Alger Horatio Jr.
Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret
CHAPTER X.
STOLEN MONEY
Saturday afternoon arrived, and with it came Bert's discharge from the shoe shop. He put the four dollars in his pocket, and with a sober face went home.
"There are my week's wages, mother," he said. "I don't know when I shall have any more money to hand you."
"We won't borrow trouble to-night, Bert," responded Mrs. Barton, concealing her solicitude under a cheerful exterior. "To-morrow is Sunday, and we will defer all worldly anxieties till it is over."
"You are right, mother," said Bert, readily chiming in with her cheerful humor. "I am young and strong, and there is plenty of work to be done in the world."
"Keep up your courage, Bert, and you will be more likely to win success."
When Sunday was over, however, Bert felt that he must begin to look about him. But the more he looked the more downhearted he became. He went to the village store, having heard that the boy employed there was about to leave. After buying a pound of sugar for his mother, he ventured to say, "Mr. Jones, don't you want to hire a boy?"
"Why should I want to hire a boy?" asked the store-keeper, in a tone of surprise.
"I thought that Herman was going to leave you."
"So he was, but he has changed his mind."
"Oh!" ejaculated Bert, disappointed.
"Are you asking for yourself?" inquired the merchant.
"Yes, sir."
"I thought you were at work in the shoe shop."
"So I was, but I have lost my place."
"Ha!" exclaimed the store-keeper suspiciously. "If Squire Marlowe has discharged you, I don't want to hire you."
"You are mistaken, Mr. Jones, about the cause of my discharge. He had no fault to find with me."
"So you say," returned Jones, in evident skepticism. "Boys don't get discharged for nothing."
Bert felt inclined to be angry, but he controlled his temper.
"I am a pegger, and the squire has introduced a pegging machine, so he has discharged all the peggers."
"Oh, that's different. Well, I'm sorry for you, but I have no vacancy."
"If Herman should change his mind again, will you think of me?"
"Yes, I will. I think you are a good boy, and you look strong for your size."
Bert felt a little encouraged by this promise, though it was very doubtful if it would ever amount to anything.
Day after day passed, and no employment offered. But one morning a bright idea came to Bert. Blueberries were just coming into the market, and he knew of a large pasture a little over a mile away.
"Mother," he said, "if you'll give me a large tin pail, I'll go after some berries. I may be able to sell them at the hotel."
"If you can't, we can use them ourselves," rejoined Mrs. Barton.
"It will be better to sell them, for I hear they are bringing fifteen cents a quart. They won't stay long at that figure, so we will put off having them ourselves till they are cheaper."
It was with a light heart that Bert set out for the berry pasture. He had become tired of having nothing to do. Any sort of employment seemed desirable. Besides, they were very much in want of money, and here seemed a chance of earning some.
Bert spent five hours in the pasture. Berries were high, because they were scarce, and it took fully twice as long to gather a quart as it would two weeks later. But he kept steadily at his task, and at length the pail—which held four quarts—was full. He was tired enough and his back ached, but still he felt happy as he left the field and trudged toward the Lake House, which was the name of the village hotel. There were a few summer boarders there from New York and Philadelphia, who were glad to exchange the brick walls and crowded city streets for the verdure and pure breezes of the country.
Fortunately Bert found the landlord on the piazza, and to him he preferred his request.
"Would you like to buy some blueberries?"
"Go round to the side door, Bert," said Mr. Holbrook, the good-natured landlord. "I leave all such matters to Mrs. Holbrook."
"Blueberries?" exclaimed the landlady.
"Why, it's just what I wanted. Mrs. Casewell, from Philadelphia, has been teasing me for some blueberry pudding. What do you ask?"
"Fifteen cents a quart," answered Bert. "You know they have just come into the market."
"That's true. Well, I will pay you your price," said Mrs. Holbrook, who received a good income from her boarders, and was willing to be liberal to others. "How many have you got?"
"I think there are four quarts, but you can measure them."
There proved to be four quarts, and Bert was made happy by receiving sixty cents in silver.
"It is almost as much as I made in the shop," he reflected complacently. "And perhaps I can sell some more to-morrow."
Bert continued to pick berries, but the price fell rapidly until it touched six cents, and it was not so easy to sell the berries at all, for many others engaged in picking them, and the market was overstocked.
