Tom, The Bootblack: or, The Road to Success

Mr. Grey was already in waiting. He was seated in an arm-chair, looking over a file of the New York Herald.

"I have come, Mr. Grey," said Gilbert, "as you proposed."

"Humph! Have you the paper?"

"Yes, sir."

Here Mr. Grey showed signs of satisfaction, as Gilbert was quick-sighted enough to perceive.

"We will go up stairs to my room," said his uncle, rising, and laying down the paper. "We shall be more private there."

"Perhaps he thinks he can get hold of the paper better," thought our hero, though, of course, he kept his thought to himself.

"Follow me," said Mr. Grey. "Give me the key to No. 157," he said, to the hotel clerk.

Gilbert followed him up several flights of stairs till he reached his room.

"Enter," he said, unlocking the door.

Gilbert did so, feeling, at the same time, a queer sensation, as he thought of the attempt that might be made at violence. However, he was not wanting in courage, and did not deign to give audience to fear.

"Sit down," said Mr. Grey, abruptly.

Gilbert seated himself near the door. His uncle drew up a chair for himself, but, as our hero noted, placed it between him and the door.

"He wants to cut me off from escape," he thought. "Never mind; he'll let me go when he finds he can't make anything by keeping me."

"Well," said his uncle, when they were seated, "let me know all about this precious plot you have been hatching."

"I am engaged in no plot, Mr. Grey," said Gilbert, steadily.

"Of course not. Conspirators are the last to admit the real character of their designs. But that don't alter the fact. You have laid a plot for getting possession of my property, and, to this end, have forged a paper, which you think will help you."

"You are quite mistaken, Mr. Grey. I have Jacob Morton's written confession of his agency in carrying me away from Cincinnati. I knew nothing of it till he spoke to me on this subject, and placed the paper in my hands."

"Have you the paper with you?"

Gilbert didn't answer this question, since he could not have said truly that he had Jacob's confession with him. It was merely his own copy. But he drew the paper from his breast-pocket, and handed it to his uncle.

Mr. Grey took the paper, and ran his eye rapidly over it. His countenance changed, for he saw that it would have great weight in a court of justice, completely substantiating Gilbert's claims to the estate which he wrongfully held.

"Well," he said, looking up, after he had finished reading the paper, "I have read this document, and I have no hesitation in pronouncing it a vile forgery. It shall meet the fate it merits."

So saying, he hastily tore it across the middle, and proceeded to tear it into still smaller pieces.

"Now, young man," he said, sarcastically, "as I have no further business with you, I will bid you a very good-day," and he bowed, mockingly.

"I think you are mistaken about our business being settled," said Gilbert, quietly.

"Your forged document will help you little," said Mr. Grey, triumphantly. "I have torn it into a hundred pieces."

"It is of no consequence," said our hero, calmly. "It is only a copy of the original paper."

CHAPTER XX.

BAFFLED, BUT NOT DISCOURAGED

The triumphant look on the face of James Grey faded, and was replaced by one of baffled rage and disappointment.

"It's a lie!" he exclaimed, speaking rather what he wished than what he believed.

"You are mistaken," said Gilbert, in the same calm tone. "The paper you have just torn up was in my own handwriting."

"I have no doubt of that. I thought, all the time, that it was an imposture which you had got up."

"I made a copy of it from the original this morning," said our hero.

"Why did you not bring the original, if there is one?"

"Because I was afraid you might be tempted to destroy it. It seems I was right," added Gilbert, with a glance at the torn pieces of paper which littered the carpet at his feet.

James Grey was terribly provoked. He had "shown his hand," so to speak, and gained nothing by it. If his nephew's story was true, the dreaded paper was still in existence, and likely to be guarded more carefully than ever. Gilbert's calmness was a strong indication of the correctness of his story. Were the real paper destroyed, he could not help showing agitation.

"Do you mean to say that you have another paper than this?" he demanded.

"I do," said our hero.

"You must show me that, or I shall not believe you have it."

"I am not quite a fool, Uncle James," said Gilbert. "I know as well as you how valuable that paper is, and I am not going to risk it."

"You seem to be a remarkably prudent young man," said Mr. Grey, with a sneer – "quite an old head upon young shoulders."

