“I should be very glad to have my mother live to a hundred, if she could enjoy life,” said Ben, disgusted with his companoin’s sordid selfishness.
“Your mother hasn’t got any money, and that makes a difference.”
Ben had a reply, but he reflected it would be of little use to argue with one who took such widely different views as Conrad. Moreover, they were already within a block or two of the theater.
The best seats were priced at a dollar and a half, and Mrs. Hamilton had given Conrad three dollars to purchase one for Ben and one for himself.
“It seems an awful price to pay a dollar and a half for a seat,” said Conrad. “Suppose we go into the gallery, where the seats are only fifty cents?”
“I think Mrs. Hamilton meant us to take higher-priced seats.”
“She won’t care, or know, unless we choose to tell her.”
“Then you don’t propose to give her back the difference?”
“You don’t take me for a fool, do you? I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you don’t mind a fifty-cent seat, I’ll give you twenty-five cents out of this money.”
Ben could hardly believe Conrad was in earnest in this exhibition of meanness.
“Then,” said he, “you would clear seventy-five cents on my seat and a dollar on your own?”
“You can see almost as well in the gallery,” said Conrad. “I’ll give you fifty cents, if you insist upon it.”
“I insist upon having my share of the money spent for a seat,” said Ben, contemptuously. “You can sit where you please, of course.”
“You ain’t very obliging,” said Conrad sullenly. “I need the money, and that’s what made me propose it. As you’ve made so much fuss about it, we’ll take orchestra seats.”
This he did, though unwillingly.
“I don’t think I shall ever like that boy,” thought Ben. “He’s a little too mean.”
They both enjoyed the play, Ben perhaps with the most zest, for he had never before attended a city theater. At eleven o’clock the curtain fell, and they went out.
“Come, Ben,” said Conrad, “you might treat a fellow to soda water.”
“I will,” answered Ben. “Where shall we go?”
“Just opposite. They’ve got fine soda water across the street.”
The boys drank their soda water, and started to go home.
“Suppose we go in somewhere and have a game of billiards?” suggested Conrad.
“I don’t play,” answered Ben.
“I’ll teach you; come along,” urged Conrad.
“It is getting late, and I would rather not.”
“I suppose you go to roost with the chickens in the country?” sneered Conrad. You’ll learn better in the city–if you stay.”
“There is another reason,” continued Ben. “I suppose it costs money to play billiards, and I have none to spare.”
“Only twenty-five cents a game.”
“It will be cheaper to go to bed.”
“You won’t do anything a fellow wants you to,” grumbled Conrad. “You needn’t be so mean, when you are getting ten dollars a week.”
“I have plenty to do with my money, and I want to save up something every week.”
On the whole the boys did not take to each other. They took very different views of life and duty, and there seemed to be small prospect of their becoming intimate friends.
Mrs. Hamilton had gone to bed when they returned, but Mrs. Hill was up watching for her son. She was a cold, disagreeable woman, but she was devoted to her boy.
“I am glad you have come home so soon,” she said.
“I wanted to play a game of billiards, but Ben wouldn’t,” grumbled Conrad.
“If you had done so, I should have had to sit up later for you, Conrad.”
“There was no use in sitting up for me. I ain’t a baby,” responded Conrad ungratefully.
“You know I can’t sleep when I know you are out, Conrad.”
“Then you’re very foolish. Isn’t she, Ben?”
“My mother would feel just so,” answered Ben.
Mrs. Hill regarded him almost kindly. He had done her a good turn in bringing her son home in good season.
“She may be a disagreeable woman,” thought Ben, “but she is good to Conrad,” and this made him regard the housekeeper with more favor.
CHAPTER XXII
A MYSTERIOUS LETTER
From time to time, Mrs. Hamilton sent Ben on errands to different parts of the city, chiefly to those who had been started in business with capital which she had supplied. One afternoon, he was sent to a tailor on Sixth Avenue with a note, the contents of which were unknown to him.
“You may wait for an answer,” said Mrs. Hamilton.
He readily found the tailor’s shop, and called for Charles Roberts, the proprietor.
The latter read the note, and said, in a business like tone:
“Come to the back part of the shop, and I will show you some goods.”
Ben regarded him in surprise.
“Isn’t there some mistake?” he said. “I didn’t know I was to look at any goods.”
“As we are to make a suit for you, I supposed you would have some choice in the matter,” returned the tailor, equally surprised.
“May I look at the letter?” asked Ben.
The tailor put it into his hands.
It ran thus:
“Mr. Roberts: You will make a suit for the bearer, from any goods he may select, and charge to the account of Helen Hamilton.”
“Mrs. Hamilton did not tell me what was in the note,” said Ben, smiling. “She is very kind.”
Ben allowed himself to be guided by the tailor, and the result was a handsome suit, which was sent home in due time, and immediately attracted the attention of Conrad. Ben had privately thanked his patroness, but had felt under no obligation to tell Conrad.
“Seems to me you are getting extravagant!” said Conrad enviously.
“I don’t know but I am,” answered Ben good-naturedly.
“How much did you pay for it?”
“The price was thirty-five dollars.”
“That’s too much for a boy in your circumstances to pay.”
“I think so myself, but I shall make it last a long time.”
“I mean to make Aunt Hamilton buy me a new suit,” grumbled Conrad.
“I have no objection, I am sure,” said Ben.
“I didn’t ask your permission,” said Conrad rudely.
“I wonder what he would say if he knew that Mrs. Hamilton paid for my suit?” Ben said to himself. He wisely decided to keep the matter secret, as he knew that Conrad would be provoked to hear of this new proof of his relative’s partiality for the boy whom he regarded as a rival.
Conrad lost no time in preferring his request to Mrs. Hamilton for a new suit.
“I bought you a suit two months since,” said Mrs. Hamilton quietly. “Why do you come to me for another so soon?”
“Ben has a new suit,” answered Conrad, a little confused.
“I don’t know that that has anything to do with you. However, I will ask Ben when he had his last new suit.”
Ben, who was present, replied:
“It was last November.”
“Nearly a year since. I will take care that you are supplied with new suits as often as Ben.”
Conrad retired from the presence of his relative much disgusted. He did not know, but suspected that Ben was indebted to Mrs. Hamilton for his new suit, and although this did not interfere with a liberal provision for him, he felt unwilling that anyone beside himself should bask in the favor of his rich relative. He made a discovery that troubled him about this time.
“Let me see your watch, Ben,” he said one day.
Ben took out the watch and placed it in his hand.
“It’s just like mine,” said Conrad, after a critical examination.
“Is it?”
“Yes; don’t you see? Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift,” answered Ben.
“From my aunt?”
“It was given me by Mrs. Hamilton.”
“She seems to be very kind to you,” sneered Conrad, with a scowl.
“She is indeed!” answered Ben earnestly.
“You’ve played your cards well,” said Conrad coarsely.
“I don’t understand you,” returned Ben coldly.
“I mean that, knowing her to be rich, you have done well to get on the blind side of her.”
“I can’t accept the compliment, if you mean it as such. I don’t think Mrs. Hamilton has any blind side, and the only way in which I intend to commend myself to her favor is to be faithful to her interests.”
“Oh, you’re mighty innocent; but all the same, you know how to feather your own nest.”
“In a good sense, I hope I do. I don’t suppose anyone else will take the trouble to feather it for me. I think honesty and fidelity are good policy, don’t you?”
