Tom, The Bootblack: or, The Road to Success

"Almost eight hundred dollars, and I haven't a cent," he muttered, discontentedly. Then there came the thought that if he found the paper, he might count upon a hundred dollars, and his good spirits returned. Underneath the bank-book were two letters, written to him by Mordaunt while absent on a pleasure-trip not long before, and under these was a sheet of quarto paper, which appeared to be written upon.

"That may be the paper," thought Maurice, and he took it in his hands with eager anticipations. Turning to the end he read the signature, "Jacob Morton." A slight examination of the contents satisfied him that it was the paper he wanted.

"Success! success!" he ejaculated, exultingly. "My hundred dollars are safe. Now, Gilbert Grey, your hopes are dashed to the earth, and you won't know who has done it for you."

There was no need of waiting longer. He put back the contents of the trunk hastily, with the exception of the paper, which he folded, and put carefully in his breast-pocket. Then locking the trunk, he went down stairs, and let himself out by the front door, without meeting any one.

"I didn't think I'd succeed so easily," he thought. "Now I'll go round to the Burnet House and get my hundred dollars. It pays to have a headache, sometimes."

Arrived at the Burnet House he found that Mr. Grey was out, and decided to wait for him. He remained in the reading-room, reading the papers, impatient for the return of his employer. As he sat there, Mr. Grey, who had been told at the desk that some one was waiting to see him, entered.

"Ah! my young friend," he said, affably, "well, have you any news for me?"

"Yes," said Maurice.

"What is it?"

"Hadn't we better go up stairs?"

"It may be better. But, in one word, is it success or failure?"

"Success," said Maurice.

"Good!" exclaimed James Grey, his eyes lighting up with joy. "Come up."

Again they found themselves in the same room in which Gilbert and his uncle had formerly had their interview.

"The paper," said Mr. Grey, impatiently.

"You'll pay me the money?" said Maurice, cautiously.

"If the paper is correct, you may be assured of that."

Upon this assurance Maurice withdrew the paper from his pocket, and passed it over to his companion. The latter opened it, and glanced over it triumphantly.

"Is it right?"

"Yes, it is right. It is the forged paper. We have put a spoke in the wheel of that impudent young impostor. He can do nothing now. But you want your money, and you shall have it."

Mr. Grey took out his pocket-book and counted out five twenty-dollar bills, which he put in the hands of his agent.

"Now confess," he said, "you never earned money more easily."

"No," said Maurice; "but I wouldn't like to go through it again. Suppose Grey had come in while I was at his trunk?"

"Tell me how you managed it – I am curious to know."

So Maurice told the story, which amused his auditor not a little, especially when he tried on the mustache in his presence.

"You are a regular conspirator," he said, smiling. "You absolutely have a genius for intrigue."

Maurice felt complimented by this remark, and the fact that he was the possessor of over a hundred dollars, put him in very good spirits.

"When do you think Gilbert will find out his loss?" he asked.

"Very likely not till he calls on me. He will wonder how he met with the loss."

"I must be going, Mr. Grey," said Maurice. "It is about time for lunch."

"I would invite you to lunch with me, but it might lead to suspicions."

"Thank you all the same."

"Now the boy may do his worst," said James Grey, exultingly. "He has lost his proof, and has nothing but his own assertion to fall back upon. I am out of danger."

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE TABLES TURNED

As Maurice Walton left the Burnet House, he fell in with the one whom he most wished to avoid. Gilbert was returning to the store, after his usual midday lunch. He was surprised to see Maurice, supposing him at home, suffering from the headache.

"How do you happen to be here, Maurice?" he asked. "I thought you were at home."

"My head felt so bad that I thought I would come out into the fresh air," answered Maurice, a little confused.

"Do you feel better?"

"A little. I think I'll go home and go to bed."

"I hope you'll be all right to-morrow."

"I guess so."

So they separated, Gilbert, who was not inclined to be suspicious, not doubting his fellow-clerk's statements.

That evening, when he returned to his boarding-house, the servant said:

"Did your friend find the opera-glass?"

"What?" said Gilbert.

"Shure a friend of yours called, and said you had sent him to borrow your opera-glass."

