Alger Horatio Jr.
The Young Bank Messenger
CHAPTER XXXII.
MR. BOLTON AS A HUSTLER
When Benjamin Bolton left the house of Stephen Ray with a hundred dollars in his pocket, it was with the clearly-defined purpose in his mind to find the boy who had been so grossly wronged, and force the present holder of the Ray estate to make restitution. But he was not yet in a position to move in the matter.
Only a few hours previous he had been nearly penniless. Even now, though he was provided with a sum of money that made him feel comparatively rich, he knew that it would not last very long. Clearly he must obtain employment.
He provided himself with a respectable suit of clothing, and took the next train for New York. He had been in the metropolis two or three times in the course of his life, but he knew no one there. He must push his own way without help.
While other paths might be open to him, for he was a man of education and worldly experience, he felt that he should like to get back into his own profession. He flattered himself that if properly started he could make himself valuable to an established attorney in the way of hunting up cases, and taking part in any description of legal work that might be intrusted to him.
But how could he, a man altogether unknown, recommend himself to any lawyer whose standing and business would make a connection with him desirable? Perhaps in any other business there would be less difficulty in making a start.
But Mr. Bolton was resolute and determined, and fortune favored him.
Within thirty miles of the city a stout gentleman of perhaps fifty entered the car and sat down beside him. He looked like a well-to-do business man, prosperous and free from care, but for the anxious expression on his face. He appeared like a man in trouble who stood in need of advice.
The train had gone several miles before he made up his mind to confide in the quiet-looking man who sat beside him. He had already taken stock of Bolton in several furtive glances before he decided to speak of the matter that troubled him.
"There is something on his mind," thought Bolton. "He looks as if he wished to speak to some one."
He addressed a casual remark to his companion, who instantly responded.
"I don't like to trouble you," he said, "but I am somewhat perplexed."
"My dear sir, if in any way I can help you I shall be glad to do so," answered Bolton. "I am a lawyer–"
"Are you?" said the other eagerly. "I want to meet a good, honest, and smart lawyer, who will undertake a case for me."
Bolton pricked up his ears. This seemed to be a providential opportunity of which he resolved to avail himself.
"I should not like to praise myself," he said modestly, "but I think you would find me faithful to your interests."
"No doubt of it, sir. Are you a New York lawyer?"
"I am about to connect myself with a law firm in the city," answered Bolton, heartily hoping that this statement might prove accurate.
"Then you will be able to help me."
"State your case, if you don't mind." Bolton took out a small memorandum book, and, pencil in hand, sat ready to take down the important points.
"You must know, sir, that twenty years ago my father died, leaving an estate of fifty thousand dollars. It was divided equally between my sister Martha and myself. I married, and Martha, for the last twenty years, has been a member of my family. Being a spinster, with only herself to provide for, her property has doubled, while I, having several children, have barely held my own. Of course I expected that my children and my self would inherit Martha's money when she died."
"Very natural, sir, and very just."
"Well, Martha died last August. Imagine my dismay when her will was opened and proved to bequeath her entire estate to various charities in which she never took any particular interest when living."
"Do you suspect any one of influencing her to this disposition of her property?"
"Yes, she had had various conversations with a collector for these societies, who resided in the town during the summer, and who sought an introduction when he learned that she was a lady of independent fortune. He called frequently, and flattered up my poor sister, who, between ourselves, had lately shown signs of mental weakness."
"Did she cut off your family entirely in her will?"
"Yes; she didn't leave even a dollar to any one of my children, though one of my daughters was named for her."
"Was the collector entitled to a commission on sums secured for the societies which he rep resented?"
"Yes, that is the cause of his zeal. He would make a very handsome percentage on an estate as large as my sister's."
"But for him would she have been likely to cut off her relatives?"
"No; we should probably have received every dollar."
"Do you think the collector cherished any matrimonial designs with reference to your sister?"
"I did think so at one time, but Martha's condition as an invalid led her to discourage his attentions, though she was evidently flattered by them."
"Of course you wish to break the will?"
"Yes. Do you think it can be done?"
"Upon the basis of what you have told me I should think the chances were greatly in your favor."
His companion brightened up very perceptibly at this assurance.
"Have you ever been employed in any similar cases?" he asked.
"My dear sir, I have an important case of the kind on my hands at this moment. The amount involved is a quarter of a million dollars."
Mr. Bolton rose greatly in the estimation of his new client after he had made this statement.
"Is the case at all similar?"
"Hardly. It is the case of a will concealed, or rather suppressed, and acting upon a will previously made. I cannot go into details for obvious reasons, as I wish to keep our enemy in the dark."