“I don’t pretend to be an angel,” answered Conrad sullenly.
“Nor I,” said Ben, laughing.
Some days later, Conrad came to Ben one day, looking more cordial than usual.
“Ben,” he said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“Will you grant it?”
“I want to know first what it is.”
“Lend me five dollars?”
Ben stared at Conrad in surprise. He had just that amount, after sending home money to his mother, but he intended that afternoon to deposit three dollars of it in the savings bank, feeling that he ought to be laying up money while he was so favorably situated.
“How do you happen to be short of money?” he asked.
“That doesn’t need telling. I have only four dollars a week pocket money, and I am pinched all the time.”
“Then, supposing I lent you the money, how could you manage to pay me back out of this small allowance?”
“Oh, I expect to get some money in another way, but I cannot unless you lend me the money.”
“Would you mind telling me how?”
“Why, the fact is, a fellow I know–that is, I have heard of him–has just drawn a prize of a thousand dollars in a Havana lottery. All he paid for his ticket was five dollars.”
“And is this the way you expect to make some money?”
“Yes; I am almost sure of winning.”
“Suppose you don’t?”
“Oh, what’s the use of looking at the dark side?”
“You are not so sensible as I thought, Conrad,” said Ben. “At least a hundred draw a blank to one who draws a small prize, and the chances are a hundred to one against you.”
“Then you won’t lend me the money?” said Conrad angrily.
“I would rather not.”
“Then you’re a mean fellow!”
“Thank you for your good opinion, but I won’t change my determination.”
“You get ten dollars a week?”
“I shall not spend two dollars a week on my own amusement, or for my own purposes.”
“What are you going to do with the rest, then?”
“Part I shall send to my mother; part I mean to put in some savings bank.”
“You mean to be a miser, then?”
“If to save money makes one a miser, then I shall be one.”
Conrad left the room in an angry mood. He was one with whom prosperity didn’t agree. Whatever his allowance might be, he wished to spend more. Looking upon himself as Mrs. Hamilton’s heir, he could not understand the need or expediency of saving money. He was not wholly to blame for this, as his mother encouraged him in hopes which had no basis except in his own and her wishes.
Not quite three weeks after Ben had become established his new home he received a letter which mystified and excited him.
It ran thus:
“If you will come at nine o’clock this evening to No. —- West Thirty-first Street, and call for me, you will hear something to your advantage.
James Barnes.”
“It may be something relating to my father’s affairs,” thought Ben. “I will go.”
CHAPTER XXIII
BEN’S VISIT TO THIRTY-FIRST STREET
Ben’s evenings being unoccupied, he had no difficulty in meeting the appointment made for him. He was afraid Conrad might ask him to accompany him somewhere, and thus involve the necessity of an explanation, which he did not care to give until he had himself found out why he had been summoned.
The address given by James Barnes was easy to find. Ben found himself standing before a brick building of no uncommon exterior. The second floor seemed to be lighted up; the windows were hung with crimson curtains, which quite shut out a view of what was transpiring within.
Ben rang the bell. The door was opened by a colored servant, who looked at the boy inquiringly.
“Is Mr. Barnes within?” asked Ben.
“I don’t know the gentleman,” was the answer.
“He sent me a letter, asking me to meet him here at nine o’clock.”
“Then I guess it’s all right. Are you a telegraph boy?”
“No,” answered Ben, in surprise.
“I reckon it’s all right,” said the negro, rather to himself than to Ben. “Come upstairs.”
Ben followed his guide, and at the first landing a door was thrown open. Mechanically, Ben followed the servant into the room, but he had not made half a dozen steps when he looked around in surprise and bewilderment. Novice as he was, a glance satisfied him that he was in a gambling house. The double room was covered with a soft, thick carpet, chandeliers depended from the ceiling, frequent mirrors reflecting the brilliant lights enlarged the apparent size the apartment, and a showy bar at one end of the room held forth an alluring invitation which most failed to resist. Around tables were congregated men, young and old, each with an intent look, watching the varying chances of fortune.
“I’ll inquire if Mr. Barnes is here,” said Peter, the colored servant.
Ben stood uneasily looking at the scene till Peter came back.
“Must be some mistake,” he said. “There’s no gentleman of the name of Barnes here.”
“It’s strange,” said Ben, perplexed.
He turned to go out, but was interrupted. A man with a sinister expression, and the muscle of a prize fighter, walked up to him and said, with a scowl:
“What brings you here, kid?”
“I received a letter from Mr. Barnes, appointing to meet me here.”
“I believe you are lying. No such man comes here.”
“I never lie,” exclaimed Ben indignantly.
“Have you got that letter about you?” asked the man suspiciously.
Ben felt in his pocket for the letter, but felt in vain.
“I think I must have left it at home,” he said nervously.
The man’s face darkened.
“I believe you come here as a spy,” he said.
“Then you are mistaken!” said Ben, looking him fearlessly in the face.
“I hope so, for your sake. Do you know what kind of a place this is?”
“I suppose it is a gambling house,” Ben answered, without hesitation.
“Did you know this before you came here?”
“I had not the least idea of it.”
The man regarded him suspiciously, but no one could look into Ben’s honest face and doubt his word.
“At any rate, you’ve found it out. Do you mean to blab?”
“No; that is no business of mine.”
“Then you can go, but take care that you never come here again.”
“I certainly never will.”
“Give me your name and address.”
“Why do you want it?”
“Because if you break your word, you will be tracked and punished.”
“I have no fear,” answered Ben, and he gave his name and address.
“Never admit this boy again, Peter,” said the man with whom Ben had been conversing; neither this boy, nor any other, except a telegraph boy.”
“All right, sah.”
A minute later, Ben found himself on the street, very much perplexed by the events of the evening. Who could have invited him to a gambling house, and with what object in view? Moreover, why had not James Barnes kept the appointment he had himself made? These were questions which Ben might have been better able to answer if he could have seen, just around the corner, the triumphant look of one who was stealthily watching him.
This person was Conrad Hill, who took care to vacate his position before Ben had reached the place where he was standing.
“So far, so good!” he muttered to himself. “Master Ben has been seen coming out of a gambling house. That won’t be likely to recommend him to Mrs. Hamilton, and she shall know it before long.”
Ben could not understand what had become of the note summoning him to the gambling house. In fact, he had dislodged it from the vest pocket in which he thrust it, and it had fallen upon the carpet near the desk in what Mrs. Hamilton called her “office.” Having occasion to enter the room in the evening, his patroness saw it on the carpet, picked it up, and read it, not without surprise.
“This is a strange note for Ben to receive,” she said to herself. “I wonder what it means?”
Of course, she had no idea of the character of the place indicated, but was inclined to hope that some good luck was really in store for her young secretary.
“He will be likely to tell me sooner or later,” she said to herself. “I will wait patiently, and let him choose his own time. Meanwhile I will keep the note.”
Mrs. Hamilton did not see Ben till the next morning. Then he looked thoughtful, but said nothing. He was puzzling himself over what had happened. He hardly knew whether to conclude that the whole thing was a trick, or that the note was written in good faith.
“I don’t understand why the writer should have appointed to meet me at such a place,” he reflected. “I may hear from him again.”
It was this reflection which led him to keep the matter secret from Mrs. Hamilton, to whom be had been tempted to speak.
“I will wait till I know more,” he said to himself. “This Barnes knows my address, and he can communicate with me if he chooses.”
