Making His Mark

CHAPTER IV

THE LOST LETTER

Mrs. Lane's early life had been embittered by poverty, both before and after her first marriage. It was for this reason she married Mr. Lane, and for this reason also that she rejoiced in the possession of his property. She meant to make up for past privations by living liberally. Already she contemplated a series of journeys with her own son. As for Gerald, she had always disliked him, having an instinctive feeling that he distrusted and disliked her.

Mr. Lane's property was, except the home property, invested in stocks, bonds and bank deposits, and the task of an executor was therefore easy. She had lost no time, after her husband's death, in making an estimate of the value of the estate. Almost daily she opened the tin box of securities and looked them over. It was a feast for her eyes.

After her failure with Gerald's trunk she gave a few minutes to this congenial task. When it was over a look of pleasure lighted up her face.

"Fifty thousand dollars!" she said to herself. "That is, indeed, a windfall for one who, till two years since, was compelled to subsist on an income of less than twelve dollars a week. The arrangements I have made for Gerald will prevent his being much expense to me, and my husband's fortune will be under my own control. Within a few hours my son—my dear Abel—will be here, and there will be no further need of concealing his existence. Had Mr. Lane known that I had a son as old as his own it is doubtful if he would have married me. Well, it is all over now! And I shall have Abel with me hereafter."

From the bottom of the tin box she drew out a folded paper. It was in Mr. Lane's handwriting, and was addressed "To the Executor." It ran thus: "There is a possible claim against my estate, of which it is imperatively necessary that I should speak. Five years since my old friend and school-fellow, John Graves, on the eve of his departure for Australia, placed in my hands, for safekeeping, his entire fortune amounting to thirty thousand dollars. His wife had died; he had no heirs, and he had made up his mind to take a long journey to occupy his mind, and if possible assuage his grief. 'I may never come back,' he said, 'and in that case, old friend, the money I leave with you becomes yours. I could not leave it better than to my old schoolmate and friend.' I was touched by this proof of his confidence in me and assumed the trust. From time to time I heard of him, but for two years no tidings have come of the wanderer. Whether he is still living I cannot tell. If dead, the property is mine. It will more than double any estate I may leave; but I cannot be certain. I sincerely hope that John is still alive. Though two years have passed, he is liable to return at any time and reclaim the sum he placed in my hands. Should this claim be made after my death, it will be the sacred duty of my executor to give him back his own. Even if he has lost the acknowledgment I gave him, this property must be given up on his proving his identity. There will still be left of my own property a sum sufficient to support those whom I leave behind me in modest style."

This was the paper, signed by Ernest Lane, which Mrs. Lane read with frowning brow. It was the one drop of bitterness in her cup.

"Thirty thousand dollars!" she reflected. "Why, that would leave me only twenty thousand. It would be insufficient to carry out my plans. Probably this man Graves is dead; but should he reappear it would be a terrible disappointment. The money must and shall remain in my possession! I will deny the claim if it is ever made. But should this paper be found—should it remain in evidence—this would be impossible. Better destroy it. It is the only safe way."

She locked the box of papers and put it in the safe. The important paper she was about to take and dispose of when there was a cry of terror in the kitchen. Laying the paper on the table temporarily, she ran down-stairs to find that a fierce dog had made his way into the kitchen to the great alarm of the cook. Mrs. Lane was no coward. She seized a broom, and with well-directed blows drove the animal out. Then she went up-stairs to destroy the message from Mr. Lane.

It was gone!

In much perturbation, Mrs. Lane looked for it. The window was open, and it might have been blown out. With this idea in mind she went out on the lawn and searched carefully, but in vain; the missing paper was nowhere to be found.

Mrs. Lane sank into a chair in dismay.

"What a fool I was not to take it with me!" she said to herself. "I would have destroyed it and no one would have been the wiser. Now, should it fall into the hands of some third person it may be used to my detriment."

Again she hunted about the room, and searched the lawn. It certainly was very mysterious. She had been gone less than five minutes, yet the paper had disappeared and there was no trace of it.

"If some child found it he would probably tear it up, and this would answer my purpose," she thought, "and all would be safe."

