Try and Trust; Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Herbert, sarcastically.

“But there’s one piece of advice I should like to give you,” proceeded Tom.

“What is that?” inquired Herbert, looking his cousin in the face.

“Don’t feel too much set up by Julia Godfrey’s notice. She only took notice of you out of pity, and to encourage you. If you had been in her own position in society—”

“Like you, for instance!”

“Yes, like me,” said Tom, complacently, “she would have been more ceremonious. I thought I would just mention it to you, Mason, or you might not understand it.”

It was only natural that Herbert should be provoked by this elaborate humiliation suggested by Tom, and his cousin’s offensive assumption of superiority. This led him to a retort in kind.

“I suppose that is the reason she took so little notice of you,” he said.

Tom was nettled at this statement of a fact, but he answered in an off-hand manner, “Oh, Julia and I are old friends. I’ve danced with her frequently at dancing school.”

Herbert happened to remember what Julia had said of his cousin, and was rather amused at this assumption of intimacy.

“I am much obliged to you for your information,” said Herbert, “though I am rather surprised that you should take so great an interest in my affairs.”

“Oh, you’re new in the city, and I know all the ropes,” said Tom. “I thought I might as well give you a friendly hint.”

“I am lucky in having such a friend,” said Herbert, “and will take the advice as it was given.”

Here the bookkeeper entered, and, soon after, Mr. Godfrey made his appearance.

“I hope you had a pleasant evening, Herbert,” he said, kindly.

“Very pleasant, sir; thank you,” said Herbert, in a very different tone from the one he had used in addressing Tom.

“I believe I saw you, also, at the concert, Thomas,” said Mr. Godfrey.

“Yes, sir,” said Tom. “I am very fond of music, and attend all the first-class musical entertainments.”

“Indeed?” said Mr. Godfrey, but this was all the reply he made.

“My daughter insists that I shall invite you to the house again soon,” said Mr. Godfrey, again addressing Herbert.

“I am very much obliged to her, and to you, sir,” said Herbert, modestly. “I shall be very glad to come.”

Tom’s face darkened, as he heard this. He would have given considerable to receive such an invitation himself, but the prospect did not seem very promising.

“Mr. Godfrey must be infatuated,” he said to himself, impatiently, “to invite such a beggar to his house. Mason ought to have good sense enough to feel that he is out of place in such a house. I wouldn’t accept any invitation given out of pity.”

“I wonder why Tom dislikes me so much?” thought Herbert. “He certainly takes pains enough to show his feeling. Would it be different, I wonder, if he knew that I was his cousin?”

Herbert thought of mentioning to Mr. Godfrey that he had recovered three-quarters of the money of which he had been robbed. It would have been well if he had done so, but Mr. Godfrey seemed particularly engaged, and he thought it best not to interrupt him.

CHAPTER XXX

AN UNEXPECTED BLOW

Herbert felt happier than usual. He had recovered the greater part of his money, and thus was relieved from various inconveniences which had resulted from his straitened circumstances, He was the more elated at this, as it had seemed extremely improbable that the lost money would ever have found its way back to the pocket of its rightful owner. Then, he had a good place, and a salary sufficient to defray his modest expenses, and the prospect of promotion, if he should be faithful to the interests of his employer, as he firmly intended to be. It was agreeable, also, to reflect that he was in favor with Mr. Godfrey, who had thus far treated him with as much kindness as if he had been his own son.

There was, to be sure, the drawback of Tom’s enmity, but, as there was no good reason for this, he would not allow it to trouble him much, though, of course, it would have been more agreeable if all in the office had been his friends. He determined to take an early opportunity to write to his good friend, Dr. Kent, an account of his present position. He would have done so before, but had hesitated from the fear that in some way the intelligence would reach Abner Holden, whom he preferred to leave in ignorance of all that concerned him.

These thoughts passed through Herbert’s mind as he went about his daily work. Meanwhile, a painful experience awaited him, for which he was not in the least prepared.

About one o’clock a gentleman entered the counting-room hastily, and said, “Mr. Godfrey, I wonder whether I happened to leave my pocketbook anywhere about your office when I was here an hour ago?”

“I don’t think so. When did you miss it?”

“A few minutes since. I went to a restaurant to get a lunch, and, on finishing it, felt for my pocketbook, and found it gone.”

