Alger Horatio Jr.
Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune
CHAPTER X. AN EXCITING SCENE
“You’d better go upstairs and get that money, or I will go up myself,” said the tramp, boldly.
“I will go,” said Mrs. Cole, terrified.
It was at this time that Tom Tripp, looking in at the window, got an idea of the situation, but he was unobserved. The river bank was near, and he ran down to it, hoping, but not expecting, to see some one who could interfere with the impudent robber. We have already seen that he was luckier than he anticipated.
Meanwhile Mrs. Cole went upstairs, not knowing how to save the money from being carried away. She wished heartily that her husband had taken it with him. One hundred dollars, as she well knew, would be a serious loss to her husband, who was only moderately well to do. She thought it possible that the tramp might know how large a sum there was in the house, but could not be sure. She resolved, however, to make an effort to save the larger part of the money. From the wallet she took two five-dollar bills, and then, removing it from the drawer, put it between the beds. She lingered as long as she dared, and then went downstairs with the two bills in her hand.
“Well, have you got the money?” growled the tramp.
“Don’t take it,” she said; “be satisfied with the breakfast I have given you.”
“You’re a fool!” said the tramp, rudely. “How much have you got there?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars!” said the tramp, disdainfully. “What do you take me for?”
“It is a large sum of money to me and my husband, sir,” said the poor woman, nervously.
“It isn’t enough for me! You have got more money in the house. Don’t lie to me! You know you have.”
“I am not used to be talked to in that way,” said Mrs. Cole, forgetting her timidity for the moment.
“I can’t help what you are used to; you’d better not trifle with me. Go upstairs and bring down the rest of the money—do you hear?”
“Oh, sir!”
“‘Oh, sir!’” repeated the tramp, impatiently. “I can’t stay here all day. Are you going to do as I tell you?”
“I suppose I must,” said the poor woman.
“That’s sensible. You’ll find out after a while that nothing is to be gained by trying to fool me. I’ll give you just three minutes to find that money and bring it down.”
“You’ll leave the spoons, then?”
“No; I want them, as I’ve already told you. Come, two minutes are passed. I don’t want to kill you, but—”
Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from just outside the window.
“Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian shall not harm you.”
It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and stared in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert.
“What business is it of yours?” he demanded, in a blustering tone.
“We make it our business to defend this lady from your thievish designs,” said Melville.
“You!” exclaimed the tramp, contemptuously. “Why, I could twist either of you round my little finger.”
“You’d better not try it!” said Melville, not showing the least trepidation. “Mrs. Cole, has this man anything of yours in his possession?”
“He has my spoons and I have just handed him ten dollars.”
George Melville turned to the tramp.
“Be kind enough to lay the spoons on the table,” he said, “and give back the ten dollars Mrs. Cole handed you.”
“You must think I’m a fool!” said the tramp.
“No; but I think you are a prudent man. If you do as I say we will let you go; if not—”
“Well, if not?” blustered the tramp.
“If not, you may regret it.”
All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice, and the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with him. For himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill at ease, notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He was rather disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for he could not understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a man of twice his size and strength.
“I don’t care for the spoons,” he said, “but I will take the money.”
“No, you will return the money,” said Melville, calmly.
“Who will make me?” demanded the tramp, defiantly.
“I will.”
“We’ll see about that!” said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and stood only six feet distant.
“Stay where you are!” exclaimed Melville, resolutely, and he drew a pistol, which he leveled at his formidable antagonist.
“That settles it, stranger!” said the tramp, “You’ve got the advantage of me this time. Just wait till we meet again.”
“I am willing to wait for some time,” said Melville, shrugging his shoulders. “I have no desire to cultivate your acquaintance, my friend.”
“There are the spoons!” said the tramp, throwing them down on the table.
“Now for the money!”
The tramp looked at George Melville. Melville still held the pistol in his hand leveled at his breast. The thief was a large man, but he was not a brave one. He cowered before the resolute glance of his small opponent.