She looked about, hoping to see some child near at hand, but none was visible.

Toiling along the road at a little distance was a man, whose outward appearance and shabby habiliments proclaimed him a tramp. Mrs. Lane's glance fell upon him, but did not connect him with the lost document. Yet it could have been found in one of his inside pockets, where he had carefully placed it.

This is the way it happened:

When Mrs. Lane left the room two windows were open, making a draught through the room. In a line between the windows was the table on which she had placed the letter. Scarcely had Mrs. Lane gone down-stairs when the wind, in a frolicsome mood, lifted the paper and wafted it through the front window on the lawn outside. James Skerrett, the tramp, spied it from the road, and it occurred to him that it might be of some value. He entered the gate and a few steps brought him to the paper. He picked it up and put it in his pocket, not as yet knowing what it was. It might, however, be worth something, and it was on the chance of this that he took it. He did not stop to examine it lest he should be observed. Time enough for that later. Indeed, he did not venture upon this till he was a quarter of a mile away.

Though a tramp, James Skerrett had received a fair education, and was a man of some intelligence. He was qualified to earn a good living in some respectable position, but drink was his enemy and was likely to be through his life.

When he read the letter, he guessed correctly that it was of importance.

"Will the woman give me anything for it if I return it?" he asked himself.

It hardly seemed likely. It would be better for her, perhaps, if it were destroyed. Besides, he had seen her through the open window, and her face had impressed him as that of a very mean woman.

"She would be more likely to charge me with stealing and threaten me with arrest," he thought. "What shall I do? Shall I keep it? That would not pay me, as I may never come this way again. If I could get some one to take it and allow me even a dollar for it, it would be better to get it off my hands at once."

This thought was strengthened by the knowledge that his whole available stock of money amounted to but seven cents. Lifting his eyes casually, his glance rested on a sign over a small office building on the opposite side of the street.

This was the sign:

Enoch Perkins,Attorney-at-Law

As a rule, the tramp avoided any person who had any connection with the law, but he was about to pose as a virtuous man returning lost property. Again, a lawyer would know the worth of the paper. At any rate he decided to call upon him and open negotiations.

Mr. Perkins was sitting at his desk making out a conveyance, when he heard a furtive step at the door of his office.

Lifting his eyes, he noticed James Skerrett opening the door, with an apologetic look upon his face. Now, a client was always welcome, for Mr. Perkins was a young man, and his business was as yet limited. But the visitor did not look like a client.

"What do you want, my man?" he asked, rather gruffly.

"Are you a lawyer?"

"Yes; do you want me to make your will?" asked Perkins, smiling.

"Well, no; not at present. I expect to live a little longer."

"Just so. Still, life is uncertain, and if you should die suddenly your property might go into the wrong hands."

"That's so, squire; but I guess there's no hurry about my will. I wanted to ask your advice."

"Exactly. I am ready to give it for a consideration."

"Oh, you're a sharp one!" said the tramp. "But I'll come to the point. I was walkin' along the street five minutes since, when I saw a folded paper on the sidewalk. I picked it up and I'll show it to you, for I think the party that lost it might be willin' to pay me somethin' for it."

Enoch Perkins took the paper from his strange client. As he unfolded and read it, he looked surprised.

"Where did you pick this up?" he asked, abruptly.

"A little way down the road."

"Near a house with two elm trees in front?"

"Yes," replied Skerrett, eagerly.

"I think I know the party that lost it. I will take charge of it and return it to her."

"All right, squire; but there may be a reward."

"Exactly. Well, you ought to have some thing for picking it up. Here's a dollar."

"Thank you, sir," said Skerrett, taking the bill with avidity.

"I suppose you are only passing through the town?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't mention finding the paper; it might annoy the lady who lost it."

"Yes, sir; I'll remember, sir."

He left the office, and the lawyer said to himself:

"I will keep this letter. It may be worth a good deal to me some time."

CHAPTER V

ABEL ARRIVES IN PORTVILLE

The train which reached Portville at four o'clock was full, and half a dozen persons were standing up. One seat, however, was not taken. At a window sat a boy of sixteen—a sallow-complexioned boy, with a face that was neither good-looking nor amiable. On the seat beside him was a valise.