“Was there much in it?”

“No sum of any consequence. Between twenty and thirty dollars, I believe. There were, however, some papers of value, which I shall be sorry to lose.”

“I hardly think you could have left it here. However, I will inquire. Mr. Pratt, have you seen anything of Mr. Walton’s pocketbook?”

“No, sir,” said the bookkeeper, promptly.

“Herbert, have you seen it?”

“No, sir,” said our hero.

“Thomas?”

Tom Stanton was assailed by a sudden and dangerous temptation. His dislike to Herbert had been increased in various ways, and especially had been rendered more intense by the independent tone assumed by our hero in the conversation which had taken place between them that very morning. Now, here was an opportunity of getting him into disgrace, and probably cause him to lose his situation. True, he would have to tell a falsehood, but Tom had never been a scrupulous lover of truth, and would violate it for a less object without any particular compunction.

He hesitated when the question was asked him, and thus, as he expected, fixed Mr. Godfrey’s attention.

“Why don’t you answer, Thomas?” he said, in surprise.

“I don’t like to,” said Tom, artfully.

“Why not?” demanded his employer, suspiciously.

“Because I don’t want to get anybody into trouble.”

“Speak out what you mean.”

“If you insist upon it,” said Tom, with pretended reluctance, “I suppose I must obey you.”

“Of course, if any wrong has been done, it is your duty to expose it.”

“Then, sir,” said Tom. “I saw Mason pick up a wallet from the floor, and put it in his pocket just after the gentleman went out. He did it so quickly that no one probably observed it but myself.”

Herbert listened to this accusation as if stunned. It was utterly beyond his conception how anyone could be guilty of such a deliberate falsehood as he had just listened to. So he remained silent, and this operated against him.

“Herbert,” said Mr. Godfrey, mildly, for he was unwilling to believe our hero guilty of intentional dishonesty, “you should have mentioned having found the pocketbook.”

“So I would, sir,” said Herbert, having found his voice at last, “if I had found one.”

“Do you mean to say that you have not?” demanded Mr. Godfrey, with a searching look.

“Yes, sir,” said Herbert, firmly.

“What, then, does Thomas mean when he asserts that he saw you do so?”

“I don’t know, sir. I think he means to injure me, as I have noticed ever since I entered the office that he seems to dislike me.”

“How is that, Thomas? Do you again declare that you saw Herbert pick up the wallet?

“I do,” said Tom, boldly. “Of course, I expected that he would deny it. I leave it to you, sir, if he does not show his guilt in his face? Just look at him!”

Now it, unfortunately for Herbert, happened that his indignation had brought a flush to his face, and he certainly did look as a guilty person is supposed to do. Mr. Godfrey observed this, and his heart sank within him, for, unable to conceive of such wickedness as Tom’s, he saw no other way except to believe in Herbert’s guilt.

“Have you nothing to say, Herbert?” he asked, more in sorrow than in anger.

“No, sir,” said Herbert, in a low voice; “nothing, except what I have already said. Tom has uttered a wicked falsehood, and he knows it.”

“Of course, I expected you would say that,” said Tom, with effrontery.

“This is a serious charge, Herbert,” proceeded Mr. Godfrey. “I shall have to ask you to produce whatever you have in your pockets.”

“Certainly, sir,” said our hero, calmly.

But, as he spoke, it flashed upon him that he had in his pocket twenty-six dollars, and the discovery of this sum would be likely to involve him in suspicion. He could, indeed, explain where he got it; but would his explanation be believed? Under present circumstances, he feared that it would not. So it was with a sinking heart that he drew out the contents of his pockets, and among them his own pocketbook.

“Is that yours?” asked Mr. Godfrey, turning to Mr. Walton.

“No, it is not; but he may have transferred my money to it.”

Upon this hint, Mr. Godfrey opened the pocketbook, and drew out the small roll of bills, which he proceeded to count.

“Twenty-six dollars,” he said. “How much did you lose?”

“Between twenty and thirty dollars. I cannot be sure how much.”

“Here are two tens and three twos.”

“I had two tens. I don’t remember the denomination of the other bills.”

