“I–I am afraid something has happened to your husband,” faltered Carl.
“What do you mean?”
Carl silently pointed to the chamber door. The woman opened it, and uttered a loud shriek.
“Look here, Walter!” she cried.
Her companion quickly came to her side.
“My husband is dead!” cried the woman; “basely murdered, and there,” pointing fiercely to Carl, “there stands the murderer!”
“Madam, you cannot believe this!” said Carl, naturally agitated.
“What have you to say for yourself?”
demanded the man, suspiciously.
“I only just saw–your husband,” continued Carl, addressing himself to the woman. “I had finished my meal, when I began to search for some one whom I could pay, and so opened this door into the room beyond, when I saw –him hanging there!”
“Don’t believe him, the red-handed
murderer!” broke out the woman, fiercely. “He is probably a thief; he killed my poor husband, and then sat down like a cold-blooded villain that he is, and gorged himself.”
Things began to look very serious for poor Carl.
“Your husband is larger and stronger than myself,” he urged, desperately. “How could I overpower him?”
“It looks reasonable, Maria,” said the man. “I don’t see how the boy could have killed Mr. Brown, or lifted him upon the hook, even if he did not resist.”
“He murdered him, I tell you, he murdered him!” shrieked the woman, who seemed bereft of reason. “I call upon you to arrest him.”
“I am not a constable, Maria.”
“Then tie him so he cannot get away, and go for a constable. I wouldn’t feel safe with him in the house, unless he were tied fast. He might hang me!”
Terrible as the circumstances were, Carl felt an impulse to laugh. It seemed absurd to hear himself talked of in this way.
“Tie me if you like!” he said. “I am will- ing to wait here till some one comes who has a little common sense. Just remember that I am only a boy, and haven’t the strength of a full-grown man!”
“The boy is right, Maria! It’s a foolish idea of yours.”
“I call upon you to tie the villain!” insisted the woman.
“Just as you say! Can you give me some rope?”
From a drawer Mrs. Brown drew a quantity of strong cord, and the man proceeded to tie Carl’s hands.
“Tie his feet, too, Walter!”
“Even if you didn’t tie me, I would promise to remain here. I don’t want anybody to
suspect me of such a thing,” put in Carl.
“How artful he is!” said Mrs. Brown.
“Tie him strong, Walter.”
The two were left alone, Carl feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The newly-made widow
laid her head upon the table and moaned, glancing occasionally at the body of her husband, as it still hung suspended from the hook.
“Oh, William, I little expected to find you dead!” she groaned. “I only went to the store to buy a pound of salt, and when I come back, I find you cold and still, the victim of a young ruffian! How could you be so wicked?” she demanded fiercely of Carl.
“I have told you that I had nothing to do with your husband’s death, madam.”
“Who killed him, then?” she cried.
“I don’t know. He must have committed suicide.”
“Don’t think you are going to escape in that way. I won’t rest till I see you hung!”
“I wish I had never entered the house,” thought Carl, uncomfortably. “I would rather have gone hungry for twenty four hours longer than find myself in such a position.”
Half an hour passed. Then a sound of voices was heard outside, and half a dozen men
entered, including besides the messenger, the constable and a physician.
“Why was he not cut down?” asked the doctor, hastily. “There might have been a chance to resuscitate him.”
“I didn’t think of it,” said the messenger. “Maria was so excited, and insisted that the boy murdered him.”
“What boy?”
Carl was pointed out.
“That boy? What nonsense!” exclaimed Dr. Park. “Why, it would be more than you or I could do to overpower and hang a man weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds.”
“That’s what I thought, but Maria seemed crazed like.”
“I tell you he did it! Are you going to let him go, the red-handed murderer?”
“Loose the cord, and I will question the boy,” said Dr. Park, with an air of authority.
Carl breathed a sigh of relief, when, freed from his bonds, he stood upright.
“I’ll tell you all I know,” he said, “but it won’t throw any light upon the death.”
Dr. Park listened attentively, and asked one or two questions.
“Did you hear any noise when you were sitting at the table?” he inquired.
“No, sir.”
“Was the door closed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That of itself would probably prevent your hearing anything. Mrs. Brown, at what hour did you leave the house?”
“At ten minutes of twelve.”
“It is now five minutes of one. The deed must have been committed just after you left the house. Had you noticed anything out of the way in your–husband’s manner?”
“No, sir, not much. He was always a silent man.”
“Had anything happened to disturb him?”
“He got a letter this morning. I don’t know what was in it.”
“We had better search for it.”
The body was taken down and laid on the bed. Dr. Park searched the pockets, and
found a half sheet of note paper, on which these lines were written:
“Maria:–I have made up my mind I can ive no longer. I have made a terrible
discovery. When I married you, I thought my first wife, who deserted me four years ago, dead. I learn by a letter received this morning that she is still living in a town of Illinois. The only thing I can do is to free you
both from my presence. When you come back from the store you will find me cold and dead. The little that I leave behind I give to you. If my first wife should come here, as she threatens, you can tell her so. Good-by.
“William.”
The reading of this letter made a sensation. Mrs. Brown went into hysterics, and there was a scene of confusion.
“Do you think I can go?” Carl asked Dr. Park.
“Yes. There is nothing to connect you with the sad event.”
Carl gladly left the cottage, and it was only when he was a mile on his way that he remembered that he had not paid for his dinner, after all.
CHAPTER IX.
A PLAUSIBLE STRANGER.
Three days later found Carl still on his travels. It was his custom to obtain his meals at a cheap hotel, or, if none were met with, at a farmhouse, and to secure lodgings where he could, and on as favorable terms as possible. He realized the need of economy, and felt that he was practicing it. He had changed his ten- dollar bill the first day, for a five and several ones. These last were now spent, and the five- dollar bill alone remained to him. He had earned nothing, though everywhere he had been on the lookout for a job.
Toward the close of the last day he overtook a young man of twenty-five, who was traveling in the same direction.
“Good-afternoon,” said the young man, sociably.
“Good-afternoon, sir.”
“Where are you bound, may I ask?”
“To the next town.”
“Fillmore?”
“Yes, if that is the name.”
“So am I. Why shouldn’t we travel together?”