“Won’t you interfere with me if I give back the money?” he asked.
“No.”
“Will you let me go without firing at me?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you won’t keep your agreement,” suggested the tramp, nervously.
“I am a man of my word,” said Melville, calmly.
His calm, resolute tone, free from all excitement, impressed the tramp with confidence. He drew the notes from his vest pocket, where he had thrust them, and threw them on the table.
“Now, may I go?” he said.
In answer, George Melville, who stood between him and the door, drew aside, still, however, holding the pistol in position, and the tramp passed out, not sorry, it may be said, to get out of range of the weapon.
They watched him striding through the yard, and when he was fairly gone Mrs. Cole said:
“Oh, how can I thank you for saving me from this wretch?”
“I am glad to have been the instrument of deliverance,” said Melville, politely.
“It was fortunate you had the pistol with you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert.
“Well, yes, perhaps it was,” said Melville, smiling.
“Pray, put it up, Mr. Melville,” said the farmer’s wife, “it always makes me nervous to see a loaded pistol.”
Melville bowed, and put back the pistol in his pocket.
“As your unpleasant visitor has gone,” he said, “I may as well relieve your fears by saying that the pistol is not loaded.”
“Not loaded!” exclaimed Herbert and Tom Tripp in concert.
“No; it has not been loaded to my knowledge for a year.”
“Then how could you stand up against that man?” asked the farmer’s wife, in wonder.
“He thought it was loaded!” replied Melville, “and that answered the purpose. I should be very reluctant to use a loaded pistol, for I have a high idea of the sacredness of human life, but I have no objection to playing upon the fears of a man like that.”
Melville and Herbert remained at the farmhouse for half an hour, till the return of the farmer, when they resumed their river trip. They returned about noon. When they were walking through the main street, Herbert saw the town constable approaching with the air of a man who had business with him.
“Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Bruce?” he asked.
“Yes, Herbert. I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“For my arrest!” exclaimed Herbert, in amazement. “What for?”
“On complaint of Eben Graham, for abstracting postage stamps and money from the post office last evening.”
CHAPTER XI. TRIED FOR THEFT
Herbert stared at the constable in blank amazement.
“I am charged with stealing stamps and money from the post office?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Who makes the charge?” demanded Herbert, in great excitement.
“Eben Graham.”
“I don’t know what it means,” said our hero, turning to George Melville.
“It means,” said Melville, “that the fellow is envious of you, and angry because he cannot supersede you with me. He evidently wants to do you an injury.”
“It must be so; but I did not imagine that Eben could be so mean. Mr. Bruce, do you believe that I am a thief?”
“No, I don’t, Herbert,” said the constable, “and it was very much against my will that I started out to arrest you, you may be sure.”
“When do you want me to go with you?” asked Herbert.
“You will go before Justice Slocum at two o’clock.”
“Is it necessary for me to go to the lockup?” asked Herbert, shrinking, with natural repugnance, from entering the temporary house of tramps and law breakers.
“No, Herbert,” answered the constable, in a friendly tone. “I’ll take it upon myself to let you go home to dinner. I will call for you at quarter of two. Of course I shall find you ready to accompany me?”
“Yes, Mr. Bruce, I am impatient to meet Eben Graham, and tell him to his face that he has been guilty of a mean and contemptible falsehood, in charging me with theft. Not a person in the village who knows me will believe it.”
“I will also call at your house, Herbert,” said George Melville, “and accompany you to the office of the justice. I shall ask leave to give the details of Eben Graham’s visit to me last evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, “I am glad you do not believe a word of this story.”
“I am not so easily deceived, Herbert. It is quite possible that stamps and money have been stolen, but, if so, it is your false friend and accuser who is guilty.”
Of course Herbert had to tell his mother what had happened. She was agitated and alarmed, but became calmer when Herbert told her what was Eben’s probable motive in making the charge.
“How can he behave so shamefully!” exclaimed the indignant parent.