"I ought to be," said Gilbert. "I was educated to the streets of New York. There I had to knock about for myself and earn my own living, at an age when most boys are carefully looked after by their parents. I learned to look out for my own interests there. I am indebted to you for that kind of training. You must not complain now if I use it against you."

Mr. Grey sat a moment in deep and troubled thought. This nephew of his turned out to be a decidedly formidable opponent. How could he cope with him?

"Have you told any one in this city about these false claims of yours?" he asked, after awhile.

"I have not spoken to any one about false claims," said Gilbert, coldly.

"Call them what you will. Have you spoken of having any claims to my brother's property to any one here?"

"I have."

"To whom?"

"To Mr. Ferguson."

James Grey frowned. Mr. Ferguson was one of the last men to whom he would have wished the communication known.

"He must have laughed at your ridiculous story."

"On the contrary, he fully believes it."

"I did not think him so gullible. Have you spoken to him about my being in the city?"

"I have."

"Did he know you were to call upon me this afternoon?"

"I told him before I came."

Things were evidently getting more serious than Mr. Grey had supposed. Not only was Gilbert a young man who meant business, but he was backed by a merchant of standing, whose former connection with the Grey family made his co-operation and favor of no slight importance. James Grey saw that he must temporize. Had he followed out his inclination, he would have sprung upon his obdurate nephew and pounded him to a jelly. But unfortunately he was in a civilized city, where laws are supposed to afford some protection from personal assault, and this course, therefore, was not to be thought of. Since violence, then, was not practicable, he must have recourse to stratagem, and, to put Gilbert temporarily off his guard, he must play a part.

"Well, young man," he said, at length, "I am not prepared at present to pronounce a definite opinion upon your claim. Of course, if really convinced that you were my nephew, I would acknowledge you to be such."

"I have some doubts as to that," thought Gilbert.

"But it does not seem to me very probable that such is the case. Of course, I objected to being duped by an impostor. You cannot blame me for that."

"No."

"At first, your claim appeared to me preposterous, and I pronounced it to be so. Upon reflection, though I strongly doubt its genuineness, I am willing to take time to consider it."

"That is fair," said Gilbert.

"I shall consult with a lawyer on the subject, and institute some inquiries of my own. Then, besides, my time will be partly occupied with other business, on which I have come hither. You may come again, say in a week, and I shall perhaps be able to give you a definite answer."

"Very well," said Gilbert. "Good-morning."

"Good-morning," responded his uncle, following him to the door. "I'd like to kick you down stairs, you young villain," he added, sotto voce.

James Grey shut the door of his chamber, and sat down to think. It was certainly an emergency that called for serious thought. Gilbert's claim would strip him of four-fifths of his fortune, and reduce him from a rich man to a comparatively poor one.

"I am not safe as long as that paper exists," he concluded. "It must be stolen from the boy, in some way." But how? He felt that he wanted an unscrupulous tool through whose agency he might get possession of old Jacob's confession. That destroyed, he could snap his fingers at Gilbert, and live undisturbed in the possession of the fortune he wrongfully withheld from him.

Sometimes the devil sends to evil men precisely what they most want, and so it turned out in this particular instance.

That evening Mr. Grey was walking thoughtfully in the street, reflecting upon his difficult situation, when his sharp ears caught the sound of his nephew's name, pronounced by two boys, or young men, in front of him. Not to keep the reader in suspense, they were Maurice Walton and a friend of his, named Isaac Baker.

"I tell you, Baker," said Maurice, warmly, "it's the greatest piece of injustice my being paid only half the salary of that sneak, Gilbert Grey."

"I suppose he's a favorite with Ferguson, isn't he?"

"That's just it. I'm as good a clerk as he is, any day, yet he gets twenty dollars a week, while I only get ten. It's enough to make a fellow swear."

"Did you ever speak to Ferguson about it?"

"Yes, but that was all the good it did. He seems to think there's nobody like Grey."

"How did Grey get in with him?"

"I believe he's a nephew of the man Ferguson used to work for. Besides he's got a way of getting round people. He's a humbug and a hypocrite."