“I have no objection,” said Carl, who was glad of company.
“Are you in any business?”
“No, but I hope to find a place.”
“Oh, a smart boy like you will soon find employment.”
“I hope so, I am sure. I haven’t much money left, and it is necessary I should do something.”
“Just so. I am a New York salesman, but just now I am on my vacation–taking a pedestrian tour with knapsack and staff, as you see. The beauty of it is that my salary runs on just as if I were at my post, and will nearly pay all my traveling expenses.”
“You are in luck. Besides you have a good place to go back to. There isn’t any vacancy, is there? You couldn’t take on a boy?” asked Carl, eagerly.
“Well, there might be a chance,” said the young man, slowly. “You haven’t any recommendations with you, have you?”
“No; I have never been employed.”
“It doesn’t matter. I will recommend you myself.”
“You might be deceived in me,” said Carl, smiling.
“I’ll take the risk of that. I know a reliable boy when I see him.”
“Thank you. What is the name of your firm?”
“F. Brandes & Co., commission merchants, Pearl Street. My own name is Chauncy Hubbard, at your service.”
“I am Carl Crawford.”
“That’s a good name. I predict that we shall be great chums, if I manage to get you a place in our establishment.”
“Is Mr. Brandes a good man to work for?”
“Yes, he is easy and good-natured. He is liberal to his clerks. What salary do you think I get?”
“I couldn’t guess.”
“Forty dollars a week, and I am only twenty-five. Went into the house at sixteen, and worked my way up.”
“You have certainly done well,” said Carl, respectfully.
“Well, I’m no slouch, if I do say it myself.”
“I don’t wonder your income pays the
expenses of your vacation trip.”
“It ought to, that’s a fact, though I’m rather free handed and like to spend money. My prospects are pretty good in another direction. Old Fred Brandes has a handsome daughter, who thinks considerable of your humble servant.”
“Do you think there is any chance of marrying her?” asked Carl, with interest.
“I think my chance is pretty good, as the girl won’t look at anybody else.”
“Is Mr. Brandes wealthy?”
“Yes, the old man’s pretty well fixed, worth nearly half a million, I guess.”
“Perhaps he will take you into the firm,” suggested Carl.
“Very likely. That’s what I’m working for.”
“At any rate, you ought to save something out of your salary.”
“I ought, but I haven’t. The fact is, Carl,” said Chauncy Hubbard, in a burst of
confidence, I have a great mind to make a confession to you.”
“I shall feel flattered, I am sure,” said Carl, politely.
“I have one great fault–I gamble.”
“Do you?” said Carl, rather startled, for he had been brought up very properly to have a horror of gambling.
“Yes, I suppose it’s in my blood. My father was a very rich man at one time, but he lost nearly all his fortune at the gaming table.”
“That ought to have been a warning to you, I should think.”
“It ought, and may be yet, for I am still a young man.”
“Mr. Hubbard,” said Carl, earnestly, “I feel rather diffident about advising you, for I am only a boy, but I should think you would give up such a dangerous habit.”
“Say no more, Carl! You are a true friend. I will try to follow your advice. Give me your hand.”
Carl did so, and felt a warm glow of pleasure at the thought that perhaps he had redeemed his companion from a fascinating vice.
“I really wish I had a sensible boy like you to be my constant companion. I should feel safer.”
“Do you really have such a passion for gambling, then?”
“Yes; if at the hotel to-night I should see a party playing poker, I could not resist joining them. Odd, isn’t it?”
“I am glad I have no such temptation.”
“Yes, you are lucky. By the way, how much money have you about you?”
“Five dollars.”
“Then you can do me a favor. I have a ten- dollar bill, which I need to get me home. Now, I would like to have you keep a part of it for me till I go away in the morning. Give me your five, and I will hand you ten. Out of that you can pay my hotel bill and hand me the balance due me in the morning.”
“If you really wish me to do so.”
“Enough said. Here is the ten.”
Carl took the bill, and gave Mr. Hubbard his five-dollar note.
“You are placing considerable confidence in me,” he said.
“I am, it is true, but I have no fear of being deceived. You are a boy who naturally inspires confidence.”
Carl thought Mr. Chauncy Hubbard a very agreeable and sensible fellow, and he felt flattered to think that the young man had chosen him as a guardian, so to speak.
“By the way, Carl, you haven’t told me,” said Hubbard, as they pursued their journey, “how a boy like yourself is forced to work his own way.”
“I can tell you the reason very briefly– I have a stepmother.”
“I understand. Is your father living?”
“Yes.”
“But he thinks more of the stepmother than of you?”
“I am afraid he does.”
“You have my sympathy, Carl. I will do all I can to help you. If you can only get a place in our establishment, you will be all right. Step by step you will rise, till you come to stand where I do.”
“That would satisfy me. Has Mr. Brandes got another daughter?”
“No, there is only one.”
“Then I shall have to be content with the forty dollars a week. If I ever get it, I will save half.”
“I wish I could.”
“You can if you try. Why, you might have two thousand dollars saved up now, if you had only begun to save in time.”
“I have lost more than that at the gaming table. You will think me very foolish.”
“Yes, I do,” said Carl, frankly.
“You are right. But here we are almost at the village.”
“Is there a good hotel?”
“Yes–the Fillmore. We will take adjoining rooms if you say so.”
“Very well.”
“And in the morning you will pay the bill?”
“Certainly.”
The two travelers had a good supper, and retired early, both being fatigued with the journey. It was not till eight o’clock the next morning that Carl opened his eyes. He dressed hastily, and went down to breakfast. He was rather surprised not to see his companion of the day before.
“Has Mr. Hubbard come down yet?” he asked at the desk.
“Yes; he took an early breakfast, and went off by the first train.”
“That is strange. I was to pay his bill.”
“He paid it himself.”
Carl did not know what to make of this. Had Hubbard forgotten that he had five dollars belonging to him? Fortunately, Carl had
his city address, and could refund the money in New York.
“Very well! I will pay my own bill. How much is it?”
“A dollar and a quarter.”
Carl took the ten-dollar bill from his wallet and tendered it to the clerk.
Instead of changing it at once, the clerk held it up to the light and examined it critically.