Of course, the reader understands that Conrad was at the bottom of the trick, and that the object was to persuade Mrs. Hamilton that the boy she trusted was in the habit of visiting gambling houses. The plan had been suggested by Conrad, and the details agreed on by him and his mother. This explains why Conrad was so conveniently near at hand to see Ben coming out of the gambling house.
The boy reported the success of this plan to his mother.
“I never saw a boy look so puzzled,” he said, with a chuckle, “when he came out of the gambling house. I should like to know what sort of time he had there. I expected he would get kicked out.”
“I feel no interest in that matter,” said his mother. “I am more interested to know what Cousin Hamilton will say when she finds where her model boy has been.”
“She’ll give him his walking ticket, I hope.”
“She ought to; but she seems so infatuated with him that there is no telling.”
“When shall you tell her, mother?”
“I will wait a day or two. I want to manage matters so as not to arouse any suspicion.”
CHAPTER XXIV
BEN ON TRIAL
“Excuse my intrusion, Cousin Hamilton; I see you are engaged.”
The speaker was Mrs. Hill, and the person addressed was her wealthy cousin. It was two days after the event recorded in the last chapter.
“I am only writing a note, about which there is no haste. Did you wish to speak to me?”
Mrs. Hamilton leaned back in her chair, and waited to hear what Mrs. Hill had to say. There was very little similarity between the two ladies. One was stout, with a pleasant, benevolent face, to whom not only children, but older people, were irresistibly attracted. The other was thin, with cold, gray eyes, a pursed-up mouth, thin lips, who had never succeeded in winning the affection of anyone. True, she had married, but her husband was attracted by a small sum of money which she possessed, and which had been reported to him as much larger than it really was.
When asked if she wished to speak, Mrs. Hill coughed.
“There’s a matter I think I ought to speak of,” she said, “but it is painful for me to do so.”
“Why is it painful?” asked Mrs. Hamilton, eyeing her steadily.
“Because my motives may be misconstrued. Then, I fear it will give you pain.”
“Pain is sometimes salutary. Has Conrad displeased you?”
“No, indeed!” answered Mrs. Hill, half indignantly. “My boy is a great comfort to me.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Hamilton dryly.
For her own part, Mrs. Hamilton thought her cousin’s son one of the least attractive young people she had ever met, and save for a feeling of pity, and the slight claims of relationship, would not have been willing to keep him in the house.
“I don’t see why you should have judged so ill of my poor Conrad,” complained Mrs. Hill.
“I am glad you are so well pleased with him. Let me know what you have to communicate.”
“It is something about the new boy–Benjamin.”
Mrs. Hamilton lifted her eyebrows slightly.
“Speak without hesitation,” she said.
“You will be sure not to misjudge me?”
“Why should I?”
“You might think I was jealous on account of my own boy.”
“There is no occasion for you to be jealous.”
“No, of course not. I am sure Conrad and I have abundant cause to be grateful to you.”
“That is not telling me what you came to tell,” said Mrs. Hamilton impatiently.
“I am afraid you are deceived in the boy, Cousin Hamilton.”
“In what respect?”
“I am almost sorry I had not kept the matter secret. If I did not consider it my duty to you, I would have done so.”
“Be kind enough to speak at once. You need not apologize, nor hesitate on my account. What has Ben been doing?”
“On Tuesday evening he was seen coming out of a well-known gambling house.”
“Who saw him?”
“Conrad.”
“How did Conrad know that it was a gambling house?”
“He had had it pointed out to him as such,” Mrs. Hill answered, with some hesitation.
“About what time was this?”
“A little after nine in the evening.”
“And where was the gambling house situated?”
“On Thirty-first Street.”
A peculiar look came over Mrs. Hamilton’s face.
“And Conrad reported this to you?”
“The same evening.”
“That was Tuesday?”
“Yes; I could not make up my mind to tell you immediately, because I did not want to injure the boy.”
“You are more considerate than I should have expected.”
“I hope I am. I don’t pretend to like the boy. He seems to have something sly and underhand about him. Still, he needs to be employed, and that made me pause.”
“Till your sense of duty to me overcame your reluctance?”
“Exactly so, Cousin Hamilton. I am glad you understand so well how I feel about the matter.”
Mrs. Hill was quite incapable of understanding the irony of her cousin’s last remark, and was inclined to be well pleased with the reception her news had met with.
“Where is Conrad?”
“He is not in the house. He didn’t want me to tell you.”
“That speaks well for him. I must speak to Ben on the subject.”
She rang the bell, and a servant appeared.
“See if Master Ben is in his room,” said the lady. “If so ask him to come here for five minutes.”
Ben was in the house and in less than two minutes he entered the room. He glanced from one lady to the other in some surprise. Mrs. Hamilton wore her ordinary manner, but Mrs. Hill’s mouth was more pursed up than ever. She looked straight before her, and did not look at Ben at all.
“Ben,” said Mrs. Hamilton, coming to the point at once, “did you visit a gambling house in Thirty-first Street on Tuesday evening?”
“I did,” answered Ben promptly.
Mrs. Hill moved her hands slightly, and looked horror-stricken.
“You must have had some good reason for doing so. I take it for granted you did not go there to gamble?”
“No,” answered Ben, with a smile. “That is not in my line.”
“What other purpose could he have had, Cousin Hamilton?” put in Mrs. Hill maliciously.
Ben eyed her curiously.
“Did Mrs. Hill tell you I went there?” he asked.
“I felt it my duty to do so,” said that lady, with acerbity. “I dislike to see my cousin so deceived and imposed upon by one she had befriended.”
“How did you know I went there, Mrs. Hill?”
“Conrad saw you coming out of the gambling house.”
“I didn’t see him. It was curious he happened be in that neighborhood just at that time,” said Ben significantly.
“If you mean to insinuate that Conrad goes to such places, you are quite mistaken,” said Mrs. Hill sharply.
“It was not that I meant to insinuate at all.”
“You have not yet told me why you went there, Ben?” said Mrs. Hamilton mildly.”
“Because I received a mysterious letter, signed James Barnes, asking me to come to that address about nine o’clock in the evening. I was told I would hear something of advantage to myself.”
“Did you meet any such man there?” asked Mrs. Hill.
“No.”
“Have you got the letter you speak of?” asked Mrs. Hamilton.
“No,” answered Ben. “I must have dropped it somewhere. I felt in my pocket for it when I reached the gambling house, but it was gone.”
Mrs. Hill looked fairly triumphant.
“A very queer story!” she said, nodding her head. “I don’t believe you received any such letter. I presume you had often been to the same place to misspend your evenings.”
“Do you think so, Mrs. Hamilton?” inquired Ben anxiously.
“It is a pity you lost that letter, Ben.”
“Yes, it is,” answered Ben regretfully.
“Mrs. Hill,” said Mrs. Hamilton, “if you will withdraw, I would like to say a few words to Ben in private.”
“Certainly, Cousin Hamilton,” returned the poor cousin, with alacrity. “I think his race is about run,” she said to herself, in a tone of congratulation.
CHAPTER XXV
CONRAD TAKES A BOLD STEP
“I hope, Mrs. Hamilton, you don’t suspect me of frequenting gambling houses?” said Ben, after his enemy had left the room.
“No,” answered Mrs. Hamilton promptly. “I think I know you too well for that.”
“I did go on Tuesday evening, I admit,” continued Ben. “I saw that Mrs. Hill did not believe it, but it’s true. I wish I hadn’t lost the letter inviting me there. You might think I had invented the story.”