"I sent nobody. Who was it? What did he look like?"

"He was about your size, shure, and had a black mustash."

"I don't know who it can be. Did he go up into my room?"

"Yes, he did. He said he knew the way."

"I can't think who it was."

Gilbert went up stairs, and, to increase the mystery, there was his opera-glass on the bureau, where he usually kept it. It was directly in sight, so that the visitor must have seen it.

"I can't understand it," he said, perplexed. "Mordaunt, do you know of any friend of mine who has a black mustache?"

"Frank Oswald."

"He is considerably larger than I am. The servant said it was some one of my size."

"I can't think of anybody else."

"I don't see why he didn't take the opera-glass, if he wanted it, though it would have been rather bold, as I didn't authorize anybody to take it."

As there seemed no clew to the mystery, and as, moreover, Gilbert had no suspicion that the visitor was on an unlawful errand, he dismissed it from his mind.

Two days afterward, Gilbert met his uncle in the street. As the week was not up, he was about to pass him with a bow, when Mr. Grey paused, and appeared inclined to speak.

"Young man," he said, "can you call on me this evening?"

"Yes, sir."

"I shall leave the city to-morrow, and, though it is of no consequence to me, I suppose you would like to know my decision in regard to the matter you broached the other day."

"I will call," said Gilbert, bowing.

"He looks as if he were going to defy me," thought our hero. "Well, I am ready for him."

In the evening he called, and was shown up to his uncle's room.

"Good-evening, Mr. Grey," he said, politely.

"Good-evening, young sir," said the other. "You did me the honor, the other day, of claiming relationship with me?"

"I did."

"Knowing that your claim had no foundation, but was only an impudent fabrication, instigated by cupidity – "

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Gilbert, quietly, "but that statement I deny most positively. I have not the slightest doubt that that relationship exists; neither has Mr. Ferguson."

"You have succeeded in duping Mr. Ferguson. You will find it a harder task to dupe me. If you knew me better, you would have hesitated before you attempted to humbug me in that barefaced way."

"If you knew me better, Uncle James – "

"I am not your Uncle James."

"Mr. Grey, then. If you knew me better, Mr. Grey, you would know that I am not capable of making a false claim."

"Oh! no doubt you are very honest – the soul of integrity," sneered James Grey; "but every one has his price, and, as the success of your imposture would make you rich for life, you concluded to leave honesty out of the question."

James Grey might at once have referred to his possession of the paper, but he could not forbear playing with Gilbert, as a cat with a mouse, enjoying meanwhile the power which he possessed of crushing his claims by a single statement.

"Your charge is entirely unjust," said Gilbert, quietly. "I shall appreciate the money to which I am rightfully entitled, to be sure; but I want to settle my claim, also, to my father's name, of which I was so long ignorant."

"If you choose to call yourself Grey, or Green, or Brown, there is no law to prevent you, I suppose," said Mr. Grey, sarcastically; "but when you, a street bootblack, try to force your way into a respectable family, there is considerable to be said."

"I am not ashamed of having been a bootblack," said our hero, calmly. "I was earning an honest living, though an humble one; and I was not living upon what belonged to another."

"Do you mean me?" interrupted his uncle, angrily.

"You must decide whether you are meant, Mr. Grey."

"Suppose now I decline to consider seriously this very impudent claim of yours, what are you going to do about it?"

"I shall take legal advice."

"How do you expect to pay a lawyer?"

"I shall try to manage it."

"No lawyer will undertake such a discreditable case."

"I happen to be acquainted with one lawyer that will. In fact, I have mentioned the matter to him, and I am acting by his advice now."

"Does he tell you that you have a good case?"

"He does."

"What does he say is the strongest part of it?"

"The statement of Jacob Morton."

"Do you happen to have it with you?"

"No, sir. After the experience of my last call, I prefer not to bring it."

"You can't produce it," said James Grey, triumphantly.

"Why not?"

"Because you have no such document."

"You are mistaken there."

"I have the strongest reason for saying that this forged document, on which you so much rely, is no longer in your possession."

"I should like to know your reason," said Gilbert, struck by his uncle's significant manner.

"Then I will tell you. It is not in your possession, because it is in mine!"