Even Tom was struck with astonishment at this discovery. He knew that his charge was groundless, yet here it was substantiated in a very remarkable manner. Was it possible that he had, after all, struck upon the truth of the matter? He did not know what to think.

“Herbert,” said his employer, sorrowfully, “this discovery gives me more pain than I can express. I had a very high idea of you. I could not have believed you capable of so mean a thing as deliberate dishonesty.”

“I am not guilty,” said Herbert, proudly.

“How can you say this in the face of all this evidence? Do you mean to say that this money is yours?”

“I do,” said Herbert, firmly.

“Where could you have got it?” said his employer, incredulously. “Did you not tell me when you entered my employ that you were almost penniless? You have been with me three weeks only, and half your wages have been paid for board.”

“Yes, sir; you are right.”

“What explanation, then, can you offer? Your case looks bad.”

“The six dollars I saved from my wages, at the rate of two dollars a week. The twenty dollars is a part of the money I was robbed of. I succeeded in recovering forty dollars of it yesterday.”

Here, Herbert related the circumstances already known to the reader.

“A likely story,” said Tom, scornfully.

“Be silent, Thomas,” said Mr. Godfrey. “Your story does not seem probable,” he proceeded, speaking to Herbert.

“It is true, sir,” said our hero, firmly.

“What could he have done with your wallet, however?” said the merchant, turning to Mr. Walton.

“He has been out to the post office since,” said Tom. “He might have thrown it away.”

This unfortunately for Herbert, was true. He had been out, and, of course, could have disposed of the wallet in the way mentioned.

“I don’t know what to think, Mr. Walton,” said Mr. Godfrey. “I’m afraid the boy’s guilty.”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t care so much for the money, if he will give me back the papers.”

“I can’t do it, sir,” said Herbert, “for I never had them.”

“What shall we do?”

“The other boy declares that he saw this one take the wallet from the floor, where I probably dropped it. It seems to me that settles the matter.”

“I am afraid it does.”

“Once more, Herbert, will you confess?” asked Mr. Godfrey.

“I can only say, sir, that I am innocent.”

“Mr. Walton, what shall we do?”

“Let the boy go. I will leave it to his honor to return me the papers, and he may keep the money. I think he will make up his mind to do so by tomorrow.”

“You hear, Herbert,” said Mr. Godfrey. “While this matter remains in doubt, you cannot retain your situation.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walton, for your indulgence,” said Herbert; “but I am sorry you think me guilty. The truth will some time appear. I shall TRY to do my duty, and TRUST to God to clear me.”

He took his hat and left the counting-room with a heavy heart, feeling himself in disgrace.

“I had great confidence in that boy, Walton,” said Mr. Godfrey. “Even now, I can hardly believe him guilty.”

CHAPTER XXXI

MR. STANTON IS SURPRISED

While the events recorded in the last chapter were taking place in Mr. Godfrey’s counting-room another and a different scene took place at the office of Mr. Stanton.

He had just finished reading the morning paper, and, as it slipped from his hand, his thoughts turned, transiently, to the nephew whose persistent failure to claim relationship puzzled him not a little. He was glad not to be called upon for money, of course; still, he felt a little annoyed at Herbert’s reticence, especially as it left him unable to decide whether our hero knew of the tie which connected them. It was scarcely possible to suppose that he did not. But in that case, why did he not make some sign? The truth did suggest itself to Mr. Stanton’s mind that the boy resented his cold and indifferent letter, and this thought made him feel a little uncomfortable.

While he was thinking over this subject, one of his clerks entered the office.

“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Stanton,” he said, briefly.

Mr. Stanton raised his head, and his glance rested on a tall, vigorous man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, who closely followed the clerk. The stranger’s face was brown from exposure, and there was a certain appearance of unconventionality about his movements which seemed to indicate that he was not a dweller in cities or a frequenter of drawing-rooms, but accustomed to make his home in the wilder haunts of nature.

In brief, for there is no occasion for mystery, Mr. Stanton’s visitor was Ralph the Ranger, who had assisted Herbert from the clutches of Abner Holden.

Mr. Stanton gazed at the stranger with some curiosity, but was unable to recognize him.

“Have you any business with me?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the visitor, in a voice whose depth carried with it an assurance of strength.