"I understand. Have you your card with you, so that I can call at your office?"
This was a puzzling question for Bolton, but he was equal to the occasion.
"Tell me what hotel you propose to stop at, and I will call upon you at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."
"I don't know much about the New York hotels."
"Then let me recommend a house," naming a comfortable but not expensive hostelry on upper Broadway.
"I will go there."
"I think you have not yet mentioned your name."
"My name is Ephraim Paulding."
Bolton noted it down in his memorandum-book, and soon after the train ran into the station at Forty-second Street.
There was no time to be lost. Bolton made inquiries and obtained the name of a successful, go-ahead lawyer, having an office at 182 Nassau Street. He did not wait till the next day, but made a call that same evening at his house on Lexington Avenue.
Mr. Norcross, the lawyer, entered the parlor with Bolton's card in his hand and a puzzled expression on his face.
"Have I ever met you before, Mr. Bolton?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Please state your business."
"I should like to enter your office. I am a lawyer with fifteen years experience."
"I should hardly think so, considering the strange, and I may say unprecedented, proposal you are making."
"I am quite aware that it seems so, but I can make it worth your while."
"How?"
"By bringing you business. I can put in your hands now a will case involving an estate of fifty thousand dollars, and further on probably a much more important case."
"You seem to be a hustler."
"I am."
"Where has your professional life been spent?" asked Norcross.
"At Elmira. Now I wish to remove to this city. It will give me a larger and more profitable field."
"Give me some idea of the case you say you can put in my hands."
Bolton did so. His terse and crisp statement–for he was really a man of ability–interested the lawyer, and disposed him favorably toward the matter.
The result of the interview was that he engaged Bolton at a small salary and a commission on business brought to the office for a period of three months.
"Thank you," said Bolton, as he rose to go. "You will not regret this step."
The next morning Bolton brought his rail road acquaintance to the office, and Mr. Norcross formally undertook his case.
"I think we shall win," he said. "It is an aggravated case of undue influence. Mr. Bolton will from time to time communicate to you the steps we have taken."
It is unnecessary to go into details. It is enough to say that the will was broken, and a goodly sum found its way to the coffers of lawyer Norcross.
By this time Benjamin Bolton had established himself in the favor of his employer, who, at the end of three months, made a new and much more advantageous arrangement. Bolton had not as yet taken any steps in Ernest's case, but he now felt that the time had come to do so. He wrote to the postmaster at Oak Forks, inquiring if he knew a boy named Ernest Ray, but learned, in reply, that Ernest had left the place some months before, and had not since been heard from.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE RESULT OF AN ADVERTISEMENT
The advertisement for Ernest in a St. Louis daily paper came about in this way:
Bolton was in the habit of inquiring from time to time, of Western clients, if they were acquainted with any persons bearing the name of Ray. One gentleman, who frequently visited St. Louis, answered, "Yes, I know a boy named Ray."
"Tell me all you know about him," said Bolton, eagerly.
"I was staying at the Southern Hotel last winter," answered Mr. Windham, "when my attention was called to a bright-looking newsboy who sold the evening newspapers outside. I was so attracted by him that I inquired his name. He said it was Ray, and that he was alone in the world."
"What was his first name?"
"I can't recall. I am not sure that I heard it."
"Was it Ernest?"
"Very possibly. But, as I said before, I cannot speak with any certainty."
"How old did the boy appear to be?"
"About sixteen."
"That would have been the age of Dudley Ray's son," said Bolton to himself.
"I suppose you didn't learn where the boy lived?"
"No."
This was all the information Mr. Windham was able to impart, but Bolton felt that it was possibly of importance. It was, in fact, the first clue he had been able to obtain.
That Dudley Ray's son should be forced by dire necessity to sell newspapers was not in the least improbable. He went to an advertising agency, and inserted the advertisement already mentioned.
A few days later he received two letters post-marked St. Louis.
He opened them with a thrill of excitement.
He felt that he was on the verge of making an important discovery.
One letter was addressed in a school-boy hand, and ran thus:
DEAR SIR:
I saw your advertisement in one of the morning papers. I hope it means me. My name is not Ernest, but it may have been changed by some people with whom I lived in Nebraska. I am sixteen years old, and am a poor boy obliged to earn my living by selling papers. My father died when I was a baby, and my mother three years later. So I am alone in the world, and I am having a hard time. I suppose you wouldn't advertise for me unless you had some good news for me. You may send your answer to this letter to the Southern Hotel. The clerk is a friend of mine, and he says he will save it for me.