Maurice spoke with bitterness, and evidently felt strongly on the subject. He had another grievance, which he did not choose to speak of, of which our readers have already had a glimpse. His cousin, Bessie Benton, persisted in the bad taste of preferring Gilbert to him. Of course they were too young for anything serious; but, in the social gatherings to which all three were invited, Bessie was, of course, the recipient of attentions from both, and she had, on more than one occasion, shown unmistakably her preference for Gilbert Grey. Only two evenings previous, she had danced with Gilbert, but, when Maurice applied, had told him her card was full. It was not an intentional slight, and, had he come up earlier, he would have been successful in securing her. But he chose to regard it as a slight, and this naturally embittered him still more, partly against his cousin, but most of all against Gilbert, who, both in business and with the fair sex, seemed to have eclipsed him.

"I suppose, under the circumstances, you don't like Grey much?" said his companion.

"Like him!" returned Maurice, with bitter emphasis. "I should think not. He's a mean grasping fellow, and I hate him. He's got the inside track now, but my turn may come some time."

James Grey listened to this conversation with increasing interest. It seemed to open a way for him to success.

"Come," thought he, "here is just the fellow I want. He hates my dangerous nephew, and can easily be molded to my purposes. I will follow him, and, as soon as I can speak to him alone, I will see if I cannot win him to my side."

CHAPTER XXI.

A CONSPIRACY

James Grey continued to follow Maurice Walton and his companion until his patience was nearly exhausted. At length, just as the city clocks were striking ten, Baker said:

"Well, Walton, I must bid you good-night."

"Won't you walk home with me? It isn't far out of your way."

"Can't do it to-night. The fact is, I want to see the governor before he retires. I'm hard up, and shall try to get a ten-dollar bill out of him."

"I wish you success. As to being 'hard up,' I can sympathize with you. Couldn't you ask him for an extra ten for me?"

"I would if there was any chance of getting it, but I'm afraid my own chance is slim enough."

"If I only got Grey's salary, I wouldn't ask favors of anybody; but how is a fellow to get along on ten dollars a week?"

"Just so. Well, good-night."

"Good-night."

Baker walked off, and Maurice Walton walked on by himself. He had taken but a few steps when Mr. Grey, quickening his pace, laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"Mr. Walton," said he.

Maurice turned quickly.

"You must excuse the liberty I have taken in addressing you, being a stranger; but I heard you, when in conversation with the young man who has just left you, mention the name of Gilbert Grey."

"Yes, sir, I mentioned his name," said Maurice. "Do you know him?"

"I have spoken with him, but I know very little about him. I judge that you do."

"We are in the same store," said Maurice; "but we are not intimate friends."

"I infer that you do not like him?"

"No, I don't."

"Nor do I."

Probably Mr. Grey could not have said anything more likely to win young Walton's confidence than this frank expression of dislike.

"The fact is," continued Mr. Grey, "I suppose I may speak to you in confidence?"

"Oh! certainly, sir," said Maurice, eagerly, for he anticipated hearing something to Gilbert's disadvantage.

"Then," said Mr. Grey, in a low tone, "I look upon him as an impostor."

"You do?" repeated young Walton. "What makes you think so?"

"I don't like to speak openly in the street. Can you give me an hour, or even half an hour of your time, or is it necessary for you to go home at once?"

"Where are you stopping, sir?"

"At the Burnet House."

"I think I can spare half an hour. It is near by."

"Thank you. I will endeavor to make the interview a profitable one for you. I am going to ask a service of you, and I am willing to pay handsomely for it."

Upon a young man "hard up," as Maurice was, this suggestion was not thrown away.

"I shall be glad to help you, sir," he said, quickly.

"Come with me, then. I will defer saying more till we are seated in my room at the hotel."

In less than five minutes they were so seated. By the gaslight Maurice got a fair view of his companion, and was led to wonder who he was.

"Mr. Walton," said the older man, "it is only fair that I should give you an equal advantage with myself. I know your name. You do not know mine. Let me introduce myself as James Grey."

"Formerly in business in this city?"

"The same."

"The uncle of Gilbert Grey?"

"So he says."

It was impossible to mistake the tone in which these words were spoken.