“I can’t take that bill,” he said, abruptly.
“Why not?”
“Because it is counterfeit.”
Carl turned pale, and the room seemed to whirl round. It was all the money he had.
CHAPTER X.
THE COUNTERFEIT BILL.
“Are you sure it is counterfeit?” asked Carl, very much disturbed.
“I am certain of it. I haven’t been handling bank bills for ten years without being able to tell good money from bad. I’ll trouble you for another bill.”
“That’s all the money I have,” faltered Carl.
“Look here, young man,” said the clerk, sternly, “you are trying a bold game, but it won’t succeed.”
“I am trying no game at all,” said Carl, plucking up spirit. “I thought the bill
was good.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From the man who came with me last evening– Mr. Hubbard.”
“The money he gave me was good.”
“What did he give you?”
“A five-dollar bill.”
“It was my five-dollar bill,” said Carl, bitterly.
“Your story doesn’t seem very probable,” said the clerk, suspiciously. “How did he happen to get your money, and you his?”
“He told me that he would get to gambling, and wished me to take money enough to pay his bill here. He handed me the ten-dollar bill which you say is bad, and I gave him five in return. I think now he only wanted to get good money for bad.”
“Your story may be true, or it may not,” said the clerk, whose manner indicated incredulity. “That is nothing to me. All you have to do is to pay your hotel bill, and you can settle with Mr. Hubbard when you see him.”
“But I have no other money,” said Carl, desperately.
“Then I shall feel justified in ordering your arrest on a charge of passing, or trying to pass, counterfeit money.”
“Don’t do that, sir! I will see that you are paid out of the first money I earn.”
“You must think I am soft,” said the clerk, contemptuously. “I have seen persons of your stripe before. I dare say, if you were searched, more counterfeit money would be found in your pockets.”
“Search me, then!” cried Carl, indignantly. “I am perfectly willing that you should.”
“Haven’t you any relations who will pay your bill?”
“I have no one to call upon,” answered Carl, soberly. “Couldn’t you let me work it out?
I am ready to do any kind of work.”
“Our list of workers is full,” said the clerk, coldly.
Poor Carl! he felt that he was decidedly in a tight place. He had never before found himself unable to meet his bills. nor would he have been so placed now but for Hubbard’s rascality. A dollar and a quarter seems a small sum, but if you are absolutely penniless it might as well be a thousand. Suppose
he should be arrested and the story get into the papers? How his stepmother would exult in the record of his disgrace! He could anticipate what she would say. Peter, too, would rejoice, and between them both his father would be persuaded that he was thoroughly unprincipled.
“What have you got in your valise?” asked the clerk.
“Only some underclothing. If there were anything of any value I would cheerfully leave it as security. Wait a minute, though,” he said, with a sudden thought. “Here is a gold pencil! It is worth five dollars; at any rate, it cost more than that. I can place that in your hands.”
“Let me see it.”
Carl handed the clerk a neat gold pencil, on which his name was inscribed. It was evidently of good quality, and found favor with
the clerk.
“I’ll give you a dollar and a quarter for the pencil,” he said, “and call it square.”
“I wouldn’t like to sell it,” said Carl.
“You won’t get any more for it.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that; but it was given me by my mother, who is now dead. I would not like to part with anything that she gave me.”
“You would prefer to get off scot-free, I suppose?” retorted the clerk, with a sneer.
“No; I am willing to leave it in your hands, but I should like the privilege of redeeming it when I have the money.”
“Very well,” said the clerk, who reflected that in all probability Carl would never come back for it. “I’ll take it on those conditions.”
Carl passed over the pencil with a sigh. He didn’t like to part with it, even for a short time, but there seemed no help for it.
“All right. I will mark you paid.”
Carl left the hotel, satchel in hand, and as he passed out into the street, reflected with a sinking heart that he was now quite penniless. Where was he to get his dinner, and
how was he to provide himself with a lodging that night? At present he was not hungry, having eaten a hearty breakfast at the
hotel, but by one o’clock he would feel the need of food. He began to ask himself if, after all, he had not been unwise in leaving home, no matter how badly he had been treated by his stepmother. There, at least, he was certain of living comfortably. Now he was in danger of starvation, and on two occasions already he had incurred suspicion, once of being concerned in a murder, and just now of
passing counterfeit money. Ought he to have submitted, and so avoided all these perils?
“No!” he finally decided; “I won’t give up the ship yet. I am about as badly off as I can be; I am without a cent, and don’t know where my next meal is to come from. But
my luck may turn–it must turn–it has turned!” he exclaimed with energy, as his wandering glance suddenly fell upon a silver quarter of a dollar, nearly covered up with the dust of the street. “That shall prove a good omen!”
He stooped over and picked up the coin, which he put in his vest pocket.
It was wonderful how the possession of this small sum of money restored his courage and raised his spirits. He was sure of a dinner now, at all events. It looked as if Providence was smiling on him.
Two miles farther on Carl overtook a boy of about his own age trudging along the road with a rake over his shoulder. He wore overalls, and was evidently a farmer’s boy.
“Good-day!” said Carl, pleasantly, noticing that the boy regarded him with interest.
“Good-day!” returned the country lad, rather bashfully.
“Can you tell me if there is any place near where I can buy some dinner?”
“There ain’t no tavern, if that’s what you mean. I’m goin’ home to dinner myself.”
“Where do you live?”
“Over yonder.”
He pointed to a farmhouse about a dozen rods away.
“Do you think your mother would give me some dinner?”
“I guess she would. Mam’s real accommodatin’.”
“Will you ask her?”
“Yes; just come along of me.”
He turned into the yard, and followed a narrow path to the back door.
“I’ll stay here while you ask,” said Carl.
The boy entered the house, and came out after a brief absence.
“Mam says you’re to come in,” he said.
Carl, glad at heart, and feeling quite prepared to eat fifty cents’ worth of dinner, followed the boy inside.
A pleasant-looking, matronly woman,
plainly but neatly attired, came forward to greet him.
“Nat says you would like to get some dinner,” she said.
“Yes,” answered Carl. “I hope you’ll excuse my applying to you, but your son tells me there is no hotel near by.”
“The nearest one is three miles away from here.”