"Is this seat taken?" asked a pale, tired-looking woman, who had made her way up from the other end of the car.

"Yes," answered Abel, gruffly, for this was the son of Mrs. Lane, now on his way to his mother's home.

The woman sighed, for she was in poor health and very tired.

A man sitting just behind said, indignantly:

"No, madam, it is not taken. Remove your valise, boy, and let the lady sit down."

"I am expecting a friend to get in at the next station," said Abel, crossly.

"That makes no difference. This lady is here, and is better entitled to a seat than a passenger in the next town."

"I don't see what business it is of yours," said Abel, irritably.

He made no offer to remove the valise.

"Then I will show you."

The gentleman took Abel's bag and set it down in the aisle.

"Now sit down, madam," he said.

"Thank you, sir, but I don't want to incommode the young gentleman."

"He has no right to feel incommoded. Take the seat. It is your right."

She sank into the seat with a sigh of relief.

Abel felt and looked very indignant. He was a boy who had always been accustomed to consult his own comfort and convenience, and he was vexed that he had been compelled to yield in the present instance.

The woman coughed. She evidently had a severe cold. Abel had opened the window, and a strong east wind entered. It would have been uncomfortable even to a person perfectly well, but to one having a cough it was very trying.

"Would you mind putting down the window?" she asked, timidly. "I have a terrible cold."

"I prefer it open," said Abel, rudely.

The passenger behind was cognizant of all that passed.

"Madam," he said, "will you exchange seats with me?"

She rose and took the rear seat while the gentleman seated himself beside Abel. He was a stout man, and filled more than half the seat. Abel looked disgusted.

"Now, young man, close that window!" said the stout man, in a tone of command.

Abel obeyed, but it was with great unwillingness. He did not dare to do otherwise.

"It is very close," he grumbled. "I like a little air."

"There is no other open window on this side the car. If the others can stand it, you can."

"I wish people would mind their own business," grumbled Abel, peevishly.

"Look here, young man, if you give me any more of your impudence I will give you a thrashing!" said the stout man, sternly.

He looked quite capable of carrying out his threat, and Abel, thoroughly cowed, relapsed into silence.

At length they reached Portville, and Abel, picking up his valise, stepped out of the car.

He looked about him on the platform, thinking he might see his mother, but she was not quite sure as to the train by which Abel would come, and had not come to meet him.

Abel looked about and espied a boy rather younger than himself. It was John Holman.

"Boy," he said, "can you tell me where Mrs. Lane lives?"

"The widow Lane?"

"Yes, she is a widow."

"About half a mile away. You go up this road and take two turns."

"Oh, bother, why didn't she come to meet me? How can I find the way?"

"Come along with me. I am going that way."

"All right! Won't you take my valise, too? That's a good fellow. I will pay you five cents."

"I will take it to oblige you. I won't charge you anything."

"You'd better take the nickel. You look like a poor boy."

"I am not in any special need of five cents," said John, not pleased with the patronizing tone of his new companion.

Abel was pleased, however, with the idea of not having to pay for the service.

"Do you know Mrs. Lane?" asked Abel.

"Yes. Gerald Lane is my intimate friend."

"Gerald? Oh, yes! that is Mr. Lane's son. What sort of a boy is he?"

"He is a tip-top boy. Everybody likes him."

"Humph! isn't he rather independent?"

"Why shouldn't he be? His family was one of the most prominent in the village."

"Ah, just so!" said Abel, complacently, for he felt that this made his mother's position the stronger.

"I suppose you wonder who I am," said Abel, after a pause.

"I suppose you are a friend of the family."

"I should say I was. I am Mrs. Lane's son."

This surprised John, for Gerald had neglected to tell him the information he had only just obtained himself.

"I never heard Gerald speak of you," he said, half incredulous.

"Gerald knew nothing about me."

"How is that?"

"Mother and Mr. Lane thought it best not to tell him."

"But, of course, he will know now."

"Certainly. I am going to live here."

John made no comments, but he thought it rather a strange state of things. However, they had by this time reached the Lane residence, and John, indicating it, gave the valise to Abel.

