Alger Horatio Jr.
Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy
CHAPTER XXXI
MR. STANTON IS SURPRISED
While the events recorded in the last chapter were taking place in Mr. Godfrey’s counting-room another and a different scene took place at the office of Mr. Stanton.
He had just finished reading the morning paper, and, as it slipped from his hand, his thoughts turned, transiently, to the nephew whose persistent failure to claim relationship puzzled him not a little. He was glad not to be called upon for money, of course; still, he felt a little annoyed at Herbert’s reticence, especially as it left him unable to decide whether our hero knew of the tie which connected them. It was scarcely possible to suppose that he did not. But in that case, why did he not make some sign? The truth did suggest itself to Mr. Stanton’s mind that the boy resented his cold and indifferent letter, and this thought made him feel a little uncomfortable.
While he was thinking over this subject, one of his clerks entered the office.
“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Stanton,” he said, briefly.
Mr. Stanton raised his head, and his glance rested on a tall, vigorous man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, who closely followed the clerk. The stranger’s face was brown from exposure, and there was a certain appearance of unconventionality about his movements which seemed to indicate that he was not a dweller in cities or a frequenter of drawing-rooms, but accustomed to make his home in the wilder haunts of nature.
In brief, for there is no occasion for mystery, Mr. Stanton’s visitor was Ralph the Ranger, who had assisted Herbert from the clutches of Abner Holden.
Mr. Stanton gazed at the stranger with some curiosity, but was unable to recognize him.
“Have you any business with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the visitor, in a voice whose depth carried with it an assurance of strength.
“State it, then, as briefly as possible,” said the merchant, with a little asperity, for there was not as much deference in the manner of the other as he thought there should have been. Like most new men, he was jealous of his position, and solicitous lest he should not be treated with due respect.
“I will do so,” said the stranger, “but as it cannot be summed up in a sentence, I will take the liberty of seating myself.”
As he spoke he sat down in an office chair, which was placed not far from that in which Mr. Stanton was sitting.
“My time is valuable,” said the merchant, coldly. “I cannot listen to a long story.”
As the visitor was plainly, if not roughly, dressed, he suspected that he desired pecuniary assistance on some pretext or other, and that his story was one of misfortune, intended to appeal to his sympathies. Had such been the case, there was very little prospect of help from Mr. Stanton, and that gentleman already enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure of refusing him.
“Don’t you know me?” demanded Ralph, abruptly.
Mr. Stanton did not anticipate such a commencement. It had never occurred to him to suppose that his rough visitor was one whom he had ever before met.
“No,” he said, “I never saw you before.”
Ralph smiled a little bitterly.
“So I have passed entirely out of your remembrance, have I?” he said. “Well, it is twelve years since we met.”
“Twelve years,” repeated Mr. Stanton. He scanned the stranger’s face with curiosity, but not a glimmer of recollection came to him.
“I dare say I met many persons at that distance of time, whom I cannot remember in the least now, even by name.”
“I think you will remember my name,” said Ralph, quietly. “Your memory of Ralph Pendleton cannot be wholly obliterated.”
Mr. Stanton started, and it was evident from the expression of his face that the memory was not a welcome one.
“Are you Ralph Pendleton?” he asked, in an undecided voice.
“Yes, but not the Ralph Pendleton you once knew. Then I was an inexperienced boy; now I am a man.”
“Yes, you have changed considerably,” said Mr. Stanton, uncomfortably, “Where have you kept yourself all these years? Why have you not made yourself known before?”
“Before I answer these questions, I must refer to some circumstances well known to both of us. I hope I shall not be tiresome; I will, at least, be brief. You were my father’s friend. At least, he so considered you.”
“I was so.”
“When he died, as I had not yet attained my majority, he left you my guardian.”
“Yes.”
“I was in rather an idle frame, and being possessed, as I supposed, of fifty thousand dollars, I felt no necessity impelling me to work. You gave me no advice, but rather encouraged me in my idle propensities. When I was of age, I took a fancy to travel, and left my property in your hands, with full power to manage it for me. This trust you accepted.”
“Well, this is an old story.”
“An old one, but it shall not be a long one. My income being sufficient to defray my expenses abroad, I traveled leisurely, with no thought for the future. In your integrity I had the utmost confidence. Imagine, then, my dismay when, while resident in Paris, I received a letter from you stating that, owing to a series of unlucky investments, nearly all my money had been sunk, and in place of fifty thousand dollars, my property was reduced to a few hundreds.’