Bert occasionally fell in with Percy Marlowe, but the manufacturer's son usually took very little notice of him. This did not trouble Bert, however, who felt independent, and cared little for the opinion or notice of his wealthy cousin.
In one respect, however, Percy resembled Bert. He was always short of money. His father allowed him two dollars a week for spending money, more than any other boy in Lakeville received, but Percy felt that it was too little. He had formed an intimacy with Reginald Ward, a young man from New York, who was boarding at the hotel, and with him he used to play pool, which he found rather an expensive game; and still worse, he played poker with him in his own room, locking the door carefully, as this game was not looked upon with favor in Lakeville. The young man from the city was much sharper than the country boy, and steadily won his money till Percy found himself in debt to him in the sum of ten dollars. For this Percy gave his note, but no one knew better than Reginald Ward that it was not valid in law, and he resolved to secure the money, if possible.
"Percy, you owe me ten dollars," he said one afternoon.
"I know it," admitted Percy, rather ruefully.
"When are you going to pay me?"
"I don't know," answered Percy.
"But that won't do, don't you know," returned Reginald frowning. "I may go away next week, and I want my money."
"I would pay it to you if I had it," said Percy; "but you know I have only my allowance of two dollars a week."
"Stuff and nonsense! Do you think you are going to put me off that way?" demanded Reginald angrily. "I must have my money."
"Then I don't see how you're going to get it," said Percy doggedly. "I can't pay what I haven't got."
"Go to your father and ask for it."
"As if he would give it to me! You don't know him."
"Doesn't he ever leave money lying round?" asked Reginald significantly.
"What do you mean?" asked Percy, reddening.
"I see you understand. I was only suggesting a way to get the money."
"I am not a thief."
"Who said you were? I see I shall have to take the matter into my own hands."
"How? What do you mean?" asked Percy nervously.
"I will go to your father, show him this I O U of yours, and ask him for the money."
"You wouldn't do that, Reginald? He would be awful mad with me, and you wouldn't get your money, either."
"I must do something. I can't afford to lose the money."
"Just wait a day or two. I'll see what I can do."
"Mind you do something, then."
Percy regretted that he had ever made the acquaintance of Reginald Ward, or consented to play poker with him, but the regret came too late. The mischief was done, and he saw from Ward's determined look that he must do something. He was just in that frame of mind when temptations have the most power.
In the evening he went to the village store to purchase a fishing-line, for he had made an arrangement to go out fishing with Reginald Ward the next day. He made the purchase, and was about to go when his eye caught sight of a twenty-dollar bill lying on the desk. Mr. Jones had gone to the other end of the store, and no one was looking. On the impulse of the moment he seized the bill, and with his heart beating quickly, he left the store. As he passed through the door Bert Barton entered with a kerosene can in his hand, and walked up to the counter, taking his stand near the desk.
CHAPTER XI.
THE TWENTY-DOLLAR BILL
In order to understand what followed, it is necessary to explain that the evening previous Bert and his mother found themselves out of money. About a dollar was due the latter for covering balls, but it would not be paid for three days, and meanwhile they were in an embarrassing condition.
"What shall we do?" asked Mrs. Barton, with a troubled look. "If Uncle Jacob were only here, I would ask his advice."
"He left a note to be opened if we got into trouble," said Bert, brightening up.
"So he did. Do you think the time has come, Bert?"
"I have no doubt of it. Where is it, mother?"
"I put it in a bureau drawer in my room."
"Shall I go up and get it?"
"No; I will do so, as I know exactly where it is."
She went upstairs, and returned almost immediately with the letter in her hand. Bert produced his knife and cut open the envelope at one end. Then, drawing out the contents, he found them to be a half sheet of note paper and a bank bill.
"It's a twenty-dollar bill, mother!" he exclaimed joyfully.
"Shall I read the note?"
"Yes, read it, Bert."
Bert read as follows:
My Dear Niece: As I know your income is small, and you are liable, in case of sickness or loss of employment to need help, I put a twenty-dollar bill into this envelope, which I wish you to use freely. Do not fear that it will inconvenience me to give it. My health is good, and I hope to earn my living for years to come.
Your affectionate uncle,
Jacob Marlowe.