“I don’t think I can hold out so long,” said Carl, smiling.
“Sit right down with Nat,” said the farmer’s wife, hospitably. “Mr. Sweetser won’t be home for half an hour. We’ve got enough, such as it is.”
Evidently Mrs. Sweetser was a good cook. The dinner consisted of boiled mutton, with several kinds of vegetables. A cup of tea and two kinds of pie followed.
It was hard to tell which of the two boys did fuller justice to the meal. Nat had the usual appetite of a healthy farm boy, and Carl, in spite of his recent anxieties, and narrow escape from serious peril, did not allow himself to fall behind.
“Your mother’s a fine cook!” said Carl, between two mouthfuls.
“Ain’t she, though?” answered Nat, his mouth full of pie.
When Carl rose from the table he feared that he had eaten more than his little stock of money would pay for.
“How much will it be, Mrs. Sweetser?” he asked.
“Oh, you’re quite welcome to all you’ve had,” said the good woman, cheerily. “It’s plain farmer’s fare.”
“I never tasted a better dinner,” said Carl.
Mrs. Sweetser seemed pleased with the compliment to her cooking.
“Come again when you are passing this way,” she said. “You will always be welcome to a dinner.”
Carl thanked her heartily, and pressed on his way. Two hours later, at a lonely point of the road, an ill-looking tramp, who had been reclining by the wayside, jumped up, and addressed him in a menacing tone:
“Young feller, shell over all the money you have got, or I’ll hurt you! I’m hard up, and I won’t stand no nonsense.”
Carl started and looked into the face of the tramp. It seemed to him that he had never seen a man more ill-favored, or villainous-looking.
CHAPTER XI.
THE ARCHERY PRIZE.
Situated as he was, it seemed, on second thought, rather a joke to Carl to be attacked by a robber. He had but twenty-five cents in good money about him, and that he had just picked up by the merest chance.
“Do I look like a banker?” he asked,
humorously. “Why do you want to rob a boy?”
“The way you’re togged out, you must have something,” growled the tramp, “and I haven’t got a penny.”
“Your business doesn’t seem to pay, then?”
“Don’t you make fun of me, or I’ll wring your neck! Just hand over your money and be quick about it! I haven’t time to stand fooling here all day.”
A bright idea came to Carl. He couldn’t spare the silver coin, which constituted all his available wealth, but he still had the counterfeit note.
“You won’t take all my money, will you?” he said, earnestly.
“How much have you got?” asked the tramp, pricking up his ears.
Carl, with apparent reluctance, drew out the ten-dollar bill.
The tramp’s face lighted up.
“Is your name Vanderbilt?” he asked.
“I didn’t expect to make such a haul.”
“Can’t you give me back a dollar out of it? I don’t want to lose all I have.”
“I haven’t got a cent. You’ll have to wait till we meet again. So long, boy! You’ve helped me out of a scrape.”
“Or into one,” thought Carl.
The tramp straightened up, buttoned his dilapidated coat, and walked off with the consciousness of being a capitalist.
Carl watched him with a smile.
“I hope I won’t meet him after he has discovered that the bill is a counterfeit,” he said to himself.
He congratulated himself upon being still the possessor of twenty-five cents in silver. It was not much, but it seemed a great deal better than being penniless. A week before he would have thought it impossible that such a paltry sum would have made him feel comfortable, but he had passed through a great deal since then.
About the middle of the afternoon he came to a field, in which something appeared to be going on. Some forty or fifty young persons, boys and girls, were walking about the grass, and seemed to be preparing for some interesting event.
Carl stopped to rest and look on.
“What’s going on here?” he asked of a boy who was sitting on the fence.
“It’s a meeting of the athletic association,” said the boy.
“What are they doing?”
“They try for prizes in jumping, vaulting, archery and so on.”
This interested Carl, who excelled in all manly exercises.
“I suppose I may stay and look on?” he said, inquiringly.
“Why, of course. Jump over the fence and I’ll go round with you.”
It seemed pleasant to Carl to associate once more with boys of his own age. Thrown
unexpectedly upon his own resources, he had almost forgotten that he was a boy. Face to face with a cold and unsympathizing world, he seemed to himself twenty-five at least.
“Those who wish to compete for the archery prize will come forward,” announced Robert Gardiner, a young man of nineteen, who, as Carl learned, was the president of the association. “You all understand the conditions. The entry fee to competitors is ten cents. The prize to the most successful archer is one dollar.”
Several boys came forward and paid the entrance fee.
“Would you like to compete?” asked Edward Downie, the boy whose acquaintance Carl had made.
“I am an outsider,” said Carl. “I don’t belong to the association.”
“I’ll speak to the president, if you like.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“It won’t be considered an intrusion. You pay the entrance fee and take your chances.”
Edward went to the president and spoke to him in a low voice. The result was that he advanced to Carl, and said, courteously:
“If you would like to enter into our games, you are quite at liberty to do so.”
“Thank you,” responded Carl. “I have had a little practice in archery, and will enter my name for that prize.”
He paid over his quarter and received back fifteen cents in change. It seemed rather an imprudent outlay, considering his small capital; but he had good hopes of carrying off the prize, and that would be a great lift for him.
Seven boys entered besides Carl. The first was Victor Russell, a lad of fourteen, whose arrow went three feet above the mark.
“The prize is mine if none of you do better than that,” laughed Victor, good-naturedly.
“I hope not, for the credit of the club,” said the president. “Mr. Crawford, will you shoot next?”
“I would prefer to be the last,” said Carl, modestly.
“John Livermore, your turn now.”
John came a little nearer than his predecessor, but did not distinguish himself.
“If that is a specimen of the skill of the clubmen,” thought Carl, “my chance is a good one.”
Next came Frank Stockton, whose arrow stuck only three inches from the center of the target.
“Good for Fred!” cried Edward Downie. “Just wait till you see me shoot!”
“Are you a dangerous rival?” asked Carl, smiling.
“I can hit a barn door if I am only near enough,” replied Edward.
“Edward Downie!” called the president.
Edward took his bow and advanced to the proper place, bent it, and the arrow sped on its way.
