Andy Gordon

“I can’t help that.”

“And they will have me put in jail. Oh, don’t take it from me!”

“The boy is pretty well scared,” said the robber to himself. “I didn’t think he would wilt down so easily. He seems a little soft.”

“I’ll attend to that,” he said aloud. “I’ll write them an anonymous letter, saying that I took it from you.”

“That will be better,” said Andy, seeming relieved.

“Then hand it over.”

“I won’t exactly give it to you,” said Andy; “but you can take it.”

So saying, he drew a large wallet from his inside pocket, and, before his companion could grasp it, threw it some rods away by the roadside.

“There,” he said; “you see I didn’t give it to you, though I can’t help your taking it.”

His companion’s eyes glistened as he saw the plethoric wallet lying by the roadside.

“Stop the horse!” he exclaimed, jerking at the reins. “I’ll get out here.”

“All right!” said Andy. “You’ll be sure to write to Miss Peabody that I couldn’t help giving you the money?”

“Oh, yes! What a simpleton he is!” thought the highwayman, as he sprang from the buggy, and hurried in the direction of the wallet, now some little distance back.

As soon as he had gotten rid of his companion, Andy brought down his whip with emphasis on the back of his spirited horse, and dashed over the road at great speed.

The young man smiled as he heard the flying wheels.

“He’s pretty well scared,” he thought. “Well, he can go to Cranston as fast as he pleases, now that I have what I was after.”

He stooped and picked up the wallet, and opened it to feast his eyes on the thick roll of bank bills, but was overcome with rage, fury and disappointment when he found that the supposed treasure consisted only of rolls of brown paper, so folded as to swell out the wallet and give the impression of value.

“The artful young scoundrel!” he exclaimed, between his closed teeth. “He has made a fool of me, and I all the time looked upon him as a simpleton. What shall I say to Hogan, who put me up to this job?”

He had a momentary idea of pursuing Andy, but by this time the buggy was a long distance ahead, and every minute was increasing the distance.

To pursue it with any expectation of overtaking it would have been the merest folly. It was hard to give up so rich a prize, but there seemed no help for it.

“I wish I could wring the young rascal’s neck,” thought the baffled highwayman. “He was fooling me all the time, and now he is chuckling over the trick he has played upon me. How shall I meet Hogan?”

The young man hesitated a moment, and then plunged into the woods that skirted the road.

Continuing his walk for five minutes, he came to a secluded spot, where, under a tree, reclined an old acquaintance of ours – in brief, Mr. Michael Hogan.

Hogan’s face was red and inflamed, and his eyes were sore. He was suffering from the severe scalding which had rewarded his attempt to enter the house of the Misses Peabody.

He looked up quickly as he heard the approach of his confederate, and demanded, eagerly:

“Well, Bill, did you see the boy?”

“Yes, I saw him.”

“And you have got the money?” asked Hogan, with like eagerness.

“I have got that,” answered the younger man, as he displayed the deceptive wallet.

“Give it to me.”

“You are welcome to all you can find in it.”

Hogan opened the wallet quickly. When he saw the contents, he turned upon his confederate with lowering brow.

“What does this mean?” he demanded, in a harsh voice.

“It means that I have been fooled,” said Bill, bitterly.

“Who has fooled you?” asked Hogan, with an angry look.

“The boy! I tell you, Hogan, he’s a smart one.”

“I don’t understand this. I believe you are deceiving me,” said the older man, suspiciously.

“Think what you please,” said Bill, sullenly. “It is as I say.”

“Didn’t you take out the bills and replace them with worthless paper?”

“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t dare play such a trick on you. I know you are a desperate and reckless man, and I wouldn’t try it.”

“Then will you explain this foolery?” said Hogan, sharply. “Why did you let the boy palm off this worthless paper on you?”

“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Bill, convinced that his personal safety required him to allay the evident suspicion of the old man.

Thereupon he told the story, which is already familiar to the reader.

“You’re a fool!” said Hogan, with bitter harshness. “Bah! are you not a match for a boy of sixteen?”

“He may be only sixteen,” said Bill, doggedly; “but he’s no baby, I can tell you that! As to not being a match for him, you know something about that.”

Mike Hogan sprang to his feet, livid with fury at this allusion to what was, with him, a very sore subject.

“If you dare to mention that affair again,” he said, “I’ll brain you!” and he looked quite capable of carrying out his threat.