“It was unlucky, I admit,” said Mr. Stanton, moving uneasily in his chair. “My investments were unlucky, as it turned out, but the best and most judicious cannot always foresee how an investment will turn out. Besides, I lost largely, myself.”
“So you wrote me,” said Ralph, quietly. “However, that did not make it any the easier for me to bear.”
“Perhaps not, but it shows, at any rate, that I took the same risk for my own money that I did for others.”
Ralph proceeded without noticing this remark. “What made matters worse for me was that I had fallen in love with a young American lady who, with her parents, was then traveling in Europe. My circumstances, as I supposed them to be, justified me in proposing marriage. I was accepted by the young lady, and my choice was approved by the parents. When, however, I learned of my loss of fortune, I at once made it known, and that approval was withdrawn. The father told me that, under the altered circumstances, the engagement must be considered broken. Still, he held out the prospect that, should I ever again obtain a property as large as that I had lost, I might marry his daughter. She, on her part, promised to wait for me.”
“Well?”
“I came to New York, received from you the remnant of my lost fortune, and sailed the next week for California, then just open to American enterprise. The most glowing stories were told of fortunes won in an incredibly short time, Having no regular occupation, and having a strong motive for acquiring money, it is not surprising that I should have been dazzled with the rest, and persuaded to make the journey to the land of gold.”
“A Quixotic scheme, as I thought at the time,” said Mr. Stanton, coldly. “For one that succeeded, there were fifty who failed. You had better have taken the clerkship I offered you.”
“You are wrong,” said Ralph, composedly. “There were many who were disappointed, but I was not among the number.”
“Did you succeed?” asked Mr. Stanton, surprised.
“So well,” answered the other, “that at the end of two years’ residence, I found myself as rich as I had ever been.”
“Had you made fifty thousand dollars?” demanded the merchant, in amazement.
“I had.”
“What did you do? Why did you not let me know of your success?”
“When I once more found myself possessed of a fortune, I took the next vessel home with my money. I had but one thought, and that was to claim the hand of my promised bride, who had promised to wait for me ten years, if necessary.”
“Well?”
“I found her married,” said Ralph, bitterly. “She had forgotten her promise, or had been over-persuaded by her parents—I do not know which—and had proved false to me.”
“That was unfortunate. But do you still possess the money?”
“I do.”
“Indeed! I congratulate you,” said Mr. Stanton, with suavity, and he held out his hand, which Ralph did not appear to see. Ralph Pendleton rich was a very different person from Ralph Pendleton poor, and it occurred to him that he might so far ingratiate himself into the favor of his former ward as to obtain the charge of his second fortune. He saw that it would be safe, as well as politic, to exchange his coldness for a warm and cordial welcome.
“Proceed with your story,” he said; “I am quite interested in it.”
CHAPTER XXXII
RISEN FROM THE DEAD
Ralph Pendleton proceeded.
“This blow overwhelmed me. All that I had been laboring for seemed suddenly snatched from me.”
“You had your money,” suggested Mr. Stanton.
“Yes, I had my money; but for money itself I cared little.”
Mr. Stanton shrugged his shoulders a little contemptuously. He could not understand how anyone could think slightingly of money, and he decided in his own mind that Ralph was an unpractical enthusiast.
“I valued money only as a means to an end, and that end was to make Margaret Lindsay my wife. She failed me, and my money lost its charm.”
“There were plenty who could have consoled you in her place.”
“No doubt, I might have been successful in other quarters, but I did not care to try. I left New York in disgust, and, going West, I buried myself in the forest, where I built a rude cabin, and there I have lived since, an unsocial, solitary life. Years have passed since I visited New York.”
“What did you do with your money all this while?”
“I left it in the hands of men whom I could trust. It has been accumulating all these years, and I find that the fifty thousand dollars have swelled to ninety thousand.”
“Indeed!” ejaculated Mr. Stanton, his respect for Ralph considerably raised. “And now you have come here to enjoy it, I suppose?”
“A different motive has led to my coming—a motive connected with you,” said Ralph, fixing his eyes steadily upon Mr. Stanton.
“Connected with me!” repeated the merchant, uneasily.
“Yes.”
“May I ask in what manner?”
“I expected the question, and am come to answer it. When I returned from Europe impoverished, you gave me a brief statement of the manner in which you had invested my fortune, and showed me how it had melted away like snow before the sun.”
