Brave and Bold; Or, The Fortunes of Robert Rushton

"Before I leave you, Mr. Davis," said Robert, undauntedly, "I wish you to tell me finally whether you deny the deposit referred to in my father's letter?"

"And I tell you, once for all," exclaimed the superintendent, angrily, "if you don't get out of my office I will kick you out."

"I will leave you now," said our hero, not intimidated; "but you have not heard the last of me. I will not rest until I see justice done to my mother."

So saying, he walked deliberately from the office, leaving Mr. Davis in a state of mind no means comfortable. True, the receipt had doubtless gone to the bottom of the sea with the ill-fated captain, and, as no one was cognizant of the transaction, probably no claim could be enforced against his denial. But if the letter should be shown, as Robert would doubtless be inclined to do, he was aware that, however the law might decide, popular opinion would be against him, and his reputation would be ruined. This was an unpleasant prospect, as the superintendent valued his character. Besides, the five thousand dollars were gone and not likely to be recovered. Had they still been in his possession, that would have been some compensation.

CHAPTER XXI.

A DENIAL

Robert left the superintendent's office in deep thought. He understood very well that it would be impossible to enforce his claim without more satisfactory testimony than his father's letter. If any one had been cognizant of the transaction between Mr. Davis and his father it would have helped matters, but no one, so far as he knew, was even aware that his father had possessed so large a sum as five thousand dollars. Had Captain Rushton inclosed the receipt, that would have been sufficient, but it had probably gone to the bottom with him. But, after all, was it certain that his father was dead? It was not certain, but our hero was forced to admit that the chances of his father's being alive were extremely slender.

Finding himself utterly at a loss, he resolved to call upon his firm friend, Squire Paine, the lawyer. Going to his office, he was fortunate enough to find him in, and unengaged.

"Good-morning, Robert," said the lawyer, pleasantly.

"Good-morning, sir. You find me a frequent visitor."

"Always welcome," was the pleasant reply. "You know I am your banker, and it is only natural for you to call upon me."

"Yes, sir," said Robert, smiling; "but it is on different business that I have come to consult you this morning."

"Go on. I will give you the best advice in my power."

The lawyer listened with surprise to the story Robert had to tell.

"This is certainly a strange tale," he said, after a pause.

"But a true one," said Robert, hastily.

"I do not question that. It affords another illustration of the old saying that truth is stranger than fiction. That a letter committed to the deep so many thousand miles away should have finally reached its destination is very remarkable, I may say Providential."

"Do you think there is any chance of my father being yet alive?"

"There is a bare chance, but I cannot encourage you to place much reliance upon it."

"If he had been picked up by any vessel I suppose he would have written."

"You would doubtless have seen him at home before this time in that case. Still there might be circumstances," added the lawyer, slowly, "that would prevent his communicating with friends at home. For instance, his boat might have drifted to some uninhabited island out of the course of ordinary navigation. I don't say it is at all probable, but there is such a probability."

"Is there any chance of making Mr. Davis return the money my father deposited with him?"

"There again there are difficulties. He may demand the return of his receipt, or he may continue to deny the trust altogether."

"Won't the letter prove anything?"

"It may produce a general conviction that such a deposit was made, since, admitting the letter to be genuine, no one, considering especially the character of your father, can readily believe that in the immediate presence of death he would make any such statement unless thoroughly reliable. But moral conviction and legal proof are quite different things. Unless that receipt is produced I don't see that anything can be done."

"Perhaps my father might have put that in a bottle also at a later date."

"He might have done so when he became satisfied that there was no chance of a rescue. But even supposing him to have done it, the chances are ten to one that it will never find its way to your mother. The reception of the first letter was almost a miracle."

"I have no doubt you are right, Mr. Paine," said Robert; "but it seems very hard that my poor father's hard earnings should go to such an unprincipled man, and my mother be left destitute."

"That is true, Robert, but I am obliged to say that your only hope is in awakening Mr. Davis to a sense of justice."

"There isn't much chance of that," said Robert, shaking his head.