There was a murmur of surprise when his arrow struck only an inch to the right of the centre. No one was more amazed than Edward himself, for he was accounted far from
skillful. It was indeed a lucky accident.
“What do you say to that?” asked Edward, triumphantly.
“I think the prize is yours. I had no idea you could shoot like that,” said Carl.
“Nor I,” rejoined Edward, laughing.
“Carl Crawford!” called the president.
Carl took his position, and bent his bow with the greatest care. He exercised unusual
deliberation, for success meant more to him than to any of the others. A dollar to him in his present circumstances would be a small fortune, while the loss of even ten cents would be sensibly felt. His heart throbbed with excitement as he let the arrow speed on its mission.
His unusual deliberation, and the fact that he was a stranger, excited strong interest, and all eyes followed the arrow with eager attentiveness.
There was a sudden shout of irrepressible excitement.
Carl’s arrow had struck the bull’s-eye and the prize was his.
“Christopher!” exclaimed Edward Downie, “you’ve beaten me, after all!”
“I’m almost sorry,” said Carl, apologetically, but the light in his eyes hardly bore out the statement.
“Never mind. Everybody would have called it a fluke if I had won,” said Edward. “I expect to get the prize for the long jump. I am good at that.”
“So am I, but I won’t compete; I will leave it to you.”
“No, no. I want to win fair.”
Carl accordingly entered his name. He made the second best jump, but Edward’s exceeded his by a couple of inches, and the prize was adjudged to him.
“I have my revenge,” he said, smiling. “I am glad I won, for it wouldn’t have been to the credit of the club to have an outsider carry off two prizes.”
“I am perfectly satisfied,” said Carl; “I ought to be, for I did not expect to carry off any.”
Carl decided not to compete for any other prize. He had invested twenty cents and got back a dollar, which left him a profit of eighty cents. This, with his original quarter, made him the possessor of a dollar and five cents.
“My luck seems to have turned,” he said to himself, and the thought gave him fresh courage.
It was five o’clock when the games were over, and Carl prepared to start again on his journey.
“Where are you going to take supper?” asked Downie.
“I–don’t–know.”
“Come home with me. If you are in no hurry, you may as well stay overnight, and go on in the morning.”
“Are you sure it won’t inconvenience you?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I’ll accept with thanks.”
CHAPTER XII.
AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE.
After breakfast the next morning Carl started again on his way. His new friend, Edward Downie, accompanied him for a mile, having an errand at that distance.
“I wish you good luck, Carl,” he said, earnestly. “When you come this way again, be sure to stop in and see me.”
“I will certainly do so, but I hope I may find employment.”
“At any rate,” thought Carl, as he resumed his journey alone, “I am better off than I was yesterday morning. Then I had but twenty- five cents; now I have a dollar.”
This was satisfactory as far as it went, but Carl was sensible that he was making no progress in his plan of earning a living. He was
simply living from hand to mouth, and but for good luck he would have had to go hungry, and perhaps have been obliged to sleep out doors. What he wanted was employment.
It was about ten o’clock when, looking along the road, his curiosity was excited by a man of very unusual figure a few rods in advance of him. He looked no taller than a boy of ten; but his frame was large, his shoulders broad, and his arms were of unusual length. He
might properly be called a dwarf.
“I am glad I am not so small as that,” thought Carl. “I am richer than he in having a good figure. I should not like to excite attention wherever I go by being unusually large or unusually small.”
Some boys would have felt inclined to laugh at the queer figure, but Carl had too much good feeling. His curiosity certainly was aroused, and he thought he would like to get acquainted with the little man, whose garments of fine texture showed that, though short in stature, he was probably long in purse. He didn’t quite know how to pave the way for an
acquaintance, but circumstances favored him.
The little man drew out a handkerchief from the side pocket of his overcoat. With it fluttered out a bank bill, which fell to the ground apparently unobserved by the owner.
Carl hurried on, and, picking up the bill, said to the small stranger as he touched his arm: “Here is some money you just dropped, sir.”
The little man turned round and smiled pleasantly.
“Thank you. Are you sure it is mine?”
“Yes, sir; it came out with your handkerchief.”
“Let me see. So it is mine. I was very careless to put it loose in my pocket.”
“You were rather careless, sir.”
“Of what denomination is it?’
“It is a two-dollar note.”
“If you had been a poor boy,” said the little man, eying Carl keenly, “you might have been tempted to keep it. I might not have known.”
Carl smiled.
“What makes you think I am not a poor boy?” he said.
“You are well dressed.”
“That is true; but all the money I have is a dollar and five cents.”
“You know where to get more? You have a good home?”
“I had a home, but now I am thrown on my own exertions,” said Carl, soberly.
“Dear me! That is bad! If I were better acquainted, I might ask more particularly how this happens. Are you an orphan?”
“No, sir; my father is living.”
“And your mother is dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is your father a poor man?”
“No, sir; he is moderately rich.”
“Yet you have to fight your own way?”
“Yes, sir. I have a stepmother.”
“I see. Are you sure you are not unreasonably prejudiced against your stepmother? All stepmothers are not bad or unkind.”
“I know that, sir.”
“Yours is, I presume?”
“You can judge for yourself.”
Carl recited some incidents in his experience with his stepmother. The stranger listened with evident interest.
“I am not in general in favor of boys leaving home except on extreme provocation,” he said, after a pause; “but in your case, as your father seems to take part against you, I think you may be justified, especially as, at your age, you have a fair chance of making your own living.”
“I am glad you think that, sir. I have begun to wonder whether I have not acted rashly.”
“In undertaking to support yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“At fourteen I was obliged to undertake what you have now before you.”
“To support yourself?”
“Yes; I was left an orphan at fourteen, with no money left me by my poor father, and no relatives who could help me.”
“How did you make out, sir?” asked Carl, feeling very much interested.
“I sold papers for a while–in Newark, New Jersey–then I got a place at three dollars a week, out of which I had to pay for board, lodging and clothes. Well, I won’t go through my history. I will only say that whatever I did I did as well as I could. I am now a man of about middle age, and I am moderately wealthy.”
“I am very much encouraged by what you tell me, sir.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand what a hard struggle I had. More than once I have had to go to bed hungry. Sometimes I have had to sleep out, but one mustn’t be afraid to rough it a little when he is young. I shouldn’t like to sleep out now, or go to bed without my supper,” and the little man laughed softly.