“You remember rightly. I bought, on your account, shares in Lake Superior Mining Company, which promised excellently, and bade fair to make handsome returns. But it proved to be under the management of knaves, and ran quickly down from par to two per cent., at which price I thought best to sell out, considering that a little saved from the wreck was better than nothing.”
“This is according to the statement you made me,” said Ralph, quietly.
“I am sure,” said Mr. Stanton, “that no one regretted more than I do the disastrous result. Indeed, I had reason to do so, for I was myself involved, and suffered considerable loss.”
“I am aware now that you were concerned in the matter,” said Ralph, significantly.
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Stanton, quickly, detecting something peculiar in his tone.
“I will tell you. You were right in denouncing the management as knavish. The company was got up by knaves, on a basis of fraud, and was from the first intended as a trap for the unwary. But there is one important circumstance which you have neglected to mention.”
“What is that?” asked Mr. Stanton, in a voice which strove to be composed.
“I mean this,” said Ralph, firmly, “that you yourself were the prime originator of the company—that you engineered it through to the end—that you invested my money with the express intention of converting it to your own profit. I charge you with this, that all, or nearly all the property I lost, went into your pocket.”
The color came and went in Mr. Stanton’s face. He seemed staggered by this sudden and unexpected accusation, and did not at first make reply.
Feeling forced to speak at last, he said: “This is very strange language, Mr. Pendleton.”
“It is unexpected, no doubt, for after all these years you probably thought it would remain forever unknown; but in what respect is it strange? I have given you a statement of facts as directly as I could.”
“They are not facts. Your charge is wholly false,” said the merchant, but his tone was not that of a man who speaks the truth boldly.
“I wish I could believe it,” said Ralph. “I wish I could believe that I was not deliberately swindled by one who professed to be my father’s friend.”
“On what authority do you bring this monstrous charge?” demanded Mr. Stanton, more boldly. “How happens it that you have not made it before?”
“For the simple reason that I myself did not suspect any fraud. I presumed that it was as you stated to me, and that your only fault was your injudicious investment.”
“Well, I admit that, as it turned out, the investment was injudicious. Everything else I deny.”
“Your denial is vain.”
“You cannot prove the truth of what you say.”
“So you fall back on that? But you are mistaken. I can prove the truth of what I say,” said Ralph firmly.
“How?”
“Do you remember a man named David Marston?”
“He is dead,” said Mr. Stanton, hastily.
“So you have supposed,” said Ralph; “but you were deceived. He is not dead. I only encountered him a week since, quite by accident, in my Western home. He was your confidential clerk, you remember, and fully acquainted with all your business transactions at the time of which I am speaking. From him I learned how basely I had been deceived, and with what deliberate cruelty you conspired to rob the son of your dead friend.”
“I don’t believe David Marston is alive,” said Mr. Stanton, hoarsely, with a certain terror in his face. “Indeed, I have proof that he is dead.”
“I know the character of your proof. A paper was forwarded to you from Australia, whither you had sent him, containing the record of his death.”
“Yes? What have you to say against this?”
“That the publication was a mistake. He was dangerously sick, and it was falsely announced that he was dead. That notice was sent to you, and you believed it to be true.”
“I believe it now,” said Mr. Stanton, doggedly. “Why should I not?”
“If you wish to be convinced, proof is at hand. Wait a moment.”
Ralph Pendleton rose from his seat and left the counting-room. Two minutes had not passed when he returned with an elderly man, thin of face and wasted in figure, looking twenty years older than Mr. Stanton, though really of about the same age.
“This is David Marston,” said Ralph—“the living proof that I have told you the truth.”
Mr. Stanton gazed at him wildly, for to him it was as the face of one risen from the dead.
“How do you do, Mr. Stanton?” said David Marston, humbly. “It is many, many years since we met, sir.”
“Are you really David Marston?” demanded Mr. Stanton, never taking his eyes off the shrunken figure of his old clerk.
“I am, sir; greatly changed indeed, but still the David Marston who was formerly in your employ. Time hasn’t treated me as well as it has you, sir. I’ve been unlucky, and aged fast.”
“I am afraid your mind is also affected. You have been telling strange stories to Mr. Pendleton here.”
“True stories, sir,” said David, firmly.
“Come, come, how much is he going to give you for this evidence of yours?”
“Stop, Mr. Stanton! You insult us both,” said Ralph Pendleton, sternly. “I am not the man to buy false evidence, nor is David Marston the man to perjure himself for pay. David, I want you, in Mr. Stanton’s presence, to make a clear statement of his connection with the mining company by which I lost my fortune.”