From the window Mrs. Lane saw the arrival of her son and opened the door for him. "Oh, my darling boy!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms about his neck. "So you have come home at last!"

"Don't choke me, mother," said Abel, impatiently. "It doesn't look well to hug a fellow in public."

"I can't help it, Abel. I am so delighted to see you. Come right in and sit down. Are you tired?"

"Rather. I say, mother, you are pretty well fixed here."

"Yes, Abel; you like the house, don't you?"

"Yes; it is ever so much better than that old, tumble-down house we lived in before you came to Portville."

"Hush! Don't let any one hear you refer to that."

"Who is there to hear?"

"The servant might overhear you some day. Besides, there is Gerald."

"Where is he?"

"Out somewhere. He will be home to supper."

"Did he get any of the property?"

"No, Abel; it is all mine."

"Good. You played your cards pretty well."

"Don't express yourself in that coarse way."

"It's true, though. Isn't it rather strange old Lane shut out his own son?"

"Don't call him old Lane. It doesn't sound well."

"I say, mother, how much does the property amount to?"

"About fifty thousand dollars, Abel."

"Well, mother, you have been smart. I suppose you'll settle half of it on me."

"There is no occasion to talk of that. Of course, when I die I shall leave all to you."

"And none to Gerald?"

"Well, perhaps a little, just for appearance' sake."

"You needn't leave him over a hundred dollars. But I say, mother, you'll give me a good allowance, won't you?"

"Yes, I will think of that."

"Have you got a nice room for me?"

"Come up, and I will show you."

On the second floor at the rear were two rooms—a large square room and a hall bedroom beside it.

"You will sleep in the small room to-night, Abel."

"But who has the large room?"

"It is occupied by Gerald."

"That's not fair. Why shouldn't I have it?"

"You shall have it after awhile. Gerald has always occupied it, and he may make a fuss."

"Suppose he does. You ain't afraid of him, are you?"

"What a question! As if I should be afraid of a boy who is wholly under my control."

"I hope you will give me the room to-morrow."

"I will see what can be done."

"I was thinking what Mr. Lane would say if he should see me here. He didn't know you had a son, did he?"

"No; I deemed it best to keep it from him."

"Perhaps if you had told him he might have left me some of his money."

"He left it to me, which amounts to the same thing."

"Not quite, unless you give me a large slice right off. Have you told Gerald about me?"

"I told him this morning."

"How did he take it?"

"He seemed surprised."

"Did he think it strange he had not heard of me?"

"Probably he did. I told him Mr. Lane knew about you."

"That's all right."

At this moment Mrs. Lane heard the front door open.

"That's Gerald," she said. "Come down-stairs, and I will introduce you."

CHAPTER VI

THE SON AND HEIR

Gerald looked up as his stepmother appeared, followed by Abel. He understood, of course, that this was the son of whom Mrs. Lane had spoken.

"Gerald," said his stepmother, "this is my son, Abel."

"I am glad to see you, Abel," said Gerald, politely, holding out his hand.

Abel seemed undecided whether to take it or not, but finally held out his own. He surveyed Gerald disapprovingly. He could not help noticing, with a feeling of envy, that Gerald was superior to him in refinement and personal appearance.

"Have you ever been in Portville before?" asked Gerald.

"No," was Abel's brief reply.

"I shall be glad to go about with you whenever you like, and show you the village."

"Abel is too tired to-day," said Mrs. Lane, in her usual cold tone of voice.

"No," said Abel, unexpectedly; "I'll go along with you."

"Be back in half an hour," said Mrs. Lane. "We shall have supper early this evening."

"All right," said Gerald.

"I believe you have been at boarding-school," said Gerald, as they left the house.

"Yes; it's a beastly place."

"Indeed? I never was in such a school, and I don't understand what it is like. What were your objections to it?"

"The living was very poor."

"Did you learn much? Did you have good teachers?"

"Oh, I don't care much about studying. It's all very well for poor boys. But I sha'n't have to earn my living—mother'll take care of me."

Gerald winced. He understood very well that the money upon which Abel depended was, or should have been, his own.