“We ought to be revenged upon him,” declared Bill, hurriedly, anxious to divert the wrath of the elder man into a channel less menacing to himself. “I have a plan – ”

“Out with it!”

“The boy will have to come back along the same road.”

“Well?”

“Let’s lie in wait for him.”

“But he will have deposited the money in the bank. It will do no good – ”

“Not in the way of money, but you can be revenged upon him for the way he treated you the other night.”

This allusion evoked another oath from the desperate and angry ruffian, but on the whole the plan pleased him. He thirsted for revenge upon the boy to whom he was indebted, not alone for foiling him in his attempted robbery, but who had entailed upon him so much physical suffering.

“There’s something in that,” he said. “If I get hold of him, I will give him something to remember me by!”

The lawless pair posted themselves near the road, yet in concealment, and waited impatiently for the return of Andy from the Cranston Bank.

CHAPTER XX.

PERKINS, THE DETECTIVE

After parting with his troublesome traveling companion, Andy lost no time in continuing on his way to the Cranston Bank, where he had the satisfaction of depositing the four hundred and fifty dollars which had been intrusted to him.

“I am glad to get rid of the money,” said Andy, breathing a deep sigh of relief as he received back the bank-book.

“People are not usually glad to get rid of money,” said the receiving teller.

“There is too much responsibility about it,” said Andy. “Twice I have had a narrow escape from robbery.”

“Were you the boy that proved more than a match for a burglar, Saturday night?” asked the teller, with interest.

“Have you heard of it, then?” asked Andy, in surprise.

“Oh, yes! Such news travels fast. We have every reason for informing ourselves of the movements of lawbreakers and burglars. You are a plucky boy.”

“Thank you!” said Andy, modestly. “I don’t know about that.”

“Not many boys would have stood a midnight siege as well as you did.”

“I was in more danger this morning,” said Andy, quietly.

“How?” asked the teller and the other employees of the bank, who had heard Andy’s statement, and came up to hear what he had to say.

“I was stopped by a highwayman this morning, on my way from Hamilton.”

“You don’t say so! Was it the same one?”

“No; it was a younger man. I suppose you haven’t heard of that?” he added, smiling.

“No; we shall get our information from the chief actor in the adventure. How was it?”

Andy told his story, and the narration increased the high opinion which the bank officials already had begun to entertain of his courage and shrewdness.

“That was a capital idea – having a decoy wallet with you,” said Mr. Smith, the receiving teller.

“It was not my idea, though,” said Andy, modestly. “It was Mr. Bean who recommended it.”

“The fellow must have been disappointed when he saw what he had captured,” suggested the paying teller.

“I suppose he was,” responded Andy, with a laugh, “but I didn’t wait to find out. I gave the horse the whip, and left the place as fast as he could carry me.”

“Are you not afraid the man may lie in wait for you on your way home?”

“I thought of that, but I have left the money here. It wouldn’t do him any good to take the bank-book.”

“That is true, but he may wish to be revenged upon you.”

“That is so, but there is no help for it. There is no other road to take, and I must chance it.”

Andy took the matter lightly, but it occurred to the bank officials that he stood in danger of being seriously injured.

“You ought not to go back alone,” said the paying teller.

“Where shall I find company.”

Just then a man entered the bank, and presented a check.

“The very man!” said the receiving teller. “He will go with you.”

Andy looked at the newcomer, and was led to doubt whether such a man would be of much service to him. He was a short, slender man, of thirty-five, very quiet in his manner, with hair inclined to be red.

Andy knew many of the citizens of Cranston, but never remembered meeting with this man.

“Mr. Perkins,” said the paying teller, “you heard of the attempted burglary at Hamilton on Saturday night?”

“Yes; that is partly what I came to this neighborhood about,” answered Mr. Perkins, quietly.

“You see that boy?”

“Yes.”

“It is the boy who defended the house and foiled the burglar.”

Mr. Perkins dropped his air of quiet. His eyes and features betrayed a strong feeling of interest as he turned to Andy.

“My young friend,” he said, “you are the very person I most wished to see. Will you answer me a few questions?”

“Yes, sir, with pleasure.”

“What was the appearance of the man who attempted to enter the house where the money was kept?”

Andy gave, as nearly as he could, a description of Hogan and his peculiarities.