David Marston obeyed, and in a few words as possible unfolded the story. It is not necessary to repeat it here. Enough that it fully substantiated the charge which Ralph had brought against his early guardian.
When he had finished, Ralph said, “You can judge what weight Marston’s testimony would have before a court of justice, and whether it would help your commercial standing to have his story made public.”
“What is it you want of me?” said Mr. Stanton, sullenly.
“I want restitution, dollar for dollar, of my lost money. I will waive interest, though I might justly claim it. But, were it all paid, interest and principal, the wrong would not be redressed. You cannot restore the bride who would have been mine but for your villainy.”
“How much time will you give me to pay this money?” asked the merchant, moodily.
“Ten days.”
“It is a short time.”
“It must suffice. Do you agree?”
“I must.”
“Bind yourself to that, and for ten days I leave you free.”
Satisfactory security was given that the engagement would be met, and Ralph Pendleton left the counting-room. But his countenance was scarcely more cheerful than that of the man he had conquered.
“I am rich,” he said to himself; “but of what avail is it? Whom can I benefit with my wealth?”
This thought had scarcely crossed his mind when he came face to face with Herbert, walking with a sad and downcast face in the opposite direction.
CHAPTER XXXIII
A FRIEND IN NEED
Herbert left Mr. Godfrey’s counting-room very much depressed in spirits. But an hour before he had rejoiced in his excellent prospects, and, depending on the favor of his employer and his own fidelity, had looked forward to a bright future. Now all was changed. He was dismissed from his situation in disgrace, suspected of a mean theft. He had, to be sure, the consciousness of innocence, and that was a great deal. He was not weighed down by the feeling of guilt, at least. Still his prospects were dark. Suppose the matter should not be cleared up, and he should still remain under suspicion? How could he hope to obtain another place without a recommendation from his late employer? No; he must resign all hope of a position and adopt some street occupation, such as selling papers or vending small articles in a basket, as he had seen boys of his own age doing. He did not doubt but that in some way he could get a living, but still he would be under suspicion, and that was hard to bear.
While these things were passing through his mind he walked down Broadway, with his eyes fixed upon the sidewalk. All at once he started to hear his name called, and, looking up, to his unbounded astonishment he saw before him Ralph the Ranger, whom he had supposed a thousand miles away in his cabin in the Ohio woods.
The sight of a friendly face was most welcome to him at such a time, and Ralph’s face was friendly.
“Ralph!” he exclaimed, seizing the Ranger’s hand. “How did you come here? When did you arrive? You are the last person I expected to see.”
“And you are the one I most wanted to see,” said Ralph, his tone unconsciously softened by his friendly interest in the boy before him.
“I can say the same, Ralph,” said Herbert, soberly, “for I am in trouble.”
“In trouble, boy? I am sorry for that. Is it money? I can get you out of that trouble.”
“It is not that exactly, Ralph. If you will come into the City Hall Park and sit down on a bench with me I will tell you all about it.”
“Instead of that, let us go into the Astor House,” said Ralph. “It is where I am stopping.”
“You are stopping at the Astor House?” said Herbert, in momentary surprise. “Perhaps you do not know that there are cheaper hotels. Shall I direct you to one?”
“No, Herbert, I am not poor, as you perhaps think. I suppose I should be called rich; but that I can explain afterwards. For the present your affairs require attention. Come in.”
They went up the steps of the Astor House, and Ralph led the way to his room, an apartment of good size and handsomely furnished.
“Now, Herbert, take a chair and tell me all,” he said.
To repeat Herbert’s story here is unnecessary. Ralph listened with attention, and when it was concluded he said: “The main thing is to account for the money in your possession. Do you think you should remember the policeman who aided you in recovering your money?”
“I am sure I should.”
“Did he know how much money you recovered?”
“Yes, for he saw me count the bills.”
“Then we must seek him out and induce him to go with us to Mr. Godfrey’s counting-room and give his testimony.”
“I never thought of that,” said Herbert, his face brightening. “When shall we go?”
“Now. I have nothing else to occupy me, and the sooner you are righted the better.”
They went out together, and made their way at once to the spot where Herbert had encountered Greenleaf. They had to wait but a brief time when the policeman came up.
“Do you remember me?” asked Herbert, going up to him.
“Yes,” he replied; “you are the boy that overhauled a thief the other day, and got back his money.”
“You see, he remembers,” said Herbert, with satisfaction.
“My friend,” said Ralph, “when will you be off duty?”