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Gilbert, somewhat startled.

"Just what I say. I have obtained possession of the paper which you so artfully concocted, and pretended to be the dying statement of Jacob Morton."

"What, did Mr. Ferguson give it to you?" asked Gilbert, amazed.

"Mr. Ferguson? What had he to do with it?"

"It is in his safe. I deposited it there, the morning after my interview with you."

"That is a lie!" exclaimed Mr. Grey, in excitement. "You placed it in your trunk."

"Oh!" said Gilbert, as light dawned upon him, "I understand you, now. Before carrying it to Mr. Ferguson, I made a copy for reference, thinking, also, that you might want to look at it again. That copy I left in my trunk; but the original is in Mr. Ferguson's safe."

"I don't believe you," said James Grey, furiously.

"It is perfectly true. I suppose that the young man who I hear called at my room one day in my absence, was your agent, and that he stole the paper."

"Out of my room, you scoundrel!" roared James Grey, whose disappointment was in proportion to his former exultation. "I defy you!"

Gilbert saw that it would be of no use to prolong the discussion. He bowed quietly, and left the room.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A SUDDEN DEPARTURE

After James Grey's triumphant feeling that he had spiked the guns of his young adversary, the revulsion and disappointment of defeat were all the more disheartening. He would like to have believed his tale a false one, but that was not easy. On a closer inspection of the paper which Maurice Walton had brought to him, he discovered a water-mark in the paper showing that it had only been manufactured the year previous. As Gilbert had been in Cincinnati three years, this, of course, was sufficient to show that the document could not be genuine.

"Who would have imagined the fellow so shrewd?" ejaculated his uncle, pacing the room with hurried steps. "He lost no time in locking up the paper. I'm afraid he's going to be a dangerous enemy."

Then, contemptuously:

"What a fool I am – a full-grown man, with fifty years' experience of the world, to be afraid of what a boy can do! No, he shall not gain his point. Possession is nine points of the law, and possession is mine. If he undertakes to oust me, he must be careful, for I have not lived in luxury, and grown accustomed to it for years, to resign it quietly now. If it is going to be a fight, it shall be a desperate one."

One of the smaller mortifications which Mr. Grey experienced was that of paying Maurice Walton a hundred and ten dollars, without receiving any benefit from the outlay.

"I'd get the money back, if I could," he thought, but reflection convinced him that this would be impossible. Besides, the best way to secure Maurice's continued silence, was to leave him in undisturbed possession of the money.

"After all, there's one good thing about him," considered Mr. Grey, "he hates my rascally nephew. For that alone I make him welcome to the money, though he has done me no good."

How should he carry on the campaign? That was the first thing to be considered. Evidently his policy was to be passive. He must remain on the defensive, leaving the aggressive part of the conflict to his nephew. First in the programme, he determined to leave Cincinnati at once, so that no legal process might be served upon him.

"Fortunately, the boy does not know where I live, nor can his employer give him any clew, as he, too, is ignorant of it. If he takes the trouble to call upon me again, he will find the bird flown."

James Grey was a man of quick action. He no sooner came to this determination than he proceeded to carry it out. Proceeding to the clerk's desk, he announced his immediate departure. Then, taking care not to order a hotel carriage, lest this should afford a clew to his destination, he left the hotel with his carpet-bag in his hand, and took a cab from the next street. He was driven direct to the depot, and, in a few minutes, was on his way westward.

"How lucky it was that I took the paper from my trunk," thought Gilbert, as he left the hotel. "Probably it would, by this time, have been destroyed, had it come into my uncle's possession. I think I'm a little ahead of him, this time."

Gilbert was not intimidated, nor were his resolutions shaken by the defiant tone in which his uncle had spoken to him. He was a spirited boy, and he meant to stick to his rights, as he understood them. He was not one to be browbeaten or cheated, and he resolved to fight out the battle.

"I will call on my uncle to-morrow evening," he resolved. "He will then have had twenty-four hours to think over the situation, and, if he is a man of sense, he will see that he can't get over my proofs."

When Mr. Ferguson, therefore, asked him how the business progressed, he answered that nothing definite had been settled upon, but that he was to have another interview with his uncle in the evening.