"Is he not really your nephew?" asked Maurice, in surprise.

James Grey shrugged his shoulders.

"He pretends to be; but I believe him to be an impostor."

"What makes you think so? Why should he pretend to be related to you?" asked Maurice, excited and eager.

"Because I am rich, and he has entered into a plot to extort money from me. I can make clear his design very briefly. He pretends that he is the son of my elder brother. If this be true, then the property which I possess, or a large part of it, properly belongs to him."

"But, if it isn't true, how can he make such a claim?"

"My brother's only son disappeared when a mere boy, and, though his body was not found, there is reason to believe that he fell into the Ohio river and was drowned. At about the same time, a clerk in my employ purloined a sum of money and fled. This boy has heard of these two incidents, and, cunningly putting them together, comes forward with a trumped-up story to the effect that this clerk, Jacob Morton, was hired to carry off my nephew, in order that, the true heir being out of the way, I might succeed to my brother's money. It is ridiculous, and yet it is cunningly devised."

"I always thought he was artful," said Maurice.

"You are quite right there. He has an astonishing amount of artfulness and unblushing impudence. But I have not told you all. He produces a paper professing to be written by this Jacob Morton, who, he says, is dead, asserting all that he claims."

"Do you think he wrote it himself?"

"Either that, or he has met this clerk somewhere, and they have devised a plan for jointly enriching themselves at my expense. If this is the case, and the paper was really written by Jacob Morton, the man is probably still alive, but keeping himself somewhere in concealment."

"What a bold attempt at fraud!" exclaimed Maurice, who was completely duped by his companion's plausible statements.

"Is it not? Now I want to ask you, who know him well, what your opinion of him is. Do you look upon him as honest and straightforward?"

"No, I don't. He's just artful enough to be up to some such game. He's deceived Mr. Ferguson, and made him think there is no one like him, so that there is no chance for me. He gets twice the salary that I do, although I have been in the business as long as he."

"And yet you look as if you had a good business turn," said Mr. Grey, with skillful flattery.

"I know as much of business as he does. I am sure of that."

"Mr. Ferguson must be a weak man to be so easily duped. If it were my case, he wouldn't find it so easy to impose upon me."

"I don't know how he does it, but he has cut me out entirely. Mr. Ferguson won't hear a word against his favorite."

"You are unfortunate, but we are in the same position there. He has conspired to keep you down, and he is now plotting to extort money from me by his preposterous claims."

"Do you think he stands any chance?"

"No. But if he produces this paper of his, he might bring a suit against me which would be annoying. You know there are some people who are always ready to believe the worst, and I dare say he would convince some that his claims were just, and that I had acted fraudulently. Now that would be unpleasant to me, though I should be certain to win at law."

"Of course. What are you going to do about it, Mr. Grey?"

"To ask your assistance, for which I shall be ready to pay."

"But what can I do?" asked Maurice, in some astonishment.

"I will tell you," said James Grey, hitching his chair nearer that of his young visitor; "but, of course, you will keep my confidence?"

"Certainly."

"The whole strength of his case lies in this forged paper. Let me get possession of that, and he can do nothing."

"I see."

"Now you know where he boards, probably?"

"Yes."

"Can't you contrive to get access to his room, search for the paper – very likely it is in his trunk – and, when obtained, bring it to me? I am ready to give a hundred dollars for it."

"I don't know," said Maurice, slowly. "I am afraid it would be difficult."

"But by no means impossible. I will give you ten dollars now, and that you may keep, whether you succeed or not. If you succeed, you shall have a hundred dollars besides. Do you agree?"

As he spoke he held a ten-dollar bill out temptingly. It was a temptation that Maurice Walton, with but fifty cents in his pocket, could not resist. He wanted money sorely. Besides, he had a chance to win a hundred dollars additional, and this would enable him to gratify several wishes which had hitherto seemed unattainable.

"I will do my best," he said, holding out his hand for the money.

There was a quiet flash of triumph in the cold, gray eye of his older companion, as he placed the bill in Maurice's hands.

"I need not caution you to be secret," he said.

"I shall not say a word to any one," answered young Walton.

James Grey rubbed his hands gleefully, as Walton left the room.