“State it, then, as briefly as possible,” said the merchant, with a little asperity, for there was not as much deference in the manner of the other as he thought there should have been. Like most new men, he was jealous of his position, and solicitous lest he should not be treated with due respect.

“I will do so,” said the stranger, “but as it cannot be summed up in a sentence, I will take the liberty of seating myself.”

As he spoke he sat down in an office chair, which was placed not far from that in which Mr. Stanton was sitting.

“My time is valuable,” said the merchant, coldly. “I cannot listen to a long story.”

As the visitor was plainly, if not roughly, dressed, he suspected that he desired pecuniary assistance on some pretext or other, and that his story was one of misfortune, intended to appeal to his sympathies. Had such been the case, there was very little prospect of help from Mr. Stanton, and that gentleman already enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure of refusing him.

“Don’t you know me?” demanded Ralph, abruptly.

Mr. Stanton did not anticipate such a commencement. It had never occurred to him to suppose that his rough visitor was one whom he had ever before met.

“No,” he said, “I never saw you before.”

Ralph smiled a little bitterly.

“So I have passed entirely out of your remembrance, have I?” he said. “Well, it is twelve years since we met.”

“Twelve years,” repeated Mr. Stanton. He scanned the stranger’s face with curiosity, but not a glimmer of recollection came to him.

“I dare say I met many persons at that distance of time, whom I cannot remember in the least now, even by name.”

“I think you will remember my name,” said Ralph, quietly. “Your memory of Ralph Pendleton cannot be wholly obliterated.”

Mr. Stanton started, and it was evident from the expression of his face that the memory was not a welcome one.

“Are you Ralph Pendleton?” he asked, in an undecided voice.

“Yes, but not the Ralph Pendleton you once knew. Then I was an inexperienced boy; now I am a man.”

“Yes, you have changed considerably,” said Mr. Stanton, uncomfortably, “Where have you kept yourself all these years? Why have you not made yourself known before?”

“Before I answer these questions, I must refer to some circumstances well known to both of us. I hope I shall not be tiresome; I will, at least, be brief. You were my father’s friend. At least, he so considered you.”

“I was so.”

“When he died, as I had not yet attained my majority, he left you my guardian.”

“Yes.”

“I was in rather an idle frame, and being possessed, as I supposed, of fifty thousand dollars, I felt no necessity impelling me to work. You gave me no advice, but rather encouraged me in my idle propensities. When I was of age, I took a fancy to travel, and left my property in your hands, with full power to manage it for me. This trust you accepted.”

“Well, this is an old story.”

“An old one, but it shall not be a long one. My income being sufficient to defray my expenses abroad, I traveled leisurely, with no thought for the future. In your integrity I had the utmost confidence. Imagine, then, my dismay when, while resident in Paris, I received a letter from you stating that, owing to a series of unlucky investments, nearly all my money had been sunk, and in place of fifty thousand dollars, my property was reduced to a few hundreds.’

“It was unlucky, I admit,” said Mr. Stanton, moving uneasily in his chair. “My investments were unlucky, as it turned out, but the best and most judicious cannot always foresee how an investment will turn out. Besides, I lost largely, myself.”

“So you wrote me,” said Ralph, quietly. “However, that did not make it any the easier for me to bear.”

“Perhaps not, but it shows, at any rate, that I took the same risk for my own money that I did for others.”

Ralph proceeded without noticing this remark. “What made matters worse for me was that I had fallen in love with a young American lady who, with her parents, was then traveling in Europe. My circumstances, as I supposed them to be, justified me in proposing marriage. I was accepted by the young lady, and my choice was approved by the parents. When, however, I learned of my loss of fortune, I at once made it known, and that approval was withdrawn. The father told me that, under the altered circumstances, the engagement must be considered broken. Still, he held out the prospect that, should I ever again obtain a property as large as that I had lost, I might marry his daughter. She, on her part, promised to wait for me.”

“Well?”

“I came to New York, received from you the remnant of my lost fortune, and sailed the next week for California, then just open to American enterprise. The most glowing stories were told of fortunes won in an incredibly short time, Having no regular occupation, and having a strong motive for acquiring money, it is not surprising that I should have been dazzled with the rest, and persuaded to make the journey to the land of gold.”