Perkins listened attentively, nodding from time to time with a satisfied expression.

“I know the man,” he said. “I didn’t think he was in this part of the country, but I am glad to hear that he is so near. I think I can put a spoke in his wheel.”

“Who is it?” asked the paying teller.

“A man with more than one name. He is best known as Mike Hogan, though I am not sure whether this is his real name or not.”

“I wonder if the other man is one of his friends?” said Andy, musingly.

“The other man?” repeated Mr. Perkins, inquiringly.

“Yes, the man that tried to rob me this morning.”

“This is something new to me,” returned the detective. “Was an attempt made upon you this morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me about it.”

Of course, Andy gave for the second time an account of his morning’s adventure.

The detective listened with the closest attention.

“Unquestionably the two men are in league together,” he said.

“Have you any idea who the younger man is?” asked the teller.

“No; it may be any one of half a dozen. The description will fit quite a number of my acquaintances. My theory is that Hogan was near at hand when the attack was made, and that he instigated it. I presume that it was from him that the younger man learned that you were likely to come this way with the money in your possession.”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Andy.

“Of course not. You know nothing of the ways of these gentry. The less you are compelled to know of them, the better for you. When are you going back?”

“I am ready now.”

“We thought the boy might be stopped again,” said Mr. Smith.

“It is altogether likely,” said Mr. Perkins, quietly.

“And we recommended him not to go alone, as of course he would be no match for a man.”

“He has proved himself a match in two instances,” said Perkins, with a glance of approval at our hero. “Still, he might not always be so lucky. However, he won’t be abliged to go back alone, as I will ask a seat in his carriage.”

“I shall be very glad to have you come, sir,” said Andy, politely.

“Can you wait fifteen minutes?”

“Oh, yes, sir!”

“I am staying at the hotel. I need to go there for a short time.”

“All right, sir.”

“Stay here, and I will join you very shortly.”

The hotel was just across the street. Andy whiled away the time in the house, but he did not have to wait long.

A lady, neatly attired in an alpaca dress, entered from the street, and coming up to our hero, said:

“Are you ready?”

Andy stared at her in surprise.

She raised a green veil, and with some difficulty he recognized the features of Perkins, the detective.

“They won’t be afraid of a woman,” said Perkins, with a meaning smile. “Come along!”

CHAPTER XXI.

MIKE HOGAN’S CAPTURE

The sudden transformation of Perkins into a woman struck Andy with amazement. He knew nothing about detectives and their ways, and could not understand how the change had been effected so rapidly. Perkins enjoyed the boy’s astonishment.

“I see you are surprised at my appearance,” he remarked, with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am – I mean, sir.”

“I assure you that I am a man,” continued the detective, noticing his confusion.

“I was wondering where you got a dress to fit you so well,” Andy ventured to say.

“Oh, I brought it with me!” said Perkins, composedly.

“Do you often dress up as a woman?”

“Not often; but sometimes, as in the present instance, it seems desirable. You see, our friends of the highway wouldn’t be very apt to show themselves, if they should see a man with you.”

“I don’t know,” said Andy, doubtfully. “Both of them together would be more than a match for us.”

“You think so?” returned the detective. “I see you haven’t a very high opinion of my abilities or physical strength.”

“Hogan, as you call him, looks like a very strong man,” said Andy.

“And I don’t, eh?”

“Well,” said Andy, not willing to give offense, “he is a good deal larger than you.”

“That is true. But a man’s strength isn’t always in proportion to his size. Give me your hand, please.”

Andy did so, though he did not quite understand the detective’s object in making the request.

Perkins’ hands were incased in tight-fitting kid gloves, and were small for a man. What was Andy’s surprise, then, to find his fingers in an ironlike grip that positively pained him. Perkins smiled as he felt Andy wince under the pressure.

“You’ve got the strongest hand of any lady I ever met,” said Andy, with a smile.

“Suppose I get a grip on Mike Hogan?” suggested Perkins.

“I think he would find it hard to get away.”

“He is the man I want. The other is of little consequence, compared with Hogan. If I can take but one, I shall hold on to the older villain.”

As they traveled over the road, Perkins entertained his young companion with scraps of personal adventure, borrowed from his ten years’ experience as a detective. He closed by instructing Andy how to act if they should encounter the men whom they sought.