"It will take some time to bring him round, I think," said his employer. "A man doesn't resign a fine estate without some opposition. If you should need any advice, at any time, you may apply to me freely."

"Thank you, Mr. Ferguson, I certainly will. Perhaps I may need to do it to-morrow."

In the evening our hero walked into the hotel, and, stepping up to the desk, inquired if Mr. Grey was in.

"He has gone away," was the answer.

"Gone!" exclaimed Gilbert, in manifest dismay, for that possibility had not occurred to him.

"Yes – he went away yesterday afternoon."

"Do you know where he went? From what depot?"

"I cannot tell you. He didn't take a carriage, but walked. Probably he went home."

"Will you let me see his name on the register?"

The book was placed before him, and Gilbert, finding the entry of his uncle's name, saw opposite it, "St. Louis, Mo."

"So he lives in St. Louis," thought our hero. "It won't be hard to find him, then. His name is probably in the directory. I must go at once to St. Louis. This business ought to be attended to at once."

Of course, it was necessary to speak to his employer about leave of absence. Probably, also, Mr. Ferguson would be able to give him some valuable advice, and he was likely to stand in need of it, for the undertaking on which he had entered was of no light character. Single-handed, he could hardly hope to overcome so experienced and determined an opponent as James Grey. He sought Mr. Ferguson, and gave him a full account of what had happened thus far. He concluded by stating the departure of his uncle.

"Well, Gilbert," said Mr. Ferguson, after he had finished, "have you thought of anything further, or will you let the matter rest?"

"Never!" exclaimed our hero, with energy. "I will not rest till I have recovered the property of which my uncle has deprived me."

"That will be difficult."

"I know it, but I am not afraid of difficulty. It is not impossible. He thrust me into the streets of New York to earn my living as a bootblack; and I might have been there now, if Jacob had not revealed to me the story of my birth."

"You don't express yourself much like a street-boy now, Gilbert."

"No, sir. I hope I have improved since then."

"I used to be amused, sometimes, by the expressions you used."

"I don't wonder, sir. I must have talked like a young barbarian; but I am grateful to God for having raised me above my former ignorance."

"It is determined, then, that you will prosecute your claims. How do you propose to do it?"

"I must first go to St. Louis and see my uncle again."

"Does he live in St. Louis?"

"Yes, sir."

"How do you know? Did he tell you so?"

"No, sir. But I read it on the hotel register, at the hotel."

"Did he register himself before he first met you?"

"No, sir."

"Where was he before?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Then what reason have you to think that he registered correctly? Why did he change his hotel? I may be wrong, but it strikes me that it was intended as a blind to deceive you. Your uncle is a shrewd man, and he would understand the importance of keeping his real residence concealed from one who had in his power to prosecute a claim against him involving nearly his whole fortune."

"Then you don't think he lives in St. Louis, Mr. Ferguson?"

"I don't think he does."

Gilbert looked blank.

"That interferes with my plans," he said. "I meant to ask a month's leave of absence from you, and go to St. Louis and see what I could do."

"That would take money."

"I have saved up about eight hundred dollars," said Gilbert.

"Eight hundred dollars?" repeated his employer, surprised. "How was it possible for you to save so much?"

"I have no board to pay. My roommate is rich, and I was the means of doing him a service which he repays in that way."

"I congratulate you, Gilbert. It speaks well for your habits that you have laid aside so much money. I was about to offer you a loan."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Ferguson," said Gilbert, gratefully; "but I don't think I shall need it. I shall have money enough, but that is not all. From what you say, I am afraid, if I went to St. Louis, it would only be a wild-goose chase."

"Stay," said Mr. Ferguson, after a moment's thought; "an idea strikes me. You may gain the knowledge you want with very little trouble. Mind, I say may. It is not certain."

"How, sir?" said Gilbert, eagerly.

CHAPTER XXV.

MAURICE BETRAYS HIMSELF

"In this way," answered Mr. Ferguson. "Your uncle did not register his name at the Burnet House till after his encounter with you in the street. Probably his reason for changing his hotel was to prevent your examining the register of the one at which he was previously staying, and so ascertaining his real residence. The same motive would lead him to give the wrong address in the new hotel."