“A Quixotic scheme, as I thought at the time,” said Mr. Stanton, coldly. “For one that succeeded, there were fifty who failed. You had better have taken the clerkship I offered you.”

“You are wrong,” said Ralph, composedly. “There were many who were disappointed, but I was not among the number.”

“Did you succeed?” asked Mr. Stanton, surprised.

“So well,” answered the other, “that at the end of two years’ residence, I found myself as rich as I had ever been.”

“Had you made fifty thousand dollars?” demanded the merchant, in amazement.

“I had.”

“What did you do? Why did you not let me know of your success?”

“When I once more found myself possessed of a fortune, I took the next vessel home with my money. I had but one thought, and that was to claim the hand of my promised bride, who had promised to wait for me ten years, if necessary.”

“Well?”

“I found her married,” said Ralph, bitterly. “She had forgotten her promise, or had been over-persuaded by her parents—I do not know which—and had proved false to me.”

“That was unfortunate. But do you still possess the money?”

“I do.”

“Indeed! I congratulate you,” said Mr. Stanton, with suavity, and he held out his hand, which Ralph did not appear to see. Ralph Pendleton rich was a very different person from Ralph Pendleton poor, and it occurred to him that he might so far ingratiate himself into the favor of his former ward as to obtain the charge of his second fortune. He saw that it would be safe, as well as politic, to exchange his coldness for a warm and cordial welcome.

“Proceed with your story,” he said; “I am quite interested in it.”

CHAPTER XXXII

RISEN FROM THE DEAD

Ralph Pendleton proceeded.

“This blow overwhelmed me. All that I had been laboring for seemed suddenly snatched from me.”

“You had your money,” suggested Mr. Stanton.

“Yes, I had my money; but for money itself I cared little.”

Mr. Stanton shrugged his shoulders a little contemptuously. He could not understand how anyone could think slightingly of money, and he decided in his own mind that Ralph was an unpractical enthusiast.

“I valued money only as a means to an end, and that end was to make Margaret Lindsay my wife. She failed me, and my money lost its charm.”

“There were plenty who could have consoled you in her place.”

“No doubt, I might have been successful in other quarters, but I did not care to try. I left New York in disgust, and, going West, I buried myself in the forest, where I built a rude cabin, and there I have lived since, an unsocial, solitary life. Years have passed since I visited New York.”

“What did you do with your money all this while?”

“I left it in the hands of men whom I could trust. It has been accumulating all these years, and I find that the fifty thousand dollars have swelled to ninety thousand.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated Mr. Stanton, his respect for Ralph considerably raised. “And now you have come here to enjoy it, I suppose?”

“A different motive has led to my coming—a motive connected with you,” said Ralph, fixing his eyes steadily upon Mr. Stanton.

“Connected with me!” repeated the merchant, uneasily.

“Yes.”

“May I ask in what manner?”

“I expected the question, and am come to answer it. When I returned from Europe impoverished, you gave me a brief statement of the manner in which you had invested my fortune, and showed me how it had melted away like snow before the sun.”

“You remember rightly. I bought, on your account, shares in Lake Superior Mining Company, which promised excellently, and bade fair to make handsome returns. But it proved to be under the management of knaves, and ran quickly down from par to two per cent., at which price I thought best to sell out, considering that a little saved from the wreck was better than nothing.”

“This is according to the statement you made me,” said Ralph, quietly.

“I am sure,” said Mr. Stanton, “that no one regretted more than I do the disastrous result. Indeed, I had reason to do so, for I was myself involved, and suffered considerable loss.”

“I am aware now that you were concerned in the matter,” said Ralph, significantly.

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Stanton, quickly, detecting something peculiar in his tone.

“I will tell you. You were right in denouncing the management as knavish. The company was got up by knaves, on a basis of fraud, and was from the first intended as a trap for the unwary. But there is one important circumstance which you have neglected to mention.”

“What is that?” asked Mr. Stanton, in a voice which strove to be composed.

“I mean this,” said Ralph, firmly, “that you yourself were the prime originator of the company—that you engineered it through to the end—that you invested my money with the express intention of converting it to your own profit. I charge you with this, that all, or nearly all the property I lost, went into your pocket.”

The color came and went in Mr. Stanton’s face. He seemed staggered by this sudden and unexpected accusation, and did not at first make reply.