“Yes, sir; I expect to rough it, but if I could only get a situation, at no matter what income, I should feel encouraged.”
“You have earned no money yet?”
“Yes, sir; I earned a dollar yesterday.”
“At what kind of work?”
“Archery.”
The little man looked surprised.
“Is that a business?” he asked, curiously.
“I’ll explain how it was,” and Carl told about the contest.
“So you hit the mark?” said the little man, significantly.
Somehow, there was something in the little man’s tone that put new courage into Carl, and incited him to fresh effort.
“I wonder, sir,” he said, after a pause, “that you should be walking, when you can well afford to ride.”
The little man smiled.
“It is by advice of my physician,” he said. “He tells me I am getting too stout, and ought to take more or less exercise in the open air. So I am trying to follow his advice “
“Are you in business near here, sir?”
“At a large town six miles distant. I may not walk all the way there, but I have a place to call at near by, and thought I would avail myself of the good chance offered to take a little exercise. I feel repaid. I have made a pleasant acquaintance.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“There is my card,” and the little man took out a business card, reading thus:
HENRY JENNINGS,
FURNITURE WAREHOUSE,
MILFORD.
“I manufacture my furniture in the country,” he continued, “but I ship it by special ar- rangements to a house in New York in which I am also interested.”
“Yes, sir, I see. Do you employ many persons in your establishment?”
“About thirty.”
“Do you think you could make room for me?”
“Do you think you would like the business?”
“I am prepared to like any business in which I can make a living.”
“That is right. That is the way to look at it. Let me think.”
For two minutes Mr. Jennings seemed to be plunged in thought. Then he turned and
smiled encouragingly.
“You can come home with me,” he said, “and I will consider the matter.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Carl, gladly.
“I have got to make a call at the next house, not on business, though. There is an old schoolmate lying there sick. I am afraid he is rather poor, too. You can walk on slowly, and I will overtake you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“After walking half a mile, if I have not overtaken you, you may sit down under a tree and wait for me.”
“All right, sir.”
“Before I leave you I will tell you a secret.”
“What is it, sir?”
“The two dollars you picked up, I dropped on purpose.”
“On purpose?” asked Carl, in amazement.
“Yes; I wanted to try you, to see if you were honest.”
“Then you had noticed me?”
“Yes. I liked your appearance, but I wanted to test you.”
CHAPTER XIII.
AN UNEQUAL CONTEST.
Carl walked on slowly. He felt encouraged by the prospect of work, for he was sure that Mr. Jennings would make a place for him, if possible.
“He is evidently a kind-hearted man,” Carl reflected. “Besides, he has been poor himself, and he can sympathize with me. The wages may be small, but I won’t mind that, if I only support myself economically, and get on.” To most boys brought up in comfort, not to say luxury, the prospect of working hard for small pay would not have seemed inviting. But Carl was essentially manly, and had sensible ideas about labor. It was no sacrifice or humiliation to him to become a working boy, for he had never considered himself superior to working boys, as many boys in his position would have done.
He walked on in a leisurely manner, and at the end of ten minutes thought he had better sit down and wait for Mr. Jennings. But he was destined to receive a shock. There, under the tree which seemed to offer the most inviting shelter, reclined a figure only too well-known.
It was the tramp who the day before had compelled him to surrender the ten-dollar bill.
The ill-looking fellow glanced up, and when his gaze rested upon Carl, his face beamed with savage joy.
“So it’s you, is it?” he said, rising from his seat.
“Yes,” answered Carl, doubtfully.
“Do you remember me?”
“Yes.”
“I have cause to remember you, my chicken. That was a mean trick you played upon me,” and he nodded his head significantly.
“I should think it was you that played the trick on me.”
“How do you make that out?” growled the tramp.
“You took my money.”
“So I did, and much good it did me.”
Carl was silent.
“You know why, don’t you?”
Carl might have denied that he knew the character of the bill which was stolen from him, but I am glad to say that it would have come from him with a very ill grace, for he was accustomed to tell the truth under all circumstances.
“You knew that the bill was counterfeit, didn’t you?” demanded the tramp, fiercely.
“I was told so at the hotel where I offered it in payment for my bill.”
“Yet you passed it on me!”
“I didn’t pass it on you. You took it from me,” retorted Carl, with spirit.
“That makes no difference.”
“I think it does. I wouldn’t have offered it to anyone in payment of an honest bill.”
“Humph! you thought because I was poor and unfortunate you could pass it off on me!”
This seemed so grotesque that Carl found it difficult not to laugh.
“Do you know it nearly got me into trouble?” went on the tramp.
“How was that?”
“I stopped at a baker’s shop to get a lunch. When I got through I offered the bill. The old Dutchman put on his spectacles, and he looked first at the bill, then at me. Then he threatened to have me arrested for passing bad money. I told him I’d go out in the back yard and settle it with him. I tell you, boy, I’d have knocked him out in one round, and he knew it, so he bade me be gone and never darken his door again. Where did you get it?”
“It was passed on me by a man I was traveling with.”
“How much other money have you got?” asked the tramp.
“Very little.”
“Give it to me, whatever it is.”
This was a little too much for Carl’s patience.
“I have no money to spare,” he said, shortly.
“Say that over again!” said the tramp, menacingly.
“If you don’t understand me, I will.
I have no money to spare.”
“You’ll spare it to me, I reckon.”
“Look here,” said Carl, slowly backing. “You’ve robbed me of ten dollars. You’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
“It was no good. It might have sent me to prison. If I was nicely dressed I might pass it, but when a chap like me offers a ten- dollar bill it’s sure to he looked at sharply. I haven’t a cent, and I’ll trouble you to hand over all you’ve got.”
“Why don’t you work for a living? You are a strong, able-bodied man.”
“You’ll find I am if you give me any more of your palaver.”
Carl saw that the time of negotiation was past, and that active hostilities were about to commence. Accordingly he turned and ran, not forward, but in the reverse direction, hoping in this way to meet with Mr. Jennings.
“Ah, that’s your game, is it?” growled the tramp. “You needn’t expect to escape, for I’ll overhaul you in two minutes.”
