You will take it, now, won't you? I can get it out to-morrow.”
“Nancy, you are a true friend,” said Walter, really moved by the unselfish devotion of the house-keeper; “but I sha'n't need it. I shall take a hundred dollars with me, and long before it is gone I shall be earning my living.”
“You'll send for it if you need it?”
“Yes; if I find I am very hard up, and there is no other way, I will send for it.”
Nancy brightened up, much pleased and relieved by this assurance.
“I couldn't bear to think of your suffering for a meal of victuals when we have so much in the house. I don't see why you can't stay at home and get a place in the village.”
Walter laughed.
“It wouldn't suit me at all, Nancy. I am going West to grow up with the country.”
“I wish I could be somewhere near, to look after you.”
“It would be of no use, Nancy. Women are in great demand out there—at any rate in Dakota—and you'd be married in less than no time, if you went.”
“You are only joking now, Master Walter.”
“Not at all! I read the other day that of ten schoolma'ams who went out to Dakota last fall, eight were married within three months.”
“Nobody could marry me against my will,” said Nancy resolutely.
“Perhaps he would find a way of overcoming your objections,” said Walter, laughing. “But I am afraid Doctor Mack couldn't do without you. He couldn't spare you and me both.”
“That's true,” assented Nancy, who had not been so much alarmed at the matrimonial dangers hinted at by Walter as might have been anticipated. Had a good opportunity offered, I am inclined to think Nancy would have been willing to change her name. After all, she was only forty-nine, and I have known more than one to surrender single blessedness with all its charms at and beyond that age.
At last the day of departure came. Valise in hand, Walter jumped aboard the stage that was to convey him to the railroad-station. He shook hands with his guardian and Nancy, the driver whipped up his horses, and a new period in Walter's life had commenced.
“I wonder how he'll come out?” mused Doctor Mack thoughtfully. “Have I acted for the best in letting him go? Well, time alone can tell.”
Walter was tempted to stop over at Niagara, as his ticket would have allowed him to do, but he was also very anxious to reach Chicago and get to work. “I can visit Niagara some other time,” he reflected. “Now I can spare neither the money nor the time.”
Hour after hour sped by, until with a little thrill of excitement Walter learned by consulting his railroad guide that he was within fifty miles of Chicago. He looked out of the car window, and surveyed with interest the country through which they were speeding at the rate of thirty-five miles an hour. His attention was drawn from the panorama outside by a voice:
“Is this seat engaged?”
Walter looked up, and his glance rested on a man of perhaps thirty-five, dressed in a light suit, and wearing a tall white hat.
“No, sir,” answered Walter politely, removing his gripsack from the seat.
“I don't want to incommode you,” said the stranger, as he took the place thus vacated.
“You don't in the least,” said Walter.
“I suppose you are going to Chicago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you going farther—out to Dakota, for instance?”
“No, sir. Chicago is far enough west for me at present.”
“I live in Dakota. I have a long journey to make after we reach Chicago.”
“I don't know about Dakota. Is it a good place for business?”
“It is going to be. Yes, Dakota has a bright future. I have a pleasant little home out there. I had to go East on business, and stayed a little longer than I intended. In fact I spent more money than I anticipated, and that makes me a little short.”
It struck Walter that his new acquaintance for a stranger was very confidential.
“Is it possible he will propose to borrow money of me?” he asked himself. He did not quite know what to say, but politeness required him to say something.
“I am sorry,” he replied, in a sympathizing tone.
“I should like to take a train this evening for my home,” continued the stranger.
“I hope you will be able to do so.”
“Well, there's one drawback. I haven't got money enough to buy a through ticket. Under these circumstances I am going to offer you a bargain.”
Walter looked surprised and expectant. The stranger drew a gold watch from his pocket—a very handsome gold watch, which looked valuable.
“You see that watch?” he said. “How much do you think it is worth?”
“It looks like a nice watch. I am no judge of values.”
“It cost me ninety dollars six months since. Now I need the money, and I will sell it to you for twenty-five.”
“But that would be a great sacrifice.”
“So it would, but I need the money. Of course, if you haven't got the money—”
“I have that amount of money,” said Walter, “but I haven't got it to spare. I might need it.”
“Then all you need to do is to sell the watch or pawn it. You could sell it for fifty dollars without trouble.”
“Why don't you do that?” asked Walter shrewdly.