Meanwhile, Hogan and the young man he called Bill, had stationed themselves near the road, in the shelter of some underbrush. Of the two, Hogan was the more excited and eager. His companion, under the impression that there was no money to be got from Andy, did not feel much interested in the matter. True, Andy had played a trick upon him, but, although provoked, he rather applauded the boy’s smartness.

With Mike Hogan it was different. He had suffered physical pain at Andy’s hands, besides losing, through his brave defense, the large sum which would otherwise unquestionably have fallen into his hands, and it was natural that he should thirst for revenge.

“I should like to wring the boy’s neck,” he muttered, as they lay together in concealment.

“It might not be altogether safe to kill him,” suggested Bill, who shrank from murder, and feared that Hogan’s temper might involve them in serious trouble.

“Oh, I won’t kill him!” growled Hogan. “I wouldn’t mind doing it, but for the law; but I don’t want my neck stretched.”

“That wouldn’t pay, Hogan, as you say.”

“I won’t kill him, but I’ll give him something to remember me by.”

“That’s all right; but don’t go too far.”

“I won’t do any worse by him that he did by me, I tell you. Are you sure there is no other road, Bill, by which he can come back? I should feel like a fool if he went another way, while we were lying in wait for him.”

“No danger, Hogan. I found out about that before I started.”

Presently their waiting was rewarded. The sound of carriage wheels was heard.

“Look out and see who it is, Bill,” said Hogan.

Bill peered through the leaves, looking cautiously up the road.

“It’s the boy,” he reported to his chief; “but he is not alone.”

“Confusion!” muttered Mike Hogan, disappointed. “Who is with him?” he asked.

“Only a woman.”

“Why didn’t you say so before, you fool?” exclaimed Hogan, with an air of relief. “That won’t make any difference.”

“She’ll scream!”

“Let her scream. No harm shall come to her. As for the boy, I’ll attend to his case.”

“What do you want me to do, Hogan?”

“Stop the horse, and I’ll attend to the passengers.”

By direction of Perkins, Andy drove a little slower when he came to the lonely part of the road.

“We’ll give the gentleman a chance to stop us, my boy,” said the detective.

The slow speed satisfied Hogan and his companion that Andy did not apprehend any attack, and that he would be all the more surprised and disconcerted when confronted by them.

According to the plan they had agreed upon, Bill jumped from the covert, and, dashing across the road, seized the horse by the head, while Mike Hogan, big and burly, with a menacing air, approached the wagon.

“Do you know me, young bantam?” he demanded, grimly.

“I think I’ve seen you before,” said Andy, not seeming so much frightened as the thief expected.

“Yes, curse you! and I’ve seen you. You played a scurvy trick upon me Saturday night.”

“I couldn’t help it,” said Andy. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but you drove me to it.”

“So, so! Well, it was unlucky for you, for I’m going to take pay out of your hide.”

“What do you mean?” asked Andy, appearing disturbed.

“I am going to give you the worst thrashing you ever received.”

“Pray don’t!” entreated Andy. “Don’t you see I have a lady here? Let me carry her home first.”

“Do you think I am a fool? Get down, I say!”

“Then help the lady down first. She won’t dare to stay in the carriage alone.”

Mike Hogan had taken very little notice of the lady. At this request, he turned to her.

“Get down, ma’am, if you want to,” he said. “I’ve got a score to settle with this young whelp.”

Perkins took his hand lightly, and leaped to the ground.

The next moment he felt an iron grip at his collar, while the supposed lady held a revolver to his head.

“What does this mean?” he exclaimed, in utter amazement, recoiling from his fair companion.

With his unoccupied hand the detective threw back the veil which concealed his face.

“Mike Hogan,” he said, “I’ve caught you at last.”

“Who are you?” gasped the tramp and burglar.

“I am Perkins, the detective!”

It was a name that Mike Hogan knew well, though Andy had never heard of it. He started to tear himself away, but the iron grip was not disturbed.

“Surrender, or it will be all over with you,” exclaimed Perkins, sternly.

Mike Hogan turned for help to his companion, but at the dreaded name Bill had escaped into the woods.

“I surrender,” said the tramp, doggedly.

With Andy’s help, handcuffs were put on the captive, and he was hoisted into the back part of the buggy. The horse’s head was turned, and Andy drove back to Cranston, where there was a jail.