Yours respectfully, ARTHUR RAY.
"That isn't the boy," said Bolton, laying down the letter in disappointment. "The name is different, and, besides, the writer says that his father died when he was a baby. Of course that settles the question. He is a different boy."
He opened the second letter, hoping that it might be more satisfactory.
It was the letter of Tom Burns, setting forth his meeting Ernest at Oak Forks, and afterwards running across him at Oreville in California.
"Eureka!" exclaimed Bolton, his face beaming with exultation. "This is the boy and no mistake. I will at once answer this letter, and also write to Ernest Ray in California."
This was the letter received by Burns:
DEAR SIR:
I am very much indebted to you for the information contained in your letter of two days since. I have reason to think that the boy you mention is the one of whom I am in search. If it proves to be so, I am free to tell you that he will be much benefited by your communication. There is a considerable estate, now wrongfully held by another, to which he is entitled. Should things turn out as I hope and expect, I will see that you lose nothing by the service you have rendered him and myself. I will write to him by this mail. Should you change your address, please notify me.
Yours truly, BENJAMIN BOLTON, 182 Nassau Street, New York.
The letter written to Ernest ran thus:
ERNEST RAY, OREVILLE, CALIFORNIA:
I have for some time been seeking to find you. Finally, in response to an advertisement inserted in a St. Louis daily paper, I learn that you are at present living in Oreville, California. This information was given me by one Thomas Burns, who is employed at the Planters Hotel. The name is, I hope, familiar to you. It is very desirable that I should have an interview with you. If you are the son of Dudley Ray, formerly residing at or near Elmira, what I have to say will be greatly to your advantage.
Will you write me at once, letting me know whether this is the case? Also, state your present circumstances, and whether you need pecuniary help. It is unfortunate that we are so far apart. I am connected with a New York legal firm, and can not very well go to California, but I might assist you to come to New York if, as I suppose, your means are limited. Will you write to me at once whether this is the case? I shall anxiously await your reply.
BENJAMIN BOLTON, Attorney-at-law, 182 Nassau Street, New York City.
Ernest read this letter with eager interest, and showed it to Luke Robbins.
"What do you think of it, Luke?" he asked.
"What do I think of it? It looks very much as if you were entitled to some money."
"What shall I do?"
"Write this Mr. Bolton that you will go at once to New York, and call upon him."
"But how about the store? I should not like to leave Mr. Ames in the lurch."
"I will take your place here, and in order to qualify myself for it, I will come in to morrow and begin to serve an apprenticeship."
Ernest wrote to Bolton that he would start for New York in a week. He added that he had the money necessary for the journey. He said also that he was the son of Dudley Ray, and that he remembered visiting Elmira with his father.
When Bolton received this letter he exclaimed, triumphantly, "Now, Stephen Ray, I have you on the hip. You looked down upon me when I called upon you. In your pride and your unjust possession of wealth you thought me beneath your notice. Unless I am greatly mistaken, I shall be the instrument under Providence of taking from you your ill-gotten gains, and carrying out the wishes expressed in the last will of your deceased uncle."
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A STRANGE MEETING
Ernest left Oreville with four hundred dollars in his pocket. The balance of his money he left in the hands of his friend Horace Ames, upon whom he was authorized to draw if he should have need.
"I don't intend to carry all my money with me," he said to Luke Robbins. "I might lose it."
"Even if you did, Ernest, you could draw on me. If you need it, do so without any hesitation."
"You are a good friend, Luke," said Ernest warmly. "What should I do without you?"
"I am beginning to wonder what I shall do without you, Ernest. Suppose, now, this lawyer puts a fortune in your hands?"
"If he does, Luke, I am sure to need your help in some way. I will see that we are not separated."
"Thank you, Ernest. I know you mean what you say. You may find a better friend, but you won't find one that is more ready to serve you than Luke Robbins."
"I am sure of that, Luke," said Ernest with a bright smile, as he pressed the rough hand of his faithful friend.
Ernest did not loiter on his way, though he was tempted to stop in Chicago, but he reflected that he would have plenty of chances to visit that bustling city after his business had been attended to.
As he approached Buffalo on the train his attention was attracted to two persons sitting in front of him. They were a father and son, as he gathered from the conversation.
The son was about his own age and size, apparently, but rather more slender in figure. He had a peevish expression, and Ernest doubted whether he would like him.
"Father," Ernest heard him say, "won't you give me a little money? I am dead broke."
The father frowned.
"I gave you five dollars when we set out on this journey," he said.