"If you will leave the matter in my hands, I will call upon him to-night, and see what I can do."

"I shall feel very glad if you will do so, Squire Paine. I don't want to leave anything undone."

"Then I will do so. I don't imagine it will do any good, but we can but try."

Robert left the office, making up his mind to await the report of the lawyer's visit before moving further.

That evening, the lawyer called at the house of the superintendent. Mrs. Davis and Halbert were in the room. After a little unimportant conversation, he said:

"Mr. Davis, may I ask the favor of a few minutes' conversation with you in private?"

"Certainly," said the superintendent, quite in the dark as to the business which had called his guest to the house. He led the way into another room, and both took seats.

"I may as well say to begin with," commenced the lawyer, "that I call in behalf of the family of the late Captain Rushton."

The superintendent started nervously.

"That boy has lost no time," he muttered to himself.

"I suppose you understand what I have to say?"

"I presume I can guess," said the superintendent, coldly. "The boy came into my office this morning, and made a most extraordinary claim, which I treated with contempt. Finding him persistent I ordered him out of my office. I need not say that no sane man would for a moment put confidence in such an incredible story or claim."

"I can't quite agree with you there," said the lawyer, quietly. "There is nothing incredible about the story. It is remarkable, I grant, but such things have happened before, and will again."

"I suppose you refer to the picking up of the bottle at sea."

"Yes; I fail to see what there is incredible about it. If the handwriting can be identified as that of the late Captain Rushton, and Robert says both his mother and himself recognized it, the story becomes credible and will meet with general belief."

"I thought you were too sensible and practical a man," said the superintendent, sneering, "to be taken in by so palpable a humbug. Why, it reads like a romance."

"In spite of all that, it may be true enough," returned the lawyer, composedly.

"You may believe it, if you please. It seems to me quite unworthy of belief."

"Waiving that point, Robert, doubtless, acquainted you with the statement made in the letter that Captain Rushton, just before sailing on his last voyage, deposited with you five thousand dollars. What have you to say to that?"

"What have I to say?" returned the superintendent. "That Captain Rushton never possessed five thousand dollars in his life. I don't believe he possessed one quarter of the sum."

"What authority have you for saying that? Did he make you his confidant?" asked the lawyer, keenly.

"Yes," said the superintendent, promptly. "When last at home, he called at my house one day, and in the course of conversation remarked that sailors seldom saved any money. 'For instance,' said he, 'I have followed the sea for many years, and have many times resolved to accumulate a provision for my wife and child, but as yet I have scarcely done more than to begin.' He then told me that he had little more than a thousand dollars, but meant to increase that, if possible, during his coming voyage."

To this statement Squire Paine listened attentively, fully believing it to be an impromptu fabrication, as it really was.

"Did he say anything about what he had done with this thousand dollars or more?" he asked.

"A part he left for his wife to draw from time to time for expenses; the rest, I suppose, he took with him."

Mr. Paine sat silent for a moment. Things looked unpromising, he couldn't but acknowledge, for his young client. In the absence of legal proof, and with an adroit and unscrupulous antagonist, whose interests were so strongly enlisted in defeating justice, it was difficult to see what was to be done.

"I understand then, Mr. Davis," he said, finally, "that you deny the justice of this claim?"

"Certainly I do," said the superintendent. "It is a palpable fraud. This boy is a precocious young swindler, and will come to a bad end."

"I have a different opinion of him."

"You are deceived in him, then. I have no doubt he got up the letter himself."

"I don't agree with you. I have seen the letter; it is in Captain Rushton's handwriting. Moreover, I have seen the letter of the owners, which accompanied it."

The superintendent was in a tight place, and he knew it. But there was nothing to do but to persist in his denial.

"Then I can only say that Captain Rushton was a party to the fraud," he said.

"You must be aware, Mr. Davis, that when the public learns the facts in the case, the general belief will be the other way."

"I can't help that," said the other, doggedly. "Whatever the public chooses to think, I won't admit the justice of this outrageous claim."