"Yes, sir; that seems likely, but how is that going to help me?"

"You must try to ascertain where he formerly stopped. Go to the principal hotels, and examine their registers for a fortnight back. Probably that will cover all the time in which your uncle is likely to have arrived."

"Yes, I see," said Gilbert, brightening up. "It is a good plan, and I think it will succeed."

"I hope so, for your sake."

Gilbert lost no time in following out his employer's suggestion. First, he went to the Gibson House; but he examined the books to no purpose. He looked back as far as twenty days, but could not find the name of James Grey.

"He can't have stopped at this hotel," he said to himself.

Next he went to the Spencer House. It occurred to him that possibly his uncle's name might be recognized, so he asked the clerk:

"Has a gentleman named James Grey stopped with you lately?"

"Grey? I believe so," said the clerk, after a moment's reflection. "He left us about a week since."

"Yes, it is the same," said Gilbert, eagerly. "Was he here long?"

"Only two or three days."

This, of course, made the examination easy. In point of fact, ten days back Gilbert found recorded on the books:

James Grey, Clayton, Illinois.

"Clayton, Illinois," repeated Gilbert; "that's a place I never heard of. I wonder where it is? It can't be much of a place. Can you tell me in what part of Illinois Clayton is?" he inquired of the clerk.

"Never heard of it," said that official, indifferently.

"Clayton, Illinois?" said a gentleman who had just come up to leave his key. "I can tell you where it is."

"Where, sir?"

"It is a small town on the Mississippi river, north of Alton – I should think about thirty or forty miles. I never was there, but I've passed it while ascending the river on a steamboat."

"Thank you, sir," said our hero.

As may be supposed, he was not a little elated at his discovery. In spite of James Grey's prudent precautions, his nephew felt that he had not been shrewd enough. St. Louis had not answered the purpose. The insignificant place where he had supposed himself safe from pursuit, was now known, and Gilbert determined that there should be no cessation of hostilities. He was resolved to follow up the attack, and force his uncle to do him justice.

Meanwhile Maurice Walton could not but observe that something was going on. He noticed Gilbert's absence from the store, and his frequent interviews with Mr. Ferguson, and rightly inferred that they had something to do with James Grey.

"I wonder if he has found out the loss of the paper?" he thought. "He must have discovered it, and that's why he is in such a flutter. If it's spoilt his chances, so much the better. I owe him a grudge, and, if I've put a spoke in his wheel, I shall be glad."

One incident, having its effect upon the narrative, has not yet been recorded.

When James Grey left the hotel, carpet-bag in hand, he chanced to meet Maurice, just before he took a hack to the depot. An idea flashed upon him that Maurice might be useful to him as a spy upon his nephew, and might be engaged to watch and give him timely notice of his movements. He therefore paused, and Maurice perceived that he wished to speak with him.

"Good-day, sir," he said.

"Good-day. I am glad to meet you, for I have something to say to you. That paper you brought me was not the right one."

"Not the right one?" repeated Maurice, in alarm, for he thought Mr. Grey was about to demand back the hundred dollars, which he would have been very sorry to surrender.

"No; the rascal had been cunning enough to put the original in Mr. Ferguson's safe, and leave only a copy in his trunk. The paper you brought me was the copy."

"Does Gilbert say so?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps he lies."

"So I thought; but the date on the paper confirms his story."

"It wasn't my fault. I think I earned the money."

"You can keep it. I have no intention of asking it back; but I shall want to employ you further."

"To get the paper from the safe?"

"Can you do it?"

"I am afraid not. If I were caught doing it, I should be dismissed, and perhaps arrested."

"If you succeed, I will give you another hundred dollars."

"I should like the money."

"Watch for a good chance. You may be able to do it unobserved."

"Are you going to leave the city?"

"Yes, I leave at once."

"Suppose I get the paper – what shall I do with it?"

"Send it by mail to my address."

"Where is that, sir?"

"Can I rely upon you not to communicate it to Gilbert Grey? It would do him a great deal of good."

"Then I certainly won't tell him," said Maurice, decidedly.

Knowing the state of feeling between Maurice and his nephew, Mr. Grey felt satisfied with this assurance.