“I didn’t think him capable of it, myself, mother, although I had a poor opinion of him.”
“Suppose that you can’t prove that you are innocent, Herbert?” said Mrs. Carr, anxiously.
“It is for him to prove that I am guilty, mother,” answered Herbert, who knew this much of law.
At a quarter of two Constable Bruce and Mr. Melville walked to the house together.
The door was opened for them by Herbert himself.
“So you haven’t taken leg bail, Herbert,” said the constable, jocosely.
“No, Mr. Bruce, I am on hand; I am in a hurry to meet Mr. Eben Graham and see whether he can look me in the face after his shameful behavior.”
“Oh, Mr. Bruce, I never thought you would call at my home on such an errand,” said Mrs. Carr, on the point of breaking down.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Carr,” said the constable; “anybody may be charged with theft, however innocent. Your son has good friends who won’t see him treated with injustice.”
Herbert’s mother was desirous of accompanying them to the office of the justice, but was persuaded to remain behind. Herbert knew that in her indignation she would not be able to be silent when she saw Eben Graham.
Justice Slocum was an elderly man, with a mild face and gray hair. When Herbert entered he greeted him in a friendly way.
“I am sorry to see you here, my boy,” he said, “but I am sure there is some mistake. I have known you ever since you were a baby, and I don’t believe you are guilty of theft now.”
“I submit, Judge Slocum,” said Eben Graham, who sat in a corner, his mean features looking meaner and more insignificant than usual, “I submit that you are prejudging the case.”
“Silence, sir!” said Judge Slocum, warmly. “How dare you impugn my conduct? Though Herbert were my own son, I would give you a chance to prove him guilty.”
“I hope you’ll excuse me, judge,” said Eben, cringing. “I am as sorry as you are to believe the boy guilty of stealing.”
“Do your worst and say your worst, Eben Graham!” said Herbert, contemptuously, “but be very careful that you do not swear falsely.”
“I don’t need any instructions from you, Herbert Carr, considering that you are a criminal on trial,” said Eben, maliciously.
“You are mistaken, sir,” said George Melville. “To be under arrest does not make a man or boy a criminal.”
“I am sure I am much obliged for the information, Mr. Melville,” said Eben, spitefully. “You’ve chosen a nice companion.”
“There you are right,” said Melville, gravely. “I have done much better than if I had hired you.”
Eben winced, but did not reply.
George Melville whispered to Herbert:
“Are you willing to accept me as your lawyer? I am not much of one, to be sure, but this case is very simple.”
“I am very grateful for your offer, and accept it,” said Herbert.
I do not propose to record the whole scene in detail, but only to give a general idea of the proceedings.
Eben Graham was sworn as a witness, and deposed that he had left Herbert in charge of the post office the previous evening. On his return he examined the stamps and contents of the money drawer, and found, to his surprise, that five dollars in money and six dollars’ worth of stamps were missing.
“How did you know they were missing?” asked Melville.
“Because I knew precisely how much money was in the drawer and how many stamps were there.”
“Then you counted them just before you went out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That was rather a singular time to make the count, was it not?”
“I don’t know that it was, sir.”
“I should suppose the end of the day would be a more appropriate time.”
“I don’t think so,” answered Eben, shortly.
“Were you led to make the count because you suspected Herbert’s honesty?” asked Mr. Melville.
“That was the very reason I did it,” said Eben, with a malicious glance at Herbert.
“Isn’t it a little curious that you should have selected a boy whose honesty you doubted, to fill your place?” asked George Melville, carelessly.
“There wasn’t anybody else; he knew all about post-office work.” answered Eben.
“Very good! Now, Mr. Graham, if you have no objection, will you tell why you wanted to get away from the post office last evening?”
Eben fidgeted, for he saw what was coming, and it made him nervous.
“I wanted a little rest,” he answered, after a pause.
“Where did you go?”
“Why do you ask me that question?” asked Eben, moving about uneasily.
“Because I desire an answer.”