"Dear Uncle Jacob," said the widow gratefully, "how good and kind he is. With his small savings I don't feel that he can afford to be so generous."
"I will pay him back some time, mother."
"You think then that we are justified in using it, Bert?"
"Uncle Jacob meant us to do so. Before it is gone I shall probably find something to do, and then I may gradually be able to pay back the money."
"In that case, Bert, I am afraid we must break into it to-morrow. Probably Mr. Jones can change it for us."
So it happened the next evening that Bert, with the kerosene can in his hand, went to the store, entering, as already described, just as Percy left it with the bill which he had purloined on the impulse of the moment.
"I would like two quarts of kerosene, Mr. Jones," said Bert, handing over the can.
The proprietor went to one corner of the store to fill the can, and brought it back.
"Please take your pay out of this," said Bert, handing him the twenty-dollar bill.
Mr. Jones started in surprise, and his face darkened ominously. He scanned the desk on which he remembered placing his own twenty-dollar bill, and it was nowhere to be seen.
"Why, you audacious young thief!" he exclaimed in a fury.
"What do you mean?" demanded Bert angrily.
"What do I mean?" gasped Jones. "You know what I mean well enough. I never knew such audacity."
"Please explain yourself, Mr. Jones," said Bert with spirit. "I didn't come here to be insulted."
"You are a hardened young reprobate! Do you mean to say you didn't steal this twenty-dollar bill from my desk, where I laid it five minutes since?"
"I don't know anything about any twenty-dollar bill of yours, Mr. Jones. This money is mine, or rather my mother's, and I brought it with me from home."
"Do you expect me to believe this bold falsehood, Bert Barton?" the store-keeper exploded wrathfully.
"I don't expect you to believe any falsehood at all, Mr. Jones. Will you either change that bill or give it back to me?"
"I will do neither."
"Then, sir, it is you who are the thief."
"You impudent young rascal, now I won't have any mercy on you. For your mother's sake, I might have done so, but as you persist in brazening out your guilt, I will see that you have a chance to repent. Here is the constable come in just at the right moment. Mr. Drake, please come here."
A tall, pleasant-looking officer, who had just entered the store, approached the desk.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Jones?" he asked.
"Arrest this boy!" said Jones, pointing with flushed face at his young customer.
"Arrest Bert Barton!" exclaimed Constable Drake, in amazement. "What on earth has he done?"
"Stolen a twenty-dollar bill from my desk, and then presented it to me in payment for some kerosene."
"The charge is false!" said Bert, his eyes glowing with indignation.
"Hear him deny it!" said Jones, looking at the circle that had gathered around them.
"I find it hard to credit your charge, Mr. Jones," replied the constable. "We all know Bert Barton, and I don't believe he would be guilty of theft."
"I require you to arrest the boy!" persisted the store-keeper, stamping his foot in excitement.
"Wait a moment! Did you see him take the bill?"
"No," answered Jones reluctantly.
"Then why do you accuse him? Please state the circumstances."
"A few minutes since I was paid twenty dollars by Mr. Holbrook of the hotel, in settlement of his weekly bill for groceries, and being somewhat hurried I laid it down on the desk while I was filling an order."
"Go on!"
"Five minutes since Bert Barton came in and took up his position where he is now standing. He asked me for two quarts of kerosene. I filled his can for him, and he gave me a twenty-dollar bill from which to take payment. I was naturally surprised, and looked for the bill I had left on the desk. It was gone!"
Mr. Jones gazed about the circle triumphantly.
"What do you say to that?" he asked.
Sympathetic eyes were turned upon Bert. Things certainly looked black for him.
"I don't think I need say any more," added the store-keeper. "I want you to arrest that boy."
Bert looked at the faces that encircled him. He saw that they believed him guilty, and a feeling of hot indignation possessed him.
"Bert, my boy," said Officer Drake, "what have you to say to this?"
"That the twenty-dollar bill I handed to Mr. Jones belongs to my mother. I know nothing of the bill he says he laid on his desk."
"That's a likely story!" put in Mr. Jones, in a tone of sarcasm. "How many more twenty-dollar bills have you got at your house? I wasn't aware that your mother was so wealthy."
Again opinion was unfavorable to poor Bert. His mother's straitened circumstances were well known, and it certainly did seem improbable upon the face of it that she should have a twenty-dollar bill in her possession.