“But I don’t, Ben; and, for the best of all reasons, because I found the note on the carpet, and have it in my possession now.”
“Have you?” exclaimed Ben gladly.
“Here it is,” said the lady, as she produced the note from the desk before her. “It is singular such a note should have been sent you,” she added thoughtfully.
“I think so, too. I had no suspicion when I received it, but I think now that it was written to get to into a scrape.”
“Then it must have been written by an enemy. Do you know of anyone who would feel like doing you a bad turn?”
“No,” answered Ben, shaking his head.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?”
“No; it may have been written by some person I know, but I have no suspicion and no clew as to who it is.”
“I think we will let the matter rest for a short time. If we say nothing about it, the guilty person may betray himself.”
“You are very kind to keep your confidence in me, Mrs. Hamilton,” said Ben gratefully.
“I trust you as much as ever, Ben, but I shall appear not to–for a time.”
Ben looked puzzled.
“I won’t explain myself,” said Mrs. Hamilton, with a smile, “but I intend to treat you coolly for a time, as if you had incurred my displeasure. You need not feel sensitive, however, but may consider that I am acting.”
“Then it may be as well for me to act, too,” suggested Ben.
“A good suggestion! You will do well to look sober and uneasy.”
“I will do my best,” answered Ben brightly.
The programme was carried out. To the great delight of Mrs. Hill and Conrad, Mrs. Hamilton scarcely addressed a word to Ben at the supper table. When she did speak, it was with an abruptness and coldness quite unusual for the warm-hearted woman. Ben looked depressed, fixed his eyes on his plate, and took very little part in the conversation. Mrs. Hill and Conrad, on the other hand, seemed in very good spirits. They chatted cheerfully, and addressed an occasional word to Ben. They could afford to be magnanimous, feeling that he had forfeited their rich cousin’s favor.
After supper, Conrad went into his mother’s room.
“Our plan’s working well, mother,” he said, rubbing his hands.
“Yes, Conrad, it is. Cousin Hamilton is very angry with the boy. She scarcely spoke a word to him.”
“He won’t stay long, I’ll be bound. Can’t you suggest, mother, that he had better be dismissed at once?”
“No, Conrad; we have done all that is needed. We can trust Cousin Hamilton to deal with him. She will probably keep him for a short time, till she can get along without his services.”
“It’s lucky he lost the letter. Cousin Hamilton will think he never received any.”
So the precious pair conferred together. It was clear that Ben had two dangerous and unscrupulous enemies in the house.
It was all very well to anticipate revenge upon Ben, and his summary dismissal, but this did not relieve Conrad from his pecuniary embarrassments. As a general thing, his weekly allowance was spent by the middle of the week. Ben had refused to lend money, and there was no one else he could call upon. Even if our hero was dismissed, there seemed likely to be no improvement in this respect.
At this juncture, Conrad was, unfortunately, subjected to a temptation which proved too strong for him.
Mrs. Hamilton was the possessor of an elegant opera glass, which she had bought some years previous in Paris at a cost of fifty dollars. Generally, when not in use, she kept it locked up in a bureau drawer. It so happened, however, that it had been left out on a return from a matinee, and lay upon her desk, where it attracted the attention of Conrad.
It was an unlucky moment, for he felt very hard up. He wished to go to the theater in the evening with a friend, but had no money.
It flashed upon him that he could raise a considerable sum on the opera glass at Simpson’s, a well-known pawnbroker on the Bowery, and he could, without much loss of time, stop there on his way down to business.
Scarcely giving himself time to think, he seized the glass and thrust it into the pocket of his overcoat. Then, putting on his coat, he hurried from the house.
Arrived at the pawnbroker’s, he produced the glass, and asked:
“How much will you give me on this?”
The attendant looked at the glass, and then at Conrad.
“This is a very valuable glass,” he said. “Is it yours?”
“No,” answered Conrad glibly. “It belongs to a lady in reduced circumstances, who needs to raise money. She will be able to redeem it soon.”
“Did she send you here?”
“Yes.”
“We will loan you twenty dollars on it. Will that be satisfactory?”
“Quite so,” answered Conrad, quite elated at the sum, which exceeded his anticipations.
“Shall we make out the ticket to you or the lady?”
“To me. The lady does not like to have her name appear in the matter.”
This is so frequently the case that the statement created no surprise.
“What is your name?” inquired the attendant.
“Ben Barclay,” answered Conrad readily.
The ticket was made out, the money paid over, and Conrad left the establishment.
“Now I am in funds!” he said to himself, “and there is no danger of detection. If anything is ever found out, it will be Ben who will be in trouble, not I.”
It was not long before Mrs. Hamilton discovered her loss. She valued the missing opera glass, for reasons which need not be mentioned, far beyond its intrinsic value, and though she could readily have supplied its place, so far as money was concerned, she would not have been as well pleased with any new glass, though precisely similar, as with the one she had used for years. She remembered that she had not replaced the glass in the drawer, and, therefore, searched for it wherever she thought it likely to have been left. But in vain.
“Ben,” she said, “have you seen my glass anywhere about?”
“I think,” answered Ben, “that I saw it on your desk.”
“It is not there now, but it must be somewhere in the house.”
She next asked Mrs. Hill. The housekeeper was entirely ignorant of Conrad’s theft, and answered that she had not seen it.
“I ought not to have left it about,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “It may have proved too strong a temptation to some one of the servants.”
“Or someone else,” suggested Mrs. Hill significantly.
“That means Ben,” thought Mrs. Hamilton, but she did not say so.
“I would ferret out the matter if I were you,” continued Mrs. Hill.
“I intend to,” answered Mrs. Hamilton quietly. “I valued the glass far beyond its cost, and I will leave no means untried to recover it.”
“You are quite right, too.”
When Conrad was told that the opera glass had been lost, he said:
“Probably Ben stole it.”
“So I think,” assented his mother. “But it will be found out. Cousin Hamilton has put the matter into the hands of a detective.”
For the moment, Conrad felt disturbed. But he quickly recovered himself.
“Pshaw! they can’t trace it to me,” he thought. “They will put it on Ben.”
CHAPTER XXVI
MR. LYNX, THE DETECTIVE
The detective who presented himself to Mrs. Hamilton was a quiet-looking man, clad in a brown suit. Except that his eyes were keen and searching, his appearance was disappointing. Conrad met him as he was going out of the house, and said to himself contemptuously: “He looks like a muff.”
“I have sent for you, Mr. Lynx,” said Mrs. Hamilton, “to see if you can help me in a matter I will explain to you,” and then she gave him all the information she possessed about the loss of the opera glass.
“How valuable was the glass?” inquired Mr. Lynx.
“It cost fifty dollars in Paris,” said Mrs. Hamilton.
“But you set a higher value upon it for other reasons? Just so.”
“You are right.”
“Will you favor me with an exact description of the article?” said the detective, producing his notebook.
Mrs. Hamilton did so, and the detective made an entry.
“Have you ever had anything taken out of your house by outside parties?” he asked.
“On one occasion, when my brother was visiting me, his overcoat was taken from the hatstand in the hall.”
“A sneak thief, of course. The glass, however, was not so exposed?”
“No; it was not on the lower floor at all.”
“It looks, then, as if it was taken by someone in the house.”
“It looks so,” said Mrs. Hamilton gravely.