"Then I have only to bid you good-evening," said the lawyer, coldly, affecting not to see the hand which the superintendent extended. The latter felt the slight, and foresaw that from others he must expect similar coldness, but there was no help for it. To restore the money would be ruin. He had entered into the path of dishonesty, and he was forced to keep on in it.

CHAPTER XXII.

ROBERT'S NEW PROJECT

Mr. Paine called at Mrs. Rushton's cottage, and communicated the particulars of his interview with the superintendent.

"It is evident," he said, "that Mr. Davis is swayed by his interests, and feeling legally secure, prefers to defraud you rather than to surrender the five thousand dollars."

"I wouldn't have believed it of Mr. Davis," said Mrs. Rushton; "he is considered such a respectable man."

"I have heard rumors that he is dabbling in speculations, and I suspect he may find it inconvenient to pay away so large a sum of money."

"He had no right to speculate with my mother's money," said Robert, indignantly.

"You are right there. He should have invested it securely."

"Mr. Paine," said Robert, after a pause, "I have an idea that father is still living, and that some day I shall find him."

The lawyer shook his head.

"There is not one chance in ten that he is living," he said. "It is only a fancy of yours."

"It may be, but I can't get it out of my head."

"I hope you will prove correct, but I need not tell you of the many arguments against such a theory."

"I know them all, but still I believe he is living. Mr. Paine," continued Robert, earnestly, "I feel so strongly on the subject that, with my mother's permission, I, mean to go out into the world in search of him."

"I must say, Robert," said Mr. Paine, "I did not expect such a visionary scheme from a boy of your good sense. You must see yourself how wild it is."

"I know it," said our hero; "but I want to take a year, at any rate, to see the world. If, at the end of that time, I discover no trace of my father, I will come home content."

"But what will become of your mother during that time?"

"I will leave four hundred dollars in your hands for her. The rest I will draw for my own uses."

"But you don't expect to travel round the world on two hundred dollars, surely?" said the lawyer.

"I shall work my way as far as I can," said Robert. "I can't afford to travel as a gentleman."

"Suppose you find yourself without money in a foreign land?"

"I am not afraid. I am willing to work, and I can make my way."

"Surely, Mrs. Rushton, you do not approve Robert's scheme?" said Mr. Paine.

But to his surprise he found that Mrs. Rushton was inclined to regard it favorably. She seemed to share Robert's belief that her husband was still living, and that Robert could find him. She was not a woman in the habit of reasoning, and had no conception of the difficulties in his way. The money left behind in the hands of Mr. Paine, supplemented by her own earnings, would be enough to maintain her for two years, and this thought made her easy, for she had a great dread of poverty and destitution.

When the lawyer found how Mrs. Rushton felt on the subject, he ceased his objections to the plan; for, though he had no confidence in our young hero's success in the object he had in view, he thought that a year's tour might benefit him by extending his knowledge of the world and increasing his self-reliance.

"How soon do you wish to start, Robert?" he asked.

"It will take me a week to get your clothes ready," said Mrs. Rushton.

"Then by a week from Monday I will start," said Robert.

"Have you formed any definite plans about the manner of going?"

"I will go to New York first, and call on the gentleman who got up the subscription for me. I will tell him my story, and ask his advice."

"The most sensible thing you could do. As to the money, I will have that ready for you. Of course, you will call on me before you go."

The superintendent had made up his mind that Robert would spread the report of the deposit, and nervously awaited the result. But to his relief he observed no change in the demeanor of his fellow-townsmen. He could only conclude that, for reasons of his own, the boy he had wronged had concluded to defer the exposure. Next he heard with a feeling of satisfaction that Robert had decided to go abroad in quest of his father. He had no doubt that Captain Rushton was dead, and regarded the plan as utterly quixotic and foolish, but still he felt glad that it had been undertaken.

"If the boy never comes back, I shan't mourn much," he said to himself. "His mother is a weak woman, who will never give me any trouble, but this young rascal has a strong and resolute will, and I shall feel more comfortable to have him out of the way."

When Robert got ready to leave he made a farewell call on the lawyer, and drew two hundred dollars of his money.