I may as well add here that Hogan was duly tried, and sentenced to a term of years in the State’s prison.

Thus it happened that Andy was considerably later than he anticipated when he reached Hamilton on his return. During his absence his mother had received a letter which was of considerable importance.

CHAPTER XXII.

AN IMPORTANT PROPOSAL

When Mrs. Gordon heard of Andy’s adventures during his ride to and from Cranston, she was naturally frightened.

“Oh, Andy!” she said, “I can’t consent to your exposing yourself to be injured by such wicked men. You must tell the Peabody girls you can’t go to the bank for them again.”

“I don’t think there’ll be any danger, mother, for we have caught the chief burglar, and the other man has run away.”

“There may be more of them,” said Mrs. Gordon, apprehensively.

“Bring them along!” replied Andy, smiling. “I am ready for them!”

“I hope we shall never have another of those terrible men visit our village!” said his mother, with a shudder.

“I don’t know about that, mother. I find it pays me. How much do you think the Peabodys are going to give me for my services?”

“Perhaps two dollars,” said Mrs. Gordon, looking at Andy in an inquiring way.

“Do you think two dollars would be pay enough for what I did, mother?”

“No; but boys are not paid as much as men, even where they are entitled to it.”

“There’s nothing mean about the Peabodys, mother. They have promised me more than that.”

“Five dollars, perhaps.”

“You will have to multiply five by ten!” said Andy, triumphantly.

“You don’t mean to say you are to have fifty dollars?” ejaculated Mrs. Gordon, quite overpowered by surprise.

“Yes, I do. Toward night I’ll go up and get the money. I didn’t want to take it along to the bank, for I might have had that stolen, too.”

“Certainly you are in luck, Andy,” said his mother. “With what came in your poor father’s wallet, we shall be very well off.”

“Especially as we shall not have old Starr’s note to pay. When do you expect the note to be presented?”

“Mr. Ross gave me a week to find the receipt.”

“And the week will be up to-morrow. Well, mother, we will be ready for him when he comes.”

At this moment Andy espied a letter on the mantelpiece. It was inclosed in a yellow envelope, and addressed in an irregular, tremulous handwriting to his mother.

“What letter is that, mother?” he asked.

“I declare, Andy, I forgot to open it! Louis Schick brought it in an hour ago. He saw it at the post office, and knew you were away, so he brought it along.”

“Why didn’t you open it, mother? I thought ladies were always curious.”

“I was mixing bread at the time, and my hands were all over dough, so I asked Louis to put it on the mantelpiece. When I got through with the bread I had forgotten all about the letter. I don’t know when I should have thought of it again if you hadn’t asked about it.”

“You’d better open it, mother. Of course boys are never curious. Still, I should like to know what is in it. It may be money, you know.”

From her work-basket Mrs. Gordon took a pair of scissors, and with them cut open the envelope. She drew out the letter, when, to the amazement of Andy and herself, a bank-note slipped out and fell upon the carpet.

“There is money inside, mother!” exclaimed our young hero, in surprise.

“How much is it?” asked his mother.

Andy stooped over and picked up the bank-note.

“Why, mother, it’s a fifty-dollar bill!” he exclaimed. “It looks genuine, too. There’s no humbug about it. Who can have sent us so much money?”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Gordon had been looking to the end of the letter to discover who had written it.

“Andy,” she said, “it’s from an old uncle of mine, who lives near Buffalo, in the town of Cato.”

“What’s his name, mother?”

“Simon Dodge. He is the oldest brother of my mother.”

“You never mentioned him to me,” said Andy.

“No; he had almost passed out of my recollection. Uncle Simon never wrote letters, and so it happens that, for twenty-five years, none of us have ever heard anything of him.”

“Read his letter, mother. Let us hear what the fifty dollars are for. Perhaps he wants you to lay it out for him.”

Mrs. Gordon began to read:

“My Dear Niece: It is so long since you have heard from me, that you may have forgotten you had an uncle Simon. I never cared for letter writing – thought, from time to time, I have wished that I could hear something of you and how you were prospering. It is only with difficulty I have learned your address and gleaned a little knowledge of you.

“The way it happened was this: I met, last week, a peddler who had been traveling in your neighborhood. He had visited Hamilton, and I found he knew something about you. He told me that you were poor, and that your good husband was dead, but that you were blessed in having a fine boy to be a help and comfort to you.”