“You know where I went,” returned Eben, sullenly.
“Yes, but I wish you to tell me.”
“Answer the question, witness!” said the judge, briefly.
“I went to the hotel,” replied Eben, evasively.
“On whom did you call?”
“On you!” answered Eben, reluctantly.
“We have come to it at last. Now, what was your business with me?”
“To tell you that Herbert would not suit you as a companion,” said the witness, who thought this answer rather a clever one.
“Whom did you recommend in his place?” pursued the questioner, relentlessly.
Eben hesitated, but his cleverness came again to his aid.
“I told you that I would be willing to come just to oblige you,” he said.
“Did Herbert know that you were going to make this proposal?”
“No.”
“You asked him, then, to remain in the post office while you absented yourself with a view of depriving him of the position he had just secured in my employ?”
“I would have got father to take him again in the store and post office,” said Eben, defending himself from the implied charge of treachery.
“Yes, you told me so.”
Eben nodded triumphantly. Even Melville had to admit that he was not treating Herbert meanly.
“By the way,” said Melville, “isn’t it rather strange that you should have been ready to recommend in your place a boy whose honesty you doubted?”
“I didn’t know he was a thief,” said Eben, somewhat abashed.
“No, but you suspected his honesty. That was your reason for counting the money and stamps before you left the office. At least, that is the reason you have given.”
“He had been in the office before I was there,” said Eben, uneasily.
“While he was there, were any stamps missing? Was he suspected of taking any stamps or money?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Now, Mr. Graham, what answer did I make to your application?”
“What application?”
“To take you into my employ instead of Herbert.”
“You wanted to keep him,” said the witness, sullenly.
“Precisely. Having failed, then, in your application, you went home and discovered that some money and stamps had been stolen.”
“Yes, sir. I was very much surprised—”
“That will do, sir. Your discovery was remarkably well-timed. Herbert having obtained the position you sought, you straightway discovered proof of his dishonesty.”
Eben colored, for the insinuation was plain enough for even him to understand.
“The two things had nothing to do with each other!” he said.
“That may be, but I call the attention of the judge to a very remarkable coincidence. Have the missing stamps or money been found on the person of the defendant?”
“He hasn’t been searched.”
“I will take it upon me to say that he is ready to submit to an examination,” said Melville.
Herbert said, emphatically, “I am.”
“Oh, it isn’t likely you’d find anything now.” said Eben, with a sneer.
“Why not?”
“He has had plenty of time to put ‘em away.”
“I am willing to have my mother’s house searched,” said Herbert, promptly.
“Oh, they ain’t there!” said Eben, significantly.
“Where are they, then?”
Eben’s answer took Herbert and his lawyer, and the judge himself, by surprise.
CHAPTER XII. EBEN’S TRUMP CARD
“I guess they’re—a part of them—inside this letter,” he said.
As he spoke he produced a letter, stamped and sealed, but not postmarked. The letter was addressed:
“Messrs. Jones & Fitch,
“—-Chestnut Street,
“Philadelphia.”
“What makes you think this letter contains money or postage stamps, Mr. Graham?” asked George Melville.
“Because I’ve seen an advertisement of Jones & Fitch in one of the weekly papers. They advertise to send several articles to any address on receipt of seventy-five cents in postage stamps.”
“Very well. What inference do you draw from this?”
“Don’t you see?” answered Eben, in malicious triumph. “That’s where part of the stamps went. This letter was put into the post office by Herbert Carr this morning.”
“That is not true,” said Herbert, quietly.
“Maybe it isn’t, but I guess you’ll find Herbert Carr’s name signed to the letter,” said Eben.
“Have you seen the inside of the letter, Mr. Graham?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how do you know Herbert Carr’s name is signed to it?”
“I don’t know, but I am pretty sure it is.”
“You think Herbert Carr wrote the letter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If there is no objection,” said Melville, “I will settle the matter by opening it.”
“That’s what I want you to do.” said Eben Graham.
“And I also,” said Herbert.