“Because I haven't the time. I want, if possible, to go on to-night. If you had a wife and two children waiting for you, whom you had not seen for two months, you wouldn't mind losing a few dollars for the sake of seeing them a little sooner.”
“Very likely,” answered Walter, to whom his companion's explanation seemed plausible.
Walter was tempted, but he reflected that twenty-five dollars represented a third of the money he had with him, so he put away the temptation, but with reluctance. He had a silver watch, bought for him, when he entered college, at a cost of fifteen dollars, and like the majority of boys of his age he felt that he should much prefer to carry a gold one. Still he must be prudent.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I don't think I had better buy the watch. I presume you will find some one else on the train who would be glad of the bargain.”
“Very likely, but we are near Chicago, and I haven't time to look around. Come, I'll make you a still better offer, though I ought not to do so. You may have the watch for twenty dollars. That money will get me through, and I won't haggle about five dollars.”
“Twenty dollars!” repeated Walter thoughtfully.
“Yes, look at the watch. Isn't it a beauty?”
“Yes; I like the appearance of it very much.”
“If you get out of money, you can easily pawn it for more than the sum I ask for it.”
Certainly this was an important consideration. Walter felt that he would be foolish to lose so good a chance. It was a pity that the stranger should be forced to make such a sacrifice, yet it really seemed that he would be doing him a favor, as well as benefiting himself, by accepting his proposition.
“You will guarantee it to be solid gold?” he said, with momentary suspicion.
“Certainly. You will see that it is an Elgin watch. Of course you know the reputation of that make. They don't make any sham watches at their factory.”
“I thought the case might be gilt,” said Walter, half ashamed of his suspicions.
“You do well to be cautious, but I will guarantee the watch to be all I represent it. I only wish you were a jeweler. Then you could judge for yourself.”
It sounded very plausible. Then, the watch was a very handsome one.
“Let me open it and show you the works.”
The stranger did so. Walter was no judge of the mechanism of a watch, but what he saw impressed him favorably. The stranger seemed very frank and fair-spoken. Walter knew, of course, that in traveling one was likely to meet with sharpers, but that did not justify him in suspecting everybody he met.
“It would look very nice at the end of my chain,” he thought. “I suppose I cannot afford it; but, as he says, I can raise money on it at any time.”
“Well, young man, what is your decision? You must excuse me for hurrying, but we are not far from Chicago, and I want to make sure that I can continue my journey to-night. I shall telegraph to my wife that I am coming.”
“I will take the watch,” said Walter. “There doesn't seem to be much risk in doing so.”
“Bosh! I should say not. Young man, I congratulate you. You have made the best bargain of your life. Have you got the money handy?”
Walter took out two ten-dollar bills and handed them to his companion, receiving the watch in exchange.
“Well, that settles my mind,” said the stranger, in a tone of satisfaction. “I shall see the old woman and the kids very soon, thanks to your kindness.”
“Don't mention it,” said Walter complacently. “I feel indebted to you, rather, as you have given me much more than an equivalent for my money.”
“That is true, but under present circumstances money is worth a good deal to me. Now, if you don't mind I will go into the smoking-car and have a little smoke before we arrive. Will you join me?”
“No, sir, thank you; I don't smoke.”
“Good-day, then. Hope we shall meet again.”
Walter responded politely, and the stranger, rising, walked forward to the front part of the car and disappeared.
Walter detached the silver watch from the plated chain to which it was attached, substituted the new gold watch, and put the silver watch in his pocket. It occurred to him that if he should really need money it might be better for him to sell the silver watch and retain the gold one.
“I have made thirty dollars at the very least on my purchase,” he reflected, “for I am sure I can sell the watch for fifty dollars if I wish to do so. This is a white day for me, as the Romans used to say. I accept it as a good omen of success. I wish Doctor Mack and Nancy were here to see it. I think the doctor would give me credit for a little shrewdness.”
The car sped on perhaps a dozen miles farther, when the door opened and the conductor entered, followed by a stout man of perhaps fifty years of age, who looked flushed and excited.
“This gentleman has been robbed of his gold watch,” explained the conductor. “He is convinced that some one on the train has taken it. Of course, no one of you is suspected, but I will trouble you to show me your watches.”
As Walter heard these words a terrible fear assailed him. Had he bought a stolen watch?