"This was the only twenty-dollar bill that my mother had," replied Bert.
"Oh, indeed! I thought as much," said Mr. Jones significantly. "Mr. Drake, do you intend to arrest that boy?" he added angrily.
"I have no warrant," returned the officer. "If you will swear that you saw him take the bill, I will assume the responsibility."
"I didn't see him take it," the store-keeper again admitted reluctantly; "but it stands to reason that it is mine."
Here a young man in the outer circle stepped forward. He was a summer boarder at the hotel, and Bert knew him slightly.
"I am a lawyer," he said, "and if Bert will place his interests in my hands I will see what I can do to throw light upon this mystery."
"I shall be very glad to do so, Mr. Conway," answered Bert.
"No lawyer is needed," sputtered Jones. "The case is as plain as can be. I have no more doubt that the boy took my bill than if I had seen him do it."
"That isn't legal proof; it is only an assumption," said the young lawyer. "Squire Marlowe is, I believe, your magistrate here, and I agree in behalf of my client to have the matter brought before him to-morrow morning. Meanwhile, Mr. Jones, will you hand the twenty-dollar bill in dispute to officer Drake?"
"Why should I? The bill is mine," said the merchant sullenly.
"That remains to be proved. Do I understand that you refuse to give up the bill?"
"I do?" answered Jones doggedly.
"Then I will apply at once for a warrant for your arrest for holding property belonging to my young client," said Mr. Conway.
CHAPTER XII.
MR. JONES IS EXCITED
The astonishment and wrath of Mr. Jones were almost ludicrous as he stared at the lawyer, who, cool and composed, reiterated his threat.
"I never heard of such a thing!" he gasped. "You take my own money from me?"
"It remains to be proved whether it is your own money. The boy says it is his."
"The boy lies."
"Really, Mr. Jones, I cannot allow you to make such charges against my client, unless you are ready to substantiate them by proof."
"It stands to reason," began Mr. Jones, but the young lawyer interrupted him.
"Nothing stands to reason that you can't prove," he said. "We will give you an opportunity to prove your ownership of the bill to-morrow in court. Now hand the bill to officer Drake."
Very much against his will, Mr. Jones felt compelled to do this.
"Isn't the boy going to be arrested?" he demanded, with an ugly look at Bert.
"It is unnecessary. You can bring a formal charge against him before Squire Marlowe to-morrow."
"The boy may escape during the night. I won't trust him."
There was a murmur of disapproval among those present. All liked Bert, and Mr. Jones, from his quick temper and ugly disposition, was by no means a favorite. The store-keeper saw that it would not be good policy to insist upon Bert's arrest, and he said, sullenly, "I will hold you responsible for his presence at the trial."
Mr. Conway smiled.
"If he is not present, I will myself see that you do not suffer in consequence. Besides, flight would be tantamount to confession, and the case would go against him by default."
"And should I in that case get the twenty-dollar bill?"
"I will take it upon me to offer no opposition," said the lawyer.
"Now, can I go?" asked Bert.
"Yes; I will accompany you home for consultation."
Bert took the can of kerosene and was about to leave the store, when the store-keeper said harshly: "Put down that kerosene! you haven't paid for it!"
Bert flushed and looked embarrassed. It was true that he had not paid for it, nor did he have the money to pay, outside of the twenty-dollar bill which had been taken from him.
"I have no money," he said. "I will leave it till to-morrow."
"How much is it, Mr. Jones?" asked Conway.
"Twenty-five cents."
"I will advance the money. Bert, take your can."
"You are very kind, Mr. Conway," said the boy gratefully.
"We will settle hereafter. Now let us be going."
In explanation of the price mentioned, I may say that kerosene is now much cheaper than at the date of my story.
"Now, Bert," said Mr. Conway, "as your legal adviser I shall have to ask you to tell me just where you obtained the bill you offered in payment to Mr. Jones for the kerosene. I have no doubt of your innocence, but we must make it plain to all who may attend the trial."
"I should like to have you come home with me, Mr. Conway. Mother will confirm what I say."
"I shall be glad to do so. Will your mother be alarmed?"
"Yes, I think she will; but you can make things clear to her."
Mrs. Barton was indeed startled when she learned that Bert had been charged with theft, but after a free talk with Mr. Conway she felt much relieved.