"Well, five dollars won't last forever," was the pert rejoinder.
"It ought to last more than four days, Clarence."
Ernest started. He knew that his cousin's name was Clarence. Could this be Stephen Ray and his son?
Even if it were so, he felt that it would not be advisable to make himself known. This business which was carrying him to New York might bring him into conflict with Stephen Ray. If so, he would not care to let his presence be known.
On arriving at Buffalo Ernest left the train. He had never visited Niagara, and being now so near, he felt that he could not forego the opportunity.
He registered at the Tefft House, and decided to remain twenty-four hours. This would give him time to see the Falls.
Ernest had a room assigned him, and went up to it at once in order to have the luxury of a good wash.
Five minutes afterwards, Stephen Ray and his son Clarence entered the hotel.
Mr. Ray, in a pompous manner, went up to the desk and said to the clerk, "Can you give me a good room?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want a front room, if you have it."
"I can't give you a front room, but I can give you a good side room."
Stephen Ray grumbled a little, but finally decided to take the room offered him. He saw that his haughty manner did not impress the clerk, who was accustomed to men of his class.
Clarence looked over his father's shoulder as he registered.
"Why, pa," he exclaimed in surprise, "there's another guest of our name."
"Where?" asked his father.
"There, three names above your signature."
Stephen Ray looked at the register, and started violently as he read the entry:
ERNEST RAY, Oreville, California.
"What's the matter, pa?" asked Clarence, noticing his father's agitation.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," answered his father, with an effort.
"Haven't we a cousin named Ernest Ray?"
"We had, but he is dead."
"It is strange that there should be another person of the name."
"Not at all. The world is large, and there are probably a good many persons of one name."
"This one is from California."
"So I see. By the way," here Mr. Ray addressed the clerk, "did you observe the person who registered under the name of Ray?"
"Yes. It is a boy about the size of this young gentleman."
"It is strange!" said Clarence. "It may be our cousin."
"Didn't I tell you that the person you refer to is dead?" said his father, testily.
"I don't believe it," thought Clarence, but he did not express his unbelief. He determined, however, to have an interview with the boy, and find out for himself all about him.
He saw Ernest at the table soon after, and so did Stephen Ray. The latter noted with alarm the resemblance of the boy to his cousin Dudley Ray, whose estate he had usurped.
"I hope Bolton won't get hold of him." he said to himself. "It would be bad for me."
After supper Mr. Ray went out, leaving Clarence to himself.
He improved the opportunity. Seeing Ernest sitting alone, he went up to him.
"Is your name Ray?" he asked.
"Yes, Ernest Ray."
"My name is Clarence Ray."
"So I thought. We are cousins."
"That's what I told pa, but he said it was not so–that Ernest Ray was dead."
"Your father's name is Stephen Ray?"
"Yes."
"I have known of him and you since I was old enough to remember anything."
"Then you are really my cousin Ernest?"
"Yes."
"I wonder why pa said you were dead. I will tell pa he is mistaken."
"No, Clarence, I would rather you wouldn't. There are reasons why it is better not to say anything about it."
"All right. Are you well off?"
Ernest smiled.
"I am not rich," he said, "but I am comfortably fixed."
"Do you live in California?"
"I have lived there for the last few months."
"Why did you come East?"
"On a little business."
"I am glad you are well off. I think pa was afraid you were a poor relation."
"Your father is rich?"
"Yes, ever so rich. We've got a fine place near Elmira. If pa wasn't so cranky I would invite you there to visit me."
"Thank you all the same," said Ernest, smiling.
Later in the evening, when Stephen Ray came in, Ernest noticed that he looked at him critically. He, too, examined the man who, he had reason to believe, was enjoying the estates that should be his, and was not attracted towards him.
"What will he say," thought Ernest, "when I make a formal demand for the property?"
"What in the name of all that's unlucky can have brought that boy here at this time?" Stephen Ray was saying to himself.
He never for an instant doubted Ernest's identity–in fact, he could not well have done so, for he bore a strong resemblance to Dudley Ray, who had been a strikingly handsome man, very much the superior of Stephen in personal attractions.
Stephen Ray's curiosity was excited. Ernest did not appear like the average poor relation. He was quite as well dressed as Clarence. Besides, he had registered at a high-priced hotel, and this alone showed that he was not cramped for means.
This gave him some satisfaction, as it made it less likely that he would appeal to him for assistance.
Stephen Ray was rather surprised that Clarence made no further reference to Ernest. Had he known that the two had had a conversation he would have been seriously disturbed. He only hoped that Bolton would not get hold of the boy.