“In half an hour,” said the policeman, in surprise.
“In half an hour, then, I want you to go with me to this boys employer and repeat your story. The possession of the money has caused him to be suspected, and your evidence, confirming his own, will clear him of having obtained it improperly.”
“I will go,” said the officer, “and shall be glad to get him out of a scrape. It was all fair and above-board, and I’ll say so cheerfully.”
At the end of the half hour the three made their way to Mr. Godfrey’s place of business and entered together.
Mr. Godfrey marked their entrance with surprise, and looked inquiringly at Herbert.
“Mr. Godfrey,” said Herbert, respectfully, “I have come to prove to you that the money I have in my pocketbook is my own.”
“I shall be very glad if you can do so,” said Mr. Godfrey; and it was evident from his manner that he spoke sincerely.
“This officer knows all the circumstances, and will tell you what he knows.”
The policeman made his statement, partly in answer to questions from Mr. Godfrey.
“The explanation is satisfactory,” said Mr. Godfrey, “and convinces me. It does not, however, absolutely clear you, since between the time of the money being lost and your being searched you went out to the post office, and you might have disposed of the pocketbook and its contents on the way.”
Herbert’s countenance fell, but Mr. Godfrey hastened to add. “Although your vindication is not complete, I will say that I believe you fully, and will receive you back into my employ.”
“You have forgotten one thing, sir,” said Herbert. “Thomas declares that he saw me pick up the wallet and put it in my pocket.”
“So I did,” said Tom, boldly.
Mr. Godfrey looked perplexed, and was hesitating what to say when Mr. Walton, the owner of the lost pocketbook, hurriedly entered.
“Mr. Godfrey,” he said, “I have to beg your pardon, and, most of all, the pardon of this boy,” indicating Herbert. “I have found my pocketbook. I didn’t lose it here, but my pocket was picked in the street. The pickpocket was arrested, and the wallet has been returned to me. This boy is innocent.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Mr. Godfrey, with emphasis. “Herbert, I will try to make amends to you for my transient suspicions of your honesty. As for you,” he continued, turning to Thomas and speaking sternly, “I despise you for your mean attempt to injure your fellow-clerk. You must leave my employment to-day. I shall write to your father the reasons for dismissing you.”
“I can get along without your paltry four dollars a week,” said Tom, with bravado. “I am not a beggar.”
“You may be something worse, if you do not amend,” said Mr. Godfrey.” Mr. Pratt, you may pay him for the entire week, and he can go at once.”
Although Tom professed so much disdain for the four dollars a week, he did not decline the week’s pay directed to be paid to him, but placed the money in his vest pocket and went out with assumed nonchalance, though, in reality, deeply mortified at the unexpected discovery of his meanness.
“As for you, Herbert,” said Mr. Godfrey, “you can come back at once, and I will raise your pay to eight dollars a week. I owe you some reparation for the injury you came so near suffering. I will never again doubt your integrity.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Herbert; “I shall be glad to come back.”
“Before this matter is decided,” said Ralph, “I have a proposition to make to Herbert. I am rich, and have no one to share or inherit my wealth. I propose to adopt him—to give him an opportunity to complete his education in Europe, whither I propose going, and if some years hence you shall be willing to receive him, he can then enter your counting-room to learn business. The amount of compensation will be unimportant, as I shall provide for him amply.”
Herbert stared at Ralph in amazement. He could hardly realize that the offer was indeed a genuine one.
“Do you mean that I am to go to Europe with you, Ralph?” he said.
“Yes, if you like.”
“I shall like it VERY MUCH,” said Herbert, enthusiastically. “How can I thank you for so much generous kindness!”
“Your companionship will cheer me, and give me something to live for, Herbert,” said Ralph. “Through you I hope some day to enjoy life again.”
Herbert’s clasped the Ranger’s hand in impulsive gratitude, while his face beamed with pleasure.
“I congratulate you, Herbert,” said Mr. Godfrey, kindly, “though I am sorry to lose you. Whenever your guardian is ready to have you enter on a business career, a place in my counting-room shall be open to you.”
“Ralph,” said Herbert, seriously, as they went from the counting-room in company, “all that has happened seems so wonderful that I am a little afraid I shall wake up to find it all a dream.”
“It is a change to me also,” said Ralph, “to have a new interest in life. The past is a sealed book. Let us look forward to a bright and pleasant future. Whatever pleasures and advantages money can obtain for you shall be yours.”
“Thank you,” said Herbert, gratefully.