"Your defence is perfect, I think," said the young lawyer. "Of course Mr. Jones or his lawyer may claim that you wrote the letter yourself."
"Will it be necessary to send to Uncle Jacob and get him to testify?"
"I don't think so. I think your defence will be complete without it. There is another point of considerable importance which I shall look up to-night. If things turn out as I suspect they will, we shall not need to disturb your Uncle Jacob."
At nine o'clock Mr. Conway took his leave and returned to the hotel. He had a short conference with the landlord, which was evidently satisfactory.
"I think we shall prove too many for Mr. Jones," he murmured softly, as he went up to bed.
CHAPTER XIII.
PERCY GETS RID OF THE BILL
When Percy Marlowe left the grocery store with the stolen bill in his hand, he was tremulous with excitement and agitation. He felt that he had committed a crime, and he was almost tempted to go back and replace the money. But it was possible that its loss had already been discovered, and he might be connected with it. He felt that it would be safe to get as far away as possible from the store.
"Nobody will suspect me," he said to himself, plucking up courage.
Then there was the pleasant thought that he could pay up his debt to Reginald Ward, and have ten dollars left over. It would be very comfortable to have ten dollars to spend, and Percy, whose conscience was not sensitive, began to consider what would be the pleasantest way of disposing of it. He soon came to a decision on this point, having, like most boys, rather a talent for spending money.
"I'll go round by the hotel," he said to himself, "and if I find Reg there I'll pay him what I owe him and get it off my mind."
Percy walked around to the Lake House, and found Reginald Ward in the billiard room. Ward treated him rather coldly.
"Good-morning, Percy," he said.
"Good-morning, Reg."
"I hope you have come prepared to pay me what you owe me. I may have to go back to New York to-morrow."
"I wish he would," thought Percy. "Then, if there's any trouble about this money, he will be well out of the way, and nobody can find out about it."
"I can pay you to-night," said Percy.
"You can? You're a trump!" said Reginald, in gratified surprise.
"Suppose we go up to your room," went on Percy nervously, "and don't talk about it here. I don't want anybody to know that I am owing you any money."
"I understand. The governor wouldn't like it, hey?"
"No, he'd be awful mad."
"Follow me, then, Percy," and Ward led the way up to his room.
"Lock the door," said Percy.
"Seems to me we are mighty mysterious," commented Ward, laughing. "Oh, well; anything to accommodate. Now, where are the spondulicks?"
"Can you change a twenty-dollar bill?" asked Percy.
"Whew! you are wealthy," said Ward, in surprise. "Let me see!" and he opened his pocket book. "Much as ever," he replied, after investigating the contents. "Here is a five, a two, a silver dollar, and I think I can make up two dollars in small change. It'll take up about all I've got."
"Then perhaps you'd rather wait till I have a chance to get the bill changed," suggested Percy.
"Not much," returned Reginald, with a crafty smile. "'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,' as somebody says. I am willing to be inconvenienced for the sake of getting the debt paid."
"Oh, well; just as you say," rejoined Percy, secretly glad to get the tell-tale bill out of his possession, and to replace it in his pocket with the smaller bills and silver which Ward proposed to give him.
When the transfer was made, Ward asked, "Where did you raise the twenty, Percy?"
Now it was that Percy looked embarrassed.
"It is some money I had given to me a long while ago," he answered with hesitation.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ward, evidently incredulous.
"I promised not to use it, but to keep it saved up," continued Percy, "and I meant to; but you wanted me to pay what I owed you, and so–"
"You acted like an honest young man," said Ward, finishing his sentence for him.
"Yes."
There was a peculiar smile on Reginald Ward's face, but he did not think it best to question Percy's statement. His money had been paid him, and that was all he cared for.
"Percy's found it in his father's desk, I reckon," he said to himself, "but that doesn't concern me. I've got my money and that's more than I expected."
"By the way, Reg," said Percy hurriedly, "don't mention to any one my paying you this money."
"Why not?"
"It would be found out that I had been playing cards for money, and there'd be no end of a row. Besides, then it would come out that I had parted with this bill."
"All right, Percy. I'll keep mum. Won't you go down and have a game of billiards?"
"Not to-night. I'm rather tired."
"That boy's got something on his mind," thought Reginald Ward.