Mr. Melville deliberately cut open one end of the envelope with a small penknife, and drew out the folded sheet which it contained. As he did so, a small sheet of postage stamps fell upon the floor.
“There, do you see that?” said Eben in triumph.
The sheet of stamps contained twenty-five three-cent stamps, representing in value seventy-five cents.
“Shall I read the letter, sir?” asked Melville, of the judge.
“If there is no objection.”
Melville read it aloud, as follows:
“WAYNEBORO, August 2lst. MESSRS. JONES & FITCH: I inclose seventy-five cents in stamps, and will be glad to have you send me the articles you advertise in the Weekly Gazette. Yours truly,
“HERBERT CARR.”
Herbert listened to the reading of this letter in amazement.
“I never wrote that letter,” he said, “and I never heard of Jones & Fitch before.”
“That’s a likely story!” sneered Eben Graham. “I submit to Judge Slocum that I have proved my case. I haven’t found out when all the stamps left, but I have shown where some are. One who will steal seventy-five cents’ worth of stamps will steal six dollars’ worth.”
“I agree with you there, Mr. Graham,” said George Melville. “Will you be kind enough to sit down at that table, and write to my dictation?”
“What should I do that for?” asked Eben, suspiciously.
“Never mind. Surely you can have no objection.”
“Well, no; I don’t know as I have, though I think it’s all foolishness.”
He sat down, and a pen was handed him.
“What shall I write?” he asked.
“Write ‘Messrs. Jones & Fitch.’”
“What for?” demanded Eben, looking discomposed.
“That’s my affair. Write.”
Eben wrote the words, but he seemed to find some difficulty in doing so. It was clear that he was trying to disguise his handwriting.
“What next?” he asked.
“‘I inclose seventy-five cents in stamps,’” proceeded George Melville.
“Do you want to throw suspicion on me?” asked Eben, throwing down the pen.
“Keep on writing!” said the judge.
Eben did so, but was very deliberate about it, and seemed very particular as to how he penned his letter.
“Very well!” said Melville. “Now, I wish Herbert Carr to take the pen, and I will dictate the same letter.”
Herbert readily took the seat just vacated by Eben, and rapidly wrote the words dictated to him.
When he had finished his task, Mr. Melville took the two copies, and, first examining them himself, handed them, together with the original letter, to Justice Slocum.
“I have only to ask your honor,” he said, “to compare these three notes and decide for yourself whether the original was written by Herbert Carr or Mr. Eben Graham, the witness against him.”
Eben Graham looked very ill at ease, flushing and paling by turns while the examination was going on.
“I submit,” he said, “that this is a very extraordinary way of treating a witness.”
Justice Slocum, after a pause, said: “I find that Mr. Eben Graham’s copy is unmistakably in the same handwriting as the original letter, purporting to be written by Herbert Carr.”
“It’s not so!” faltered Eben.
“Then,” said George Melville, triumphantly, “as it seems clear that my young client is the victim of a base conspiracy, engineered by the man who has brought this charge of dishonesty against him, I have only to ask that he be honorably discharged.”
“The request is granted,” said Justice Slocum. “Herbert, you can go. It is clear that you are innocent of the charge made against you.”
“I protest,” began Eben Graham.
“As for you, Mr. Graham,” said the justice, severely, “I have no words to express my scorn and detestation of your conduct in deliberately contriving a plot to ruin the reputation of an innocent boy, who has never done you any harm. Should Herbert Carr desire it, he is at liberty to sue you for having him arrested on a false charge trumped up by yourself.”
Eben began to look frightened.
“I do not wish to punish Mr. Graham,” said Herbert. “It is enough for me that my honesty has been vindicated.”
“Go, then,” said the justice to Eben. “It is fortunate for you that this boy is so forbearing.”
Eben Graham slunk out of the justice’s office, looking meaner and more contemptible than ever, while Herbert was surrounded by his friends, who congratulated him upon the happy issue of the trial.