“Have you confidence in your servants? Or, rather, have you reason to suspect any of them?”
“I believe they are honest. I don’t believe they would be tempted by such an article.”
“Not, perhaps, for their own use, but a glass like this may be pawned for a considerable sum. Being of peculiar appearance, the thief would be hardly likely to use it himself or herself. Detection would be too sure.”
“No doubt you are right.”
“How long has the glass been missing?” resumed the detective.
“Three days.”
“No doubt it has been pawned by this time. Your course is clear.”
“And what is that?”
“To make a tour of the pawnshops, and ascertain whether such an article has been brought to any one of them.”
“Very well, Mr. Lynx. I leave the matter in your hands. I trust everything to your judgment.”
“Thank you. I will try to deserve your confidence. And now, good-day. I may call upon you to-morrow.”
“Mr. Lynx left the presence of the lady, and went downstairs. He had just reached the bottom of the staircase, when a thin lady glided from the rear of the hall, and spoke to him.
“Are you the detective summoned by Mrs. Hamilton?” she asked.
“Yes, madam,” answered Mr. Lynx, surveying housekeeper attentively.
“I am Mrs. Hill, the housekeper,” said she. “I may add that I am a cousin of Mrs. Hamilton’s.”
Mr. Lynx bowed, and waited for further information. He knew who was addressing him, for he had questioned Mrs. Hamilton as to the different inmates of the house.
“I stopped you,” said Mrs. Hill, “because I have my suspicions, and I thought I might help you in this investigation.”
“I shall feel indebted to you for any help you can afford. Do you mind telling me upon what your suspicions rest?”
“I don’t like to accuse or throw suspicions on anyone,” said the housekeeper, but I think it is my duty to help my cousin in this matter.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Mr. Lynx, noticing that she paused. “Proceed.”
“You may or may not be aware that my cousin employs a boy of about sixteen, whom, as I think, she engaged rather rashly, without knowing anything of his antecedents. He assists her in her writing and accounts–in fact, is a sort of secretary.
“His name is Benjamin Barclay, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know anything of his habits?”
“He is very plausible. In fact, I think his appearance is in his favor; but I think he is sly. Still water, you know, runs deep.”
Mr. Lynx bowed assent.
“I was disposed,” proceeded Mrs. Hill artfully, “to think well of the boy, and to approve my cousin’s selection, until last week he was seen leaving a well-known gambling house in Thirty-first Street.”
“Indeed! That is certainly suspicious.”
“Is it not?”
“Who saw him leaving the gambling house, Mrs. Hill?”
“My son, Conrad.”
“Curious that he should have been near at the time!”
“He was taking a walk. He generally goes out in the evening.”
“Of course your son would not visit such a place?”
“Certainly not,” answered Mrs. Hill, looking offended at the suggestion.
“By the way, are the two boys intimate? Do they seem to like each other?”
“My Conrad always treats the other boy well, out of common politeness, but I don’t think he likes him very well.”
“Is your son in any situation?”
“He is now.”
“Was he at the time this Benjamin was engaged by Mrs. Hamilton?”
“No.”
“Rather singular that she did not employ your son, instead of seeking out a stranger, isn’t it?”
“Now that you mention it, I confess that I did feel hurt at the slight to my boy. However, I don’t wish to interfere with Cousin Hamilton, or obtrude my son upon her.”
“Strong jealousy there!” thought the detective.
“So you think this Ben Barclay may have taken the glass?” he said inquiringly.
“I do. Since he visits gambling houses, he doubtless squanders money, and can find a market for more than he can honestly earn.”
“As you say, gambling often leads to dishonesty. Does Mrs. Hamilton know that her protege visited a gambling house?”
“Yes.”
“Mentioned it to him, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, he denied it?”
“No; he admitted it, but said he received a letter from a stranger appointing to meet him there. It is rather curious that he couldn’t show the letter, however. He pretended he had lost it.”
“Did Mrs. Hamilton believe him?”
“I don’t know. I think not, for, though she has not discharged him, she treats him very coldly.”
“Have you any further information to give me?”
“No. I hope this will be of some service to you.”
“I think it will. Thank you, and good-afternoon.”
“There! I’ve prejudiced him against Ben,” said Mrs. Hill to herself, with a satisfied smile. “These detectives are glad of a hint, sharp as they think themselves. If he finds out that it is Ben, he will take all the credit to himself, and never mention me in the matter. However, that is just what I wish. It is important that I should not appear too active in getting the boy into trouble, or I may be thought to be influenced by interested motives, though, Heaven knows, I only want justice for myself and my boy. The sooner we get this boy out of the house, the better it will be for us.”
As Mr. Lynx left the house, he smiled to himself.
“That woman and her son hate Ben Barclay, that much is certain, and look upon him as an interloper and a rival. I rather sympathize with the poor fellow. I should be sorry to find him guilty, but I shall not stop short till I have ferreted out the truth.”
CHAPTER XXVII
THE TELLTALE TICKET
Conrad still had the pawnbroker’s ticket which he had received in return for the opera glasses, and did not quite know what to do with it. He didn’t intend to redeem the glass, and if found in his possession, it would bring him under suspicion. Now that a detective had the matter in charge, it occurred to him that it would be well to have the ticket found in Ben’s room.
The two had rooms upon the same floor, and it would, therefore, be easy to slip into Ben’s chamber and leave it somewhere about.
Now, it chanced that Susan, the chambermaid, was about, though Conrad did not see her, when he carried out his purpose, and, instigated by curiosity, she peeped through the half-open door, and saw him place the ticket on the bureau.
Wondering what it was, she entered the room after Conrad had vacated it, and found the ticket Conrad had placed there.
Susan knew what a pawnbroker’s ticket was, and read it with curiosity.
She saw that it was made out to Ben Barclay.
“How, then, did Master Conrad get hold of it?” she said to herself. “It’s my belief he’s trying to get Master Ben into trouble. It’s a shame, it is, for Master Ben is a gentleman and he isn’t.”
Between the two boys, Susan favored Ben, who always treated her with consideration, while Conrad liked to order about the servants, as if they were made to wait upon him.
After Conrad had disposed of the pawn ticket, he said carelessly to his mother:
“Mother, if I were you, I’d look into Ben’s room. You might find the opera glass there.”
“I don’t think he’d leave it there. He would pawn it.”
“Then you might find the ticket somewhere about.”
Upon this hint, Mrs. Hill went up to Ben’s room, and there, upon the bureau, she naturally found the ticket.
“I thought so,” she said to herself. “Conrad was right. The boy is a thief. Here is the ticket made out to him by name. Well, well, he’s brazen enough, in all conscience. Now shall I show it to Cousin Hamilton at once, or shall I wait until the detective has reported?”
On the whole, Mrs. Hill decided to wait. She could delay with safety, for she had proof which would utterly crush and confound the hated interloper.
Meanwhile, the detective pursued his investigations. Of course, he visited Simpson’s, and there he learned that the opera glass, which he readily recognized from the description, had been brought there a few days previous.
“Who brought it?” he asked.
“A boy of about sixteen.”
“Did he give his name?”
The books were referred to, and the attendant answered in the affirmative.
“He gave the name of Ben Barclay,” he answered.
“Do you think that was his real name?” asked the detective.
“That depends on whether he had a right to pawn it.”
“Suppose he stole it?”
“Then, probably, he did not give his real name.”
“So I think,” said Mr. Lynx quietly.