"I suppose you had sports?"

"Yes; the boys played baseball and other things."

"Do you like baseball?"

"Not much. I wanted to be captain of the club, but the boys wouldn't let me."

"I hope you will like Portville. We have an academy here. Perhaps you will attend."

"Not just yet. I am tired of studying."

"Do you like boating?"

"Yes, have you got a pond?"

"Yes, and I have a dory. I will take you out on Monday, if you like."

"You have a dory? Did my mother give it to you?"

"No; it was given me by my father."

"I shall ask mother to give me a sail-boat."

"I would like one myself," said Gerald.

"I don't think she will give you one, but I will let you go out with me sometimes," said Abel, in a patronizing tone, which Gerald did not like.

"How did you find your way to the house? Of course you didn't know where it was, as you never were in town before."

"I got a poor boy to walk up with me and carry my valise. I wonder my mother didn't send you down to meet me."

"I would have gone with pleasure," said Gerald, politely.

"Are you going to school, or are you working?"

"I have been attending school."

"What did you study?"

"Latin and French, besides English studies."

Abel was surprised. He was a very ordinary scholar, and had never studied any language except his own.

"I shouldn't think such studies would do any good to a boy who has to work for a living."

"Then I suppose you have not studied them?"

"No."

"My father intended me to enter college."

"But you won't go now?"

"I suppose not," said Gerald, shortly.

Here they came upon two boys, who were jumping in competition with each other.

One was John Holman, the other Munroe Hill.

"Boys," said Gerald, "this is Abel Tyler, the son of Mrs. Lane."

"Glad to see you," said Munroe.

"I believe we have met before," said John, smiling.

"Yes; you took my valise to the house for me."

"Will you jump, Gerald?" asked Munroe.

"If you'll promise not to outdo me," said Gerald.

"I shall try to do it," said Munroe. "Will you join?"

This question was addressed to Abel.

"Yes," answered Abel.

He had legs unusually long for his size, and thought he could outdo the others. Arrangements were made, and John Holman started off. He jumped seven feet on a standing jump. Abel followed and beat his distance by three inches.

"How's that?" he asked, complacently.

"Very fair," said Gerald. "Now I will try."

His jump was seven feet four inches. Abel frowned and looked displeased, and was even more dissatisfied when Munroe jumped seven feet six inches.

"You boys are fresh," he said. "I am tired. I have jumped seven feet nine inches when I was in good condition."

None of the three boys believed him, but Munroe said, politely:

"We will try again some day when you can do yourself justice. None of us can jump as far as that."

"Are you going to stay in Portville some time?" he asked.

"Yes; I guess so. My mother says it will take her some time to settle the estate."

Gerald looked grave, remembering that it was his father's estate, and that his father's death appeared likely to make a great difference in his position and prospects.

"After the estate is settled mother and I may go to Europe," continued Abel, complacently.

None of the boys made any comments, and they soon separated.

"Who is this Munroe Hill?" asked Abel, when he was left alone with Gerald.

"His father is a lawyer."

"Is he well off?"

"I presume so. He lives in a nice house."

"And John Holman?"

"He works in a shoe shop. His father is dead, and he has to help support the family."

"I thought he was poor. Did you notice that his pants were patched?"

"Yes," said Gerald, gravely; "the poor fellow hasn't much money to spend on clothing."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Yes," replied Gerald, warmly; "he is a capital fellow."

"Humph! I sha'n't care to associate with him. Mother likes to have me particular."

"Do you think he is any the worse for his poor clothes?"

"Of course he isn't a gentleman."

"You and I have a different idea as to what constitutes a gentleman."

The time was when Abel had not been able to dress much better than John Holman; but, as this was unknown to Gerald, he posed as one who was "born in the purple."

"I shall try to get better acquainted with Munroe," proceeded Abel. "He seems like a gentleman."

"Everybody likes him; but he is also a friend of John Holman."

"It seems to me that society is rather mixed here."

"We don't judge each other by clothes or a good bank account," said Gerald, manfully.

"I do. I prefer to associate with those who are in my own social position."

"Abel appears to be a snob," thought Gerald. "I am sure I sha'n't like him."