"The scheme promises well," he soliloquized. "My worthy nephew, I may checkmate you yet."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE THEFT OF THE PAPER

Had Maurice Walton been a youth of strict honor, he could not have been induced to undertake the theft of the paper, however large the sum offered him. But his principles were not strict enough to interfere, and the hope of injuring Gilbert, whom he envied, and therefore hated, made him the more willing to engage in the enterprise.

"A hundred dollars will be very acceptable," he said to himself, complacently. "They couldn't be more easily earned. Now, how shall I set about it?"

Maurice came to the conclusion that Gilbert kept the paper in his trunk. This seemed to be the most natural depository to be selected. Of course, then, he must contrive some means of opening the trunk. He thought of pretending that he had lost the key of his own trunk, and asking Gilbert for the loan of his. But that would draw suspicion upon him when the paper was missed. Another plan, which he finally adopted, was to go to a locksmith, and ask for a variety of trunk keys, on the same pretext, in order to try, with the liberty of returning those that didn't suit. This, and other points necessary to success in his scheme, were determined upon by Maurice, and will be made known to the reader as he proceeds.

A little before ten the next morning, Maurice left his place in the store, and, going to Mr. Ferguson, asked permission to go home.

"For what reason?" asked his employer.

"I have a terrible headache," said Maurice, looking as miserable as possible.

"Certainly you may go," said Mr. Ferguson, who was a kind-hearted man, and who didn't doubt the statement.

"If I feel better I will come back in the afternoon," said Maurice.

"Don't come unless you feel able. I know what the headache is, and I don't want you to come, unless you feel quite able to attend to business."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now for business," said Maurice, as he found himself in the street. "I'll rest my poor head by a ride on the horse-cars."

First, however, he entered a small shop near by, over which was a sign, M. Frink, Locksmith.

The locksmith, wearing a dirty apron, looked up from his work.

"I have lost the key to my trunk," said Maurice.

"I can make you another," said the locksmith.

"I want to open it now. Haven't you got some already made?"

"Plenty. But how will you know the size?"

"Give me half a dozen to try, and I will bring back those that don't suit."

"All right. Is your lock a large one?"

"Not very. About medium," said Maurice, hazarding a guess.

The locksmith picked out eight keys, of various sizes, and handed them to Maurice.

"I will bring them back safe," said he.

"All right. I don't think you'll run off with them."

"Now for it," said Maurice. "I think one of these keys must fit."

He took the cars to a point only two squares distant from Gilbert's boarding-house, and walked toward it. But, in order to change his appearance, he applied to his upper lip a false black mustache, which he had bought for the purpose, and, a little discomposed by his dishonest intentions, walked up the steps and rang the bell. It was opened directly by a servant.

"I am a friend of Mr. Grey's," said Maurice, putting on a bold face. "He told me I might get his opera-glass."

This he said in an easy, confident manner, which imposed upon the girl.

"Do you know his room?" she asked.

"Yes, I know it," said Maurice. "Never mind about going up."

The servant went back to her work, and Maurice, his heart beating fast, went up stairs on his dishonest errand. He had no difficulty in getting into the room, for the door was not locked. The trunks were kept in the bed-chamber, and he therefore went thither at once. One of the trunks was a handsome one, made of sole-leather. This belonged to Mordaunt. The other was plainer and smaller, and no doubt belonged to Gilbert.

Maurice got down on his knees and began to try his keys. The first did not fit, neither did the second, nor the third. Indeed, it was only the last that proved to be the right one. Maurice had feared the failure of his plans, when success came.

"So far, so good," he said, and began eagerly to explore the contents.

First in order came a pile of shirts and underclothing. These he hastily removed, and peered about for papers. In one corner was a book of deposits on a city savings-bank. Led by curiosity, Maurice opened it. He saw a long line of deposits, covering several pages, for Gilbert had been in the habit of making a weekly deposit, even the first year, for, though his income was small, he had nothing to pay for board, and this was, of course, a great help.

"How much has the fellow got?" thought Maurice.

He made a hurried calculation, and, to his astonishment and envy, learned that our hero had seven hundred and sixty dollars deposited to his credit.