“Do you know if there is a boy by that name?”
“There is; but I doubt if he knows anything about the matter.”
“I will call again, perhaps to-morrow,” he added. “I must report to my principal what I have discovered.”
From Simpson’s he went straight to Mrs. Hamilton, who had as yet received no communication from the housekeeper.
“Well, Mr. Lynx,” she asked, with interest, “have you heard anything of the glass?”
“I have seen it,” was the quiet reply.
“Where?”
“At a well-known pawnshop on the Bowery.”
“Did you learn who left it?” asked Mrs. Hamilton eagerly.
“A boy–about sixteen years of age–who gave the name of Ben Barclay.”
“I can’t believe Ben would be guilty of such a disgraceful act!” ejaculated Mrs. Hamilton, deeply moved.
CHAPTER XXVIII
MRS. HILL’S MALICE
At this moment there was a low knock on the door.
“Come in!” said Mrs. Hamilton.
Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, glided in, with her usual stealthy step.
“I really beg pardon for intruding,” she said, with a slight cough, “but I thought perhaps I might throw light on the matter Mr. Lynx is investigating.”
“Well?” said the detective, eying her attentively.
“I had occasion to go into Ben’s room to see if the girl had put things in order, when my attention was drawn to a ticket upon the bureau. You can tell whether it is of importance,” and she handed it, with an air of deference, to Mr. Lynx.
“What is it?” asked Mrs. Hamilton.
“It is a pawn ticket,” answered Mr. Lynx attentively.
“Let me see it, please!”
Mrs. Hamilton regarded it with mingled pain and incredulity.
“I need not say,” continued the housekeeper, “that I was surprised and saddened at this evidence of the boy’s depravity. Cousin Hamilton has been so kind to him that it seems like the height of ingratitude.”
“May I ask, madam,” said Mr. Lynx, “if your suspicions had fastened on this boy, Ben, before you found the pawn ticket?”
“To tell the truth, they had.”
“And what reason had you for forming such suspicions?”
“I knew that the boy frequented gambling houses, and, of course, no salary, however large, would be sufficient for a boy with such habits.”
Mrs. Hamilton did not speak, which somewhat embarrassed Mrs. Hill. Mr. Lynx, however, was very affable, and thanked her for her assistance.
“I felt it my duty to assist Cousin Hamilton,” said she, “though I am sorry for that ungrateful boy. I will now withdraw, and leave you to confer together.”
Mrs. Hill would like to have been invited to remain, but such an invitation was not given.
“What do you think, Mr. Lynx?” asked Mrs. Hamilton.
“I think your housekeeper does not like Ben Barclay,” he answered dryly.
“And you don’t think him guilty?” she asked eagerly.
“No; the boy isn’t fool enough, first, to give his own name at the pawnbroker’s, and next, to leave the ticket exposed in his room.”
“How then did it come there?”
Mr. Lynx was saved the trouble of answering by another tap on the door.
“Who is it now?” he said.
He stepped to the door, and opening it, admitted Susan.
“What is it, Susan,” asked Mrs. Hamilton, in some surprise.
“Did Mrs. Hill bring you a pawn ticket, ma’am?”
“And what do you know about it?” demanded Mr. Lynx brusquely.
“And did she say she found it on Master Ben’s bureau?”
“Yes, Susan,” said the mistress; “what can you tell us about it?”
“I can tell you this, ma’am, that I saw Master Conrad steal into the room this morning, and put it there with his own hands.”
“Ha! this is something to the purpose.” said the detective briskly.
“Are you sure of this, Susan?” asked Mrs. Hamilton, evidently shocked.
“I can take my Bible oath of it, ma’am; and it’s my belief that he’s tryin’ to get Master Ben into trouble.”
“Thank you, Susan,” said her mistress. “You have done not only Ben, but myself, a valuable service. You can go. I will see that you do not regret it.”
“Don’t tell Mrs. Hill that I told you, or she’d be my enemy for life!”
“I will see to that.”
As Susan left the room, Mr. Lynx said:
“You won’t require my services any longer. It is clear enough who pawned the glass.”
“You mean–“
“I mean the boy Conrad, whose mother was so anxious to fix the guilt upon your young secretary. If you have the slightest doubt about it, invite the young gentleman to accompany you to Simpson’s to redeem the opera glass.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER XXIX
SOME UNEXPECTED CHANGES
When Conrad came home his first visit was to his mother.
“Has anything been found out about the stolen opera glass?” he asked, with a studied air of indifference.
“I should say there had,” she answered. “I followed the clew you suggested, and searched the boy’s room. On the bureau I found the pawn ticket.”
“You don’t say so! What a muff Ben must have been to leave it around so carelessly! What did you do with it?”
“I waited till Mr. Lynx was conferring with Cousin Hamilton, and then I carried it in and gave it to them.”
“What did they say?” asked Conrad eagerly.
“They seemed thunderstruck, and Mr. Lynx very politely thanked me for the help I had given them.”
“Has Ben been bounced yet?”
“No; but doubtless he will be very soon. Cousin Hamilton doesn’t want to think him a thief and gambler, but there seems no way of escaping from such a mass of proof.”
“I should say not. Do you think she’s told Ben? Does he look down in the mouth?” continued Conrad.
“I haven’t seen him since.”
When they met at the table Mrs. Hamilton’s manner toward Ben was decidedly frigid, as Conrad and his mother saw, much to their satisfaction. Ben looked sober, but his appetite did not appear to be affected.
“Your course is about run, young man!” thought Mrs. Hill.
“I should like to see you after supper, Conrad,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “Come into my sitting room.”
“I wonder if she is going to give me Ben’s place,” thought Conrad, hardly knowing whether he wished it or not.
With a jaunty air and a self-satisfied smile, he followed Mrs. Hamilton into her “private office,” as she sometimes called it.
“Shut the door, Conrad,” she said.
He did so.
“I have heard news of the opera glass,” she commenced.
“Mother gave me a hint of that,” said Conrad.
“It was stolen and pawned at Simpson’s on the Bowery.”
“It’s a great shame!” said Conrad, thinking that a safe comment to make.
“Yes, it was a shame and a disgrace to the one who took it.”
“I didn’t think Ben would do such a thing,” continued Conrad, growing bolder.
“Nor I,” said Mrs. Hamilton.
“After all you have done for him, too. I never liked the boy, for my part.”
“So I suspected,” said Mrs. Hamilton dryly. “However, I will tell you what I want of you. I am going down to Simpson’s to-morrow to redeem the glass, and want you to go with me.”
“You want me to go with you!” ejaculated Conrad, turning pale.
“Yes; I don’t care to go to that part of the City by myself, and I will take you to keep me company.”
“But I must go to the office,” faltered Conrad.
“I will send Ben to say that you can’t go to-morrow.”
“Why don’t you take Ben to Simpson’s, or the detective?” suggested Conrad, in great alarm, bethinking himself that it would hardly do to take Ben, since the attendant would certify that he was not the one who pawned the glass.
“Because I prefer to take you. Have you any objection to go!”
“Oh, no, of course not!” answered Conrad, not daring to make any further objection.
In the morning Mrs. Hill came to Mrs. Hamilton, and said:
“Poor Conrad has a terrible toothache! He is afraid he won’t be able to go with you to Simpson’s. Will you kindly excuse him?”
Mrs. Hamilton expected some such excuse.
“I will take Ben, then,” she said.