So Carl ran, and his rough acquaintance ran after him.
It could hardly be expected that a boy of sixteen, though stout and strong, could get away from a tall, powerful man like the tramp.
Looking back over his shoulder, Carl saw that the tramp was but three feet behind, and almost able to lay his hand upon his shoulder.
He dodged dexterously, and in trying to do the same the tramp nearly fell to the ground. Naturally, this did not sweeten his temper.
“I’ll half murder you when I get hold of you,” he growled, in a tone that bodied ill for Carl.
The latter began to pant, and felt that he could not hold out much longer. Should he surrender at discretion?
“If some one would only come along,” was his inward aspiration. “This man will take my money and beat me, too.”
As if in reply to his fervent prayer the small figure of Mr. Jennings appeared suddenly, rounding a curve in the road.
“Save me, save me, Mr. Jennings!” cried Carl, running up to the little man for protection.
“What is the matter? Who is this fellow?” asked Mr. Jennings, in a deep voice for so small a man.
“That tramp wants to rob me.”
“Don’t trouble yourself! He won’t do it,” said Jennings, calmly.
CHAPTER XIV.
CARL ARRIVES IN MILFORD.
The tramp stopped short, and eyed Carl’s small defender, first with curious surprise, and then with derision.
“Out of my way, you midget!” he cried, “or ‘ll hurt you.”
“Try it!” said the little man, showing no sign of fear.
“Why, you’re no bigger than a kid. I can upset you with one finger.”
He advanced contemptuously, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the dwarf. In an instant Jennings had swung his flail-like arms, and before the tramp understood what was happening he was lying flat on his back, as much to Carl’s amazement as his own.
He leaped to his feet with an execration, and advanced again to the attack. To be upset by such a pigmy was the height of mortification.
“I’m going to crush you, you mannikin!” he threatened.
Jennings put himself on guard. Like many small men, he was very powerful, as his broad shoulders and sinewy arms would have made evident to a teacher of gymnastics. He clearly understood that this opponent was in deadly earnest, and he put out all the strength which he possessed. The result was that his large- framed antagonist went down once more, striking his head with a force that nearly stunned him.
It so happened that at this juncture reinforcements arrived. A sheriff and his deputy drove up in an open buggy, and, on witnessing the encounter, halted their carriage and sprang to the ground.
“What is the matter, Mr. Jennings?” asked the sheriff, respectfully, for the little man was a person of importance in that vicinity.
“That gentleman is trying to extort a forced loan, Mr. Clunningham.”
“Ha! a footpad?”
“Yes.”
The sheriff sprang to the side of the tramp, who was trying to rise, and in a trice his wrists were confined by handcuffs.
“I think I know you, Mike Frost,” he said. “You are up to your old tricks. When did you come out of Sing Sing?”
“Three weeks since,” answered the tramp, sullenly.
“They want you back there. Come along with me!”
He was assisted into the buggy, and spent that night in the lockup.
“Did he take anything from you, Carl?” asked Mr. Jennings.
“No, sir; but I was in considerable danger. How strong you are!” he added, admiringly.
“Strength isn’t always according to size!” said the little man, quietly. “Nature gave me a powerful, though small, frame, and I have increased my strength by gymnastic exercise.”
Mr. Jennings did not show the least excitement after his desperate contest. He had attended to it as a matter of business, and when
over he suffered it to pass out of his mind. He took out his watch and noted the time.
“It is later than I thought,” he said. “I think I shall have to give up my plan of walking the rest of the way.”
“Then I shall be left alone,” thought Carl regretfully.
Just then a man overtook them in a carriage.
He greeted Mr. Jennings respectfully.
“Are you out for a long walk?” he said.
“Yes, but I find time is passing too rapidly with me. Are you going to Milford?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you take two passengers?”
“You and the boy?”
“Yes; of course I will see that you don’t lose by it.”
“I ought not to charge you anything, Mr. Jennings. Several times you have done me favors.”
“And I hope to again, but this is business. If a dollar will pay you, the boy and I will ride with you.”
“It will be so much gain, as I don’t go out of my way.”
“You can take the back seat, Carl,” said Mr. Jennings. “I will sit with Mr. Leach.”
They were soon seated and on their way.
“Relative of yours, Mr. Jennings?” asked Leach, with a backward glance at Carl.
Like most country folks, he was curious about people. Those who live in cities meet too many of their kind to feel an interest in strangers.
“No; a young friend,” answered Jennings, briefly.
“Goin’ to visit you?”
“Yes, I think he will stay with me for a time.”
Then the conversation touched upon Milford matters in which at present Carl was not interested.
After his fatiguing walk our hero enjoyed the sensation of riding. The road was a pleasant one, the day was bright with sunshine and the air vocal with the songs of birds. For a time houses were met at rare intervals, but after a while it became evident that they were approaching a town of considerable size.
“Is this Milford, Mr. Jennings?” asked Carl.
“Yes,” answered the little man, turning with a pleasant smile.
“How large is it?”
“I think there are twelve thousand inhabitants. It is what Western people call a `right smart place.’ It has been my home for twenty years, and I am much attached to it.”
“And it to you, Mr. Jennings,” put in the driver.
“That is pleasant to hear,” said Jennings, with a smile.
“It is true. There are few people here whom you have not befriended.”
“That is what we are here for, is it not?”
“I wish all were of your opinion. Why, Mr. Jennings, when we get a city charter I think I know who will be the first mayor.”
“Not I, Mr. Leach. My own business is all I can well attend to. Thank you for your compliment, though. Carl, do you see yonder building?”
He pointed to a three-story structure, a frame building, occupying a prominent position.
“Yes, sir.”
“That is my manufactory. What do you think of it?”
“I shouldn’t think a town of this size would require so large an establishment,” answered Carl.
Mr. Jennings laughed.
“You are right,” he said. “If I depended on Milford trade, a very small building would be sufficient. My trade is outside. I supply many dealers in New York City and at the West. My retail trade is small. If any of my neighbors want furniture they naturally come to me, and I favor them as to price out of friendly feeling, but I am a manufacturer and wholesale dealer.”
“I see, sir.”