"I don't know but one hundred will do," he said. "Perhaps I ought to leave five hundred for my mother."

"You carry little enough, Robert. Don't have any anxiety about your mother. I will not see her suffer."

Robert grasped his hand in earnest gratitude.

"How can I thank you?" he said.

"You need not thank me. I had a warm regard for your father, and shall be glad to help your mother if there is any occasion. Not only this, but if in your wanderings you find yourself in a tight place, and in want of help, write to me, and I will help you."

"You are a true friend," said Robert, gratefully. "I wish my father had intrusted his money to you instead of to the superintendent."

"I wish he had as matters have turned out, I should have taken care that your interests did not suffer."

"Oh," exclaimed Robert, fervently, "if I could only find my father, and bring him home to confront this false friend, and convict him of his base fraud, I believe I would willingly give ten years of my life."

"That question can only be solved by time. I, too, should earnestly rejoice if such an event could be brought about. And now, Robert, good-by, and Heaven bless you. Don't forget that you can count always on my friendship and assistance."

On the way home Robert fell in with Halbert Davis. Halbert, of course, knew nothing of the claim made upon his father, but he had heard that Robert proposed to leave home. He was both sorry and glad on account of this—sorry because he had hoped to see our hero fall into poverty and destitution, and enjoy the spectacle of his humiliation. Now he was afraid Robert would succeed and deprive him of the enjoyment he had counted upon. On the other hand, Robert's departure would leave the field free so far as concerned Hester Paine, and he hoped to win the favor of that young lady in the absence of any competitor. Of this there was not the slightest chance, but Halbert was blinded by his own vanity to the obvious dislike which Hester entertained for him.

Now when he saw Robert approaching he couldn't forego the pleasure of a final taunt.

"So you're going to leave town, Rushton?'" he commenced.

"Yes, Davis," answered Robert, in the same tone. "Shall you miss me much?"

"I guess I shall live through it," said Halbert. "I suppose you are going because you can't make a living here!"

"Not exactly. However, I hope to do better elsewhere."

"If you're going to try for a place, you'd better not mention that you got turned out of the factory. You needn't apply to my father for a recommendation."

"I shan't need any recommendation from your father," said Robert. "He is about the last man that I would apply to."

"That's where you are right," said Halbert. "What sort of a place are you going to try for?"

He knew nothing of Robert's intention to seek his father, but supposed he meant to obtain a situation in New York.

"You seem particularly interested in my movements, Davis."

"Call me Mr. Davis, if you please," said Halbert, haughtily.

"When you call me Mr. Rushton, I will return the compliment."

"You are impertinent."

"Not more so than you are."

"You don't seem to realize the difference in our positions."

"No, I don't, except that I prefer my own."

Disgusted with Robert's evident determination to withhold the respect which he considered his due, Halbert tried him on another tack.

"Have you bidden farewell to Hester Paine?" he asked, with a sneer.

"Yes," said Robert.

"I suppose she was very much affected!" continued Halbert.

"She said she was very sorry to part with me."

"I admire her taste."

"You would admire it more if she had a higher appreciation of you."

"I shall be good friends with her, when you are no longer here to slander me to her."

"I am not quite so mean as that," said Robert. "If she chooses to like you, I shan't try to prevent it."

"I ought to be very much obliged to you, I am sure."

"You needn't trouble yourself to be grateful," returned Robert, coolly. "But I must bid you good-by, as I have considerable to do."

"Don't let me detain you," said Halbert, with an elaborate share of politeness.

"I wonder why Halbert hates me so much!" he thought. "I don't like him, but I don't wish him any harm."

He looked with satisfaction upon a little cornelian ring which he wore upon one of his fingers. It was of very trifling value, but it was a parting gift from Hester, and as such he valued it far above its cost.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A DISHONEST BAGGAGE-SMASHER

On the next Monday morning Robert started for the city. At the moment of parting he began to realize that he had undertaken a difficult task. His life hitherto had been quiet and free from excitement. Now he was about to go out into the great world, and fight his own way. With only two hundred dollars in his pocket he was going in search of a father, who, when last heard from was floating in an open boat on the South Pacific. The probabilities were all against that father's being still alive. If he were, he had no clew to his present whereabouts.