“Are you going to keep that boy–after what be has done?” asked the housekeeper.
“It is inconvenient for me to part with him just yet.”
“Then–I hope you will excuse the suggestion–I advise you to keep your bureau drawers locked.”
“I think it best myself,” said Mrs. Hamilton. Is Conrad’s toothache very bad?”
“The poor fellow is in great pain.”
When Ben was invited by Mrs. Hamilton to go to the pawnbroker’s he made no objection.
“It is only fair to tell you, Ben,” said Mrs. Hamilton, that the person who pawned the opera glass gave your name.”
“Then,” said Ben, “I should like to know who it is.”
“I think I know,” said his patroness; “but when we redeem the glass we will ask for a description of him.”
An hour later they entered the pawnbroker’s shop. Mrs. Hamilton presented the ticket and made herself known.
“Will you tell me,” she asked, “whether you have ever seen the young gentleman that accompanies me?”
“Not to my knowledge,” answered the attendant, after attentively regarding Ben.
“Can you remember the appearance of the boy who pawned the opera glass?”
“He was taller than this boy, and pale. He was thinner also. His hair was a light brown.”
A light dawned upon Ben, and his glance met that of Mrs. Hamilton, so that she read his suspicions.
“I think we both know who it was that took your name, Ben,” she said; “but for the present I wish you to keep it secret.”
“I will certainly do so, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“I am placed in difficult circumstances, and have not made up my mind what to do.”
“I hope you won’t allow yourself to be prejudiced against me by any false stories.”
“No, I can promise you that. I have perfect confidence in you.”
“Thank you for that, Mrs. Hamilton,” said Ben gratefully.
“Yet I am about to take a course that will surprise you.”
“What is that?”
“I am going to let you leave me for a time, and put Conrad in your place.”
Ben looked bewildered, as well he might. There was nothing that would have surprised him more.
“Then I am afraid you don’t find me satisfactory,” he said anxiously.
“Why not?”
“You discharge me from your service.”
“No” answered Mrs. Hamilton, smiling; “I have other work for you to do. I mean to give you a confidential commission.”
Ben’s face brightened up immediately.
“You will find me faithful,” he said, “and I hope I may repay your confidence.”
“I think you will. I will explain matters to you before you reach the house, as I don’t want Mrs. Hill or Conrad to know about the matter. Indeed, for reasons of my own, I shall let them think that I discharged you.”
Ben smiled; he was not averse to such a plan.
“And now for the business. I own a farm in the western part of Pennsylvania. I have for years let it for a nominal sum to a man named Jackson. Of late he has been very anxious to buy it, and has offered me a sum greater than I had supposed it to be worth. As I know him to be a close-fisted man, who has tried more than once to get me to reduce the small rent I charge him, this naturally excites my curiosity. I think something has been discovered that enhances the value of the farm, and, if so, I want to know it. You are a boy, and a visit to the neighborhood will not excite surprise.
“I understand,” said Ben. “When do you wish me to start?”
“This afternoon. I have prepared written instructions, and here is a pocketbook containing a hundred and fifty dollars for expenses.”
“Shall I need so much?”
“Probably not; but I wish you to be amply provided. You will remove all your things from my house, but you may store anything you don’t need to carry.”
When Conrad heard that Mrs. Hamilton had taken Ben with her, he was alarmed lest it should be discovered that the boy pawning the opera glass was not Ben, but himself. When, upon Mrs. Hamilton’s return, he was summoned to her presence, he entered with trepidation.
“Is your toothache better, Conrad?” asked Mrs. Hamilton.
“A little better, thank you.”
“I am going to make a change in your position. Ben is to leave me, and you will take his place as my secretary.”
Conrad’s heart bounded with joy and surprise.
“How can I thank you, Cousin Hamilton!” he said, with a feeling of great relief.
“By serving me well.”
“All has turned out for the best, mother,” said Conrad joyfully, as he sought his mother’s presence. “Ben is bounced, and I am to take his place.”
“Heaven be praised!” ejaculated Mrs. Hill.
“I hope you’ll soon find a place,” said Conrad mockingly, when Ben left the house, valise in hand.
“I think I shall,” answered Ben calmly.
CHAPTER XXX
BEN “GOES WEST”
Undisturbed by the thought that his departure was viewed with joy by Conrad and his mother, Ben set out on his Western journey.
His destination was Centerville, in Western Pennsylvania. I may as well say that this is not the real name of the place, which, for several reasons, I conceal.
Though Ben was not an experienced traveler, he found no difficulty in reaching his destination, having purchased a copy of “Appleton’s Railway Guide,” which afforded him all the information he required. About fifty miles this side of Centerville he had for a seat companion a man of middle age, with a pleasant face, covered with a brown beard, who, after reading through a Philadelphia paper which he had purchased of the train-boy, seemed inclined to have a social chat with Ben.
“May I ask your destination, my young friend?” he asked.
Ben felt that it was well for him to be cautious, though he was pleasantly impressed with the appearance of his companion.
“I think I shall stop over at Centerville,” he said.
“Indeed! That is my destination.”
“Do you live there?” asked Ben.
“No,” said the other, laughing. “Do I look like it? I thought you would read ‘New York’ in my face and manner.”
“I am not an experienced observer,” said Ben modestly.
“Centerville has a prosperous future before it,” said the stranger.
“Has it? I don’t know much about the place. I never was there.”
“You know, of course, that it is in the oil region?”
“I didn’t even know that.”
“A year ago,” resumed the stranger, “it was a humdrum farming town, and not a very prosperous one either. The land is not of good quality, and the farmers found it hard work to get a poor living. Now all is changed.”
Ben’s attention was aroused. He began to understand why Mr. Jackson wished to buy the farm he rented from Mrs. Hamilton.
“This is all new to me,” he said. “I suppose oil has been found there?”
“Yes; one old farm, which would have been dear at three thousand dollars, is now yielding hundreds of barrels daily, and would fetch fifty thousand dollars easily.”
Ben began to be excited. If he could only sell Mrs. Hamilton’s farm for half that he felt that he would be doing an excellent thing.
“I suppose you are interested in some of the petroleum wells?” he said.
“Not yet, but I hope to be. In fact, I don’t mind confessing that I represent a New York syndicate, and that my object in making this journey is to purchase, if I can, the Jackson farm.”
“The Jackson farm!” repeated Ben, his breath almost taken away by his surprise.
“Yes; do you know anything about it?” asked his companion.
“I have heard of a farmer in Centerville named Peter Jackson.”
“That is the man.”
“And his farm is one of the lucky ones, then?”
“It promises to be.”
“I suppose, then, you will have to pay a large sum for it?” said Ben, trying to speak calmly.
“Jackson is very coy, and, I think, grasping. He wants fifty thousand dollars.”
“Of course you won’t pay so much?”
“I should hardly feel authorized to do so. I may go as high as forty thousand dollars.”
Ben was dazzled. If he could effect a sale at this price he would be doing a splendid stroke of business, and would effectually defeat the plans of Mr. Jackson, who, it appeared, had pretended that he was the owner of the farm, hoping to obtain it from Mrs. Hamilton at a valuation which would have been suitable before the discovery of oil, but now would be ludicrously disproportionate to its real value.
“Shall or shall I not, tell this gentleman the truth?” he reflected.
He thought over the matter and decided to do so. The discovery must be made sooner or later, and there would be no advantage in delay.
“I don’t think Jackson will sell,” he said.