“Shall I take you to your house, Mr. Jennings?” asked Leach.
“Yes, if you please.”
Leach drove on till he reached a two-story building of Quaker-like simplicity but with a large, pleasant yard in front, with here and there a bed of flowers. Here he stopped his horse.
“We have reached our destination, Carl,” said Mr. Jennings. “You are active. Jump out and I will follow.”
Carl needed no second invitation. He sprang from the carriage and went forward to help Mr. Jennings out.
“No, thank you, Carl,” said the little man. “I am more active than you think. Here we are!”
He descended nimbly to the ground, and, drawing a one-dollar bill from his pocket, handed it to the driver.
“I don’t like to take it, Mr. Jennings,” said Mr. Leach.
“Why not? The laborer is worthy of his hire. Now, Carl, let us go into the house.”
CHAPTER XV.
Mr. JENNINGS AT HOME.
Mr. Jennings did not need to open the door. He had scarcely set foot on the front step when it was opened from inside, and Carl found a fresh surprise in store for him. A woman, apparently six feet in height, stood on the threshold. Her figure was spare and ungainly, and her face singularly homely, but the absence of beauty was partially made up by a kindly expression. She looked with some surprise at Carl.
“This is a young friend of mine, Hannah,” said her master. “Welcome him for my sake.”
“I am glad to see you,” said Hannah,
in a voice that was another amazement. It was deeper than that of most men.
As she spoke, she held out a large masculine hand, which Carl took, as seemed to be expected.
“Thank you,” said Carl.
“What am I to call you?” asked Hannah.
“Carl Crawford.”
“That’s a strange name.”
“It is not common, I believe.”
“You two will get acquainted by and by,” said Mr. Jennings. “The most interesting question at present is, when will dinner be ready?”
“In ten minutes,” answered Hannah, promptly.
“Carl and I are both famished. We have had considerable exercise,” here he nodded at Carl with a comical look, and Carl understood that he referred in part to his contest with the tramp.
Hannah disappeared into the kitchen, and Mr. Jennings said: “Come upstairs, Carl. I will show you your room.”
Up an old-fashioned stairway Carl followed his host, and the latter opened the door of a side room on the first landing. It was not large, but was neat and comfortable. There was a cottage bedstead, a washstand, a small bureau and a couple of chairs.
“I hope you will come to feel at home here,” said Mr. Jennings, kindly.
“Thank you, sir. I am sure I shall,” Carl responded, gratefully.
“There are some nails to hang your clothing on,” went on Mr. Jennings, and then he stopped short, for it was clear that Carl’s small gripsack could not contain an extra suit, and he
felt delicate at calling up in the boy’s mind the thought of his poverty.
“Thank you, sir,” said Carl. “I left my trunk at the house of a friend, and if you should succeed in finding me a place, I will send for it.”
“That is well!” returned Mr. Jennings, looking relieved. “Now I will leave you for a few moments. You will find water and towels, in case you wish to wash before dinner.”
Carl was glad of the opportunity. He was particular about his personal appearance, and he felt hot and dusty. He bathed his face and hands, carefully dusted his suit, brushed his hair, and was ready to descend when he heard the tinkling of a small bell at the foot of the front stairs.
He readily found his way into the neat dining- room at the rear of the parlor. Mr. Jennings sat at the head of the table, a little giant, diminutive in stature, but with broad shoulders, a large head, and a powerful frame. Opposite him sat Hannah, tall, stiff and upright
as a grenadier. She formed a strange contrast to her employer.
“I wonder what made him hire such a tall woman?” thought Carl. “Being so small himself, her size makes him look smaller.”
There was a chair at one side, placed for Carl.
“Sit down there, Carl,” said Mr. Jennings. “I won’t keep you waiting any longer than I can help. What have you given us to-day, Hannah?”
“Roast beef,” answered Hannah in her deep tones.
“There is nothing better.”
The host cut off a liberal slice for Carl, and passed the plate to Hannah, who supplied potatoes, peas and squash. Carl’s mouth fairly watered as he watched the hospitable preparations for his refreshment.
“I never trouble myself about what we are to have on the table,” said Mr. Jennings. “Hannah always sees to that. She’s knows just what I want. She is a capital cook, too, Hannah is.”
Hannah looked pleased at this compliment.
“You are easily pleased, master,” she said.
“I should be hard to suit if I were not pleased with your cooking. You don’t know so well Carl’s taste, but if there is anything he likes particularly he can tell you.”
“You are very kind, sir,” said Carl.
“There are not many men who would treat a poor boy so considerately,” he thought. “He makes me an honored guest.”
When dinner was over, Mr. Jennings invited Carl to accompany him on a walk. They
passed along the principal street, nearly every person they met giving the little man a cordial greeting.
“He seems to be very popular,” thought Carl.
At length they reached the manufactory. Mr. Jennings went into the office, followed by Carl.
A slender, dark-complexioned man, about thirty-five years of age, sat on a stool at a high desk. He was evidently the bookkeeper.
“Any letters, Mr. Gibbon?” asked Mr. Jennings.
“Yes, sir; here are four.”
“Where are they from?”
“From New York, Chicago, Pittsburg and New Haven.”
“What do they relate to?”
“Orders. I have handed them to Mr. Potter.”
Potter, as Carl afterwards learned, was superintendent of the manufactory, and had full charge of practical details.
“Is there anything requiring my personal attention?”
“No, sir; I don’t think so.”
“By the way, Mr. Gibbon, let me introduce you to a young friend of mine–Carl Crawford.”
The bookkeeper rapidly scanned Carl’s face and figure. It seemed to Carl that the scrutiny was not a friendly one.
“I am glad to see you,” said Mr. Gibbon, coldly.
“Thank you, sir.”
“By the way, Mr. Jennings,” said the
bookkeeper, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Go on, Mr. Gibbon,” rejoined his employer, in a cordial tone.
“Two months since you gave my nephew, Leonard Craig, a place in the factory.”
“Yes; I remember.”
“I don’t think the work agrees with him.”
“He seemed a strong, healthy boy.”
“He has never been used to confinement, and it affects him unpleasantly.”
“Does he wish to resign his place?”
“I have been wondering whether you would not be willing to transfer him to the office.