All this Robert thought over as he was riding in the cars to the city. He acknowledged that the chances were all against his success, but in spite of all, he had a feeling, for which he could not account, that his father was still living, and that he should find him some day. At any rate, there was something attractive in the idea of going out to unknown lands to meet unknown adventures, and so his momentary depression was succeeded by a return of his old confidence.

Arrived in the city, he took his carpetbag in his hand, and crossing the street, walked at random, not being familiar with the streets, as he had not been in New York but twice before, and that some time since.

"I don't know where to go," thought Robert. "I wish I knew where to find some cheap hotel."

Just then a boy, in well-ventilated garments and a rimless straw hat, with a blacking box over his shoulder, approached.

"Shine your boots, mister?" he asked.

Robert glanced at his shoes, which were rather deficient in polish, and finding that the expense would be only five cents, told him to go ahead.

"I'll give you the bulliest shine you ever had," said the ragamuffin.

"That's right! Go ahead!" said Robert.

When the boy got through, he cast a speculative glance at the carpetbag.

"Smash yer baggage?" he asked.

"What's that?"

"Carry yer bag."

"Do you know of any good, cheap hotel where I can put up?" asked Robert.

"Eu-ro-pean hotel?" said the urchin, accenting the second syllable.

"What kind of a hotel is that?"

"You take a room, and get your grub where you like."

"Yes, that will suit me."

"I'll show you one and take yer bag along for two shillings."

"All right," said our hero. "Go ahead."

The boy shouldered the carpetbag and started in advance, Robert following. He found a considerable difference between the crowded streets of New York and the quiet roads of Millville. His spirits rose, and he felt that life was just beginning for him. Brave and bold by temperament, he did not shrink from trying his luck on a broader arena than was afforded by the little village whence he came. Such confidence is felt by many who eventually fail, but Robert was one who combined ability and willingness to work with confidence, and the chances were in favor of his succeeding.

Unused to the city streets, Robert was a little more cautious about crossing than the young Arab who carried his bag. So, at one broad thoroughfare, the latter got safely across, while Robert was still on the other side waiting for a good opportunity to cross in turn. The bootblack, seeing that communication was for the present cut off by a long line of vehicles, was assailed by a sudden temptation. For his services as porter he would receive but twenty-five cents, while here was an opportunity to appropriate the entire bag, which must be far more valuable. He was not naturally a bad boy, but his street education had given him rather loose ideas on the subject of property. Obeying his impulse, then, he started rapidly, bag in hand, up a side street.

"Hold on, there! Where are you going?" called out Robert.

He received no answer, but saw the baggage-smasher quickening his pace and dodging round the corner. He attempted to dash across the street, but was compelled to turn back, after being nearly run over.

"I wish I could get hold of the young rascal!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Who do you mane, Johnny?" asked a boy at his side.

"A boy has run off with my carpetbag," said Robert.

"I know him. It's Jim Malone."

"Do you know where I can find him?" asked Robert, eagerly. "If you'll help me get back my bag, I'll give you a dollar."

"I'll do it then. Come along of me. Here's a chance to cross."

Following his new guide, Robert dashed across the street at some risk, and found himself safe on the other side.

"Now where do you think he's gone?" demanded Robert.

"It's likely he'll go home."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"No.—Mulberry street."

"Has he got any father and mother?"

"He's got a mother, but the ould woman's drunk most all the time."

"Then she won't care about his stealing?"

"No, she'll think he's smart."

"Then we'll go there. Is it far?"

"Not more than twenty minutes."

The boy was right. Jim steered for home, not being able to open the bag in the street without suspicion. His intention was to appropriate a part of the clothing to his own use, and dispose of the rest to a pawnbroker or second-hand dealer, who, as long as he got a good bargain, would not be too particular about inquiring into the customer's right to the property. He did not, however, wholly escape suspicion. He was stopped by a policeman, who demanded, "Whose bag is that, Johnny?"