“Why not?” asked the stranger, in surprise. “Do you know him?”
“I never saw him in my life.”
“Then how can you form any opinion on the subject?”
Ben smiled.
“The answer is easy enough,” he said. “Mr. Jackson can’t sell what he doesn’t own.”
“Do you mean to say that he is not the owner of the farm which he proposes to sell us?”
“That is just what I mean. He is no more the owner than you or I.”
“You speak confidently, young man. Perhaps you can tell me who is the owner?”
“I can. The owner is Mrs. Hamilton, of New York.”
“Indeed! That is a genuine surprise. Can you give me her address? I should like to communicate with her.”
“I will cheerfully give you her address, but it won’t be necessary, for I represent her.”
“You!” exclaimed the stranger incredulously.
“Yes; and I am going out to Centerville now as her agent. This Jackson, who is her tenant, has been urging her to sell him the farm for some time. He has offered a sum larger than the farm would be worth but for the discovery of petroleum, but has taken good care not to speak of this.”
“How much does he offer?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“The rascal!” He offers five thousand, and expects us to pay him fifty thousand dollars for his bargain. What an unmitigated swindle it would have been if he had carried out his scheme!”
“Perhaps you would like to see his last letter?” said Ben.
“I should. I want to see what the old rascal has to say for himself.”
Ben took from his pocket the letter in question, and put it into the hands of his new acquaintance.
It was dated at Centerville, October 21. It was written in a cramped hand, showing that the farmer was not accustomed to letter-writing.
It ran thus:
“Respected Madam:
“As I have already wrote you, I would like to buy the farm, and will give you more than anybody else, because I am used to living on it, and it seems like home. I am willing to pay five thousand dollars, though I know it is only worth four, but it is worth more to me than to others. I offer you more because I know you are rich, and will not sell unless you get a good bargain. Please answer right away.
“Yours respectfully,
Peter Jackson.
“P.S.–My offer will hold good for only two weeks.”
“He seems to be very much in earnest,” said Ben.
“He has reason to be so, as he hopes to make forty-five thousand dollars on his investment.”
“He will be bitterly disappointed,” said Ben.
“I don’t care anything about Jackson,” said the stranger. “I would just as soon negotiate with you. Are you authorized to sell the farm?”
“No,” answered Ben; “but Mrs. Hamilton will probably be guided by my advice in the mater.”
“That amounts to the same thing. I offer you forty thousand dollars for it.”
“I think favorably of your proposal, Mr. —-“
“My name is Taylor.”
“Mr. Taylor; but I prefer to delay answering till I am on the ground and can judge better of the matter.”
“You are right. I was surprised at first that Mrs. Hamilton should have selected so young an agent. I begin to think her choice was a judicious one.”
CHAPTER XXXI
MR. JACKSON RECEIVES A CALL
“Suppose we join forces, Ben,” said Mr. Taylor familiarly.
“How do you mean?”
“We will join forces against this man Jackson. He wants to swindle both of us–that is, those whom we represent.
“I am willing to work with you” answered Ben, who had been favorably impressed by the appearance and frankness of his traveling companion.
“Then suppose to-morrow morning–it is too late to-day–we call over and see the old rascal.”
“I would rather not have him know on what errand I come, just at first.”
“That is in accordance with my own plans. You will go as my companion. He will take you for my son, or nephew, and, while I am negotiating, you can watch and judge for yourself.”
“I like the plan,” said Ben.
“When he finds out who you are he will feel pretty badly sold.”
“He deserves it.”
The two put up at a country hotel, which, though not luxurious, was tolerably comfortable. After the fatigue of his journey, Ben enjoyed a good supper and a comfortable bed. The evening, however, he spent in the public room of the inn, where he had a chance to listen to the conversation of a motley crowd, some of them native and residents, others strangers who had been drawn to Centerville by the oil discoveries.
“I tell you,” said a long, lank individual, “Centerville’s goin’ to be one of the smartest places in the United States. It’s got a big future before it.”
“That’s so,” said a small, wiry man; “but I’m not so much interested in that as I am in the question whether or not I’ve got a big future before me.”
“You’re one of the owners of the Hoffman farm, ain’t you?”
“Yes. I wish I owned the whole of it. Still, I’ve made nigh on to a thousand dollars durin’ the last month for my share of the profits. Pretty fair, eh?”
“I should say so. You’ve got a good purchase; but there’s one better in my opinion.”
“Where’s that?”
“Peter Jackson’s farm.”
Here Ben and Mr. Taylor began to listen with interest.
“He hasn’t begun to work it any, has he?”
“Not much; just enough to find out its value.”
“What’s he waitin’ for?”
“There’s some New York people want it. If he can get his price, he’ll sell it to them for a good sum down.”
“What does he ask?”
“He wants fifty thousand dollars.”
“Whew! that’s rather stiffish. I thought the property belonged to a lady in New York.”
“So it did; but Jackson says he bought it a year ago.”
“He was lucky.”
Ben and Mr. Taylor looked at each other again. It was easy to see the old farmer’s game, and to understand why he was so anxious to secure the farm, out of which he could make so large a sum of money.
“He’s playing a deep game, Ben,” said Taylor, when they had left the room.
“Yes; but I think I shall be able to put a spoke in his wheel.”
“I shall be curious to see how he takes it when he finds the negotiation taken out of his hands. We’ll play with him a little, as a cat plays with a mouse.”
The next morning, after a substantial breakfast, Ben and his new friend took a walk to the farm occupied by Peter Jackson. It was about half a mile away, and when reached gave no indication of the wealth it was capable of producing. The farmhouse was a plain structure nearly forty years old, badly in need of paint, and the out-buildings harmonized with it in appearance.
A little way from the house was a tall, gaunt man, engaged in mending a fence. He was dressed in a farmer’s blue frock and overalls, and his gray, stubby beard seemed to be of a week’s growth. There was a crafty, greedy look in his eyes, which overlooked a nose sharp and aquiline. His feet were incased in a pair of cowhide boots. He looked inquiringly at Taylor as he approached, but hardly deigned to look at Ben, who probably seemed too insignificant to notice. He gave a shrewd guess at the errand of the visitor, but waited for him to speak first.
“Is this Mr. Jackson?” asked Taylor, with a polite bow.
“That’s my name, stranger,” answered the old man.
“My name is Taylor. I wrote to you last week.”
“I got the letter,” said Jackson, going on with his work. It was his plan not to seem too eager but to fight shy in order to get his price. Besides, though he would have been glad to close the bargain on the spot, there was an embarrassing difficulty. The farm was not his to sell, and he was anxiously awaiting Mrs. Hamilton’s answer to his proposal.
“She can’t have heard of the oil discoveries,” he thought, “and five thousand dollars will seem a big price for the farm. She can’t help agreeing to my terms.”
This consideration made him hopeful, but for all that, he must wait, and waiting he found very tantalizing.
“Have you decided to accept my offer, Mr. Jackson?”
“Waal, I’ll have to take a leetle time to consider. How much did you say you’d give?”
“Forty thousand dollars.”
“I’d ought to have fifty.”
“Forty thousand dollars is a big sum of money.”
“And this farm is a perfect gold mine. Shouldn’t wonder if it would net a hundred thousand dollars.”
“There is no certainty of that, and the purchasers will have to take a big risk”
“There isn’t much risk. Ask anybody in Centerville what he thinks of the Jackson farm.”