Kitabı oku: «A Boy's Fortune», sayfa 8

CHAPTER XXII.
The Romance of a Rose

Mr. Parkinson adjusted his hat, and darted a glance of indignation at a fine-looking young man who had come to the rescue of Rose Beaufort.

"This is an outrage, sir," he said, angrily.

Clinton Randall paid no attention to the discomfited Parkinson, but asked Rose:

"Has this man annoyed you?"

"He forced his attentions upon me," answered Rose.

"If he has insulted you, I will take care that he is punished."

"Don't meddle with what is none of your business," said Parkinson, furiously. "I have a good mind to horsewhip you."

"Make the attempt whenever you please, sir," said Randall, significantly. "If ever I find you annoying this young lady again, I shall probably give you a taste of the same medicine."

"Annoying?" sneered Parkinson. "I offered to make her my wife, if you call that annoyance. Let me tell you that when a gentleman in my position offers to marry a vest-maker she has reason to feel complimented."

"She evidently does not," said Randall, not without sarcasm. "Whether she is a vest-maker or not, she is evidently a young lady and is entitled to be treated as such."

"She will be sorry for having made such a fuss," said Parkinson, spitefully. "Miss Beaufort," he continued, turning to Rose, "you need not trouble yourself to come to the store again for work, as I shall decline to give you any. You may regret having treated me with such scant courtesy."

"I had no intention of asking for more work," said Rose, coldly.

"Perhaps you have come into a fortune," sneered Parkinson.

"Enough of this!" said Randall, sternly. "This young lady has no favors to ask of you. You had better go back to your master and conduct yourself hereafter in a more becoming manner, or you may repent it."

Here was a fresh outrage for poor Parkinson. In his own eyes he was a man of very great importance, and to be told by this young man, before a common vest-maker, to go back to his master, was very humiliating. He was trying to think of some scathing retort, when Randall, with a bow, offered his arm to Rose, and they walked away together.

"I wonder whether she really doesn't care for any more work," thought Parkinson, "or is it only pretense? I dare say she will, after a while, be coming round again for vests to make. If she does, I shall have her in my power."

And the superintendent walked slowly back to the store, chafing inwardly at his ill-success.

"I hope you won't allow yourself to think of this disagreeable occurrence," said Clinton Randall, "or of this unmannerly cur."

"No, sir, thanks to your kindness, I shall have no occasion."

"He seemed spiteful. I hope it is not in his power to annoy you."

He said this, thinking that Rose might be dependent upon Parkinson for work.

"Last week he might have done so," answered Rose. "I was engaged in making vests for the store in which he is employed, and he might have refused me work. Now, fortunately, thanks to a kind lady, I have no further occasion to apply to him."

"I am heartily glad to hear it. Any connection with such a cur must be disagreeable. Has he ever annoyed you before?"

"Never; and I was much surprised to-day when he followed me from the store and pressed his attentions upon me."

"He is old enough to be your father – the old fool!" said Randall, resentfully.

It seemed to him profanation that such a man should have thought of appropriating the fresh beauty of the charming girl at his side.

"He thought I ought to regard myself honored by his proposal," said Rose, smiling, as she thought of the unromantic figure of her elderly lover.

"He has found out by this time that you hold a different opinion. If he should ever persecute you again, I hope I may be at hand to rescue you once more."

"I am not likely to meet him, and have no further occasion to make vests for a living. If you will kindly stop the next up-town car, I will not longer detain you."

"Certainly," answered Randall; and as a car was just at hand, he complied with her request.

He stood on the sidewalk, following, with his glances, the Broadway car into which he had helped Rose.

"I wish I dare follow her, and find out who she is," said Randall to himself; "but she might misinterpret my motive and class me with that elderly reprobate with whom I was compelled to interfere. What a charming girl she is! I never saw a sweeter expression, or a more beautiful complexion."

He was in a day-dream, from which he was presently roused.

"What are you staring at, Randall?" asked a young man of about his own age, slapping him on the shoulder. "You seem star-gazing."

"So I am."

"Star-gazing at midday?"

"It is a human star, Tudor. In short, it is a beautiful girl, whom I have just helped into a car."

"Who is she?"

"I don't know, I'm sure."

"An unknown divinity, eh? Tell me about it, for there is evidently a story under all this."

"A very short one. I found an elderly scamp annoying her, and knocked his hat over his eyes."

"And, after having gallantly rescued her, you helped her into a car?"

"Exactly."

"And that is the whole of it?"

"I am afraid so."

"You don't mean to say you are struck at last, Randall – you who have so long been the despair of manœuvering mammas? Come, that would be news, indeed!"

"I am not at all sure but I am. Tudor, I will say one thing, that I never saw a sweeter face in all my wanderings."

"That's saying a good deal, for you have been all over the world. And you don't know the young lady's name?"

"Haven't the slightest clew to it."

"Is she rich or poor, a stylish city lady or a rustic beauty?"

"I fancy she is not rich," said Randall, who, for some reason, did not care to mention that she had been a vest-maker. To him it mattered little, but his friend Tudor might be more fastidious, and he was not willing to give him any chance to look down upon Rose.

"Couldn't you manage to ask her name?"

Randall shook his head.

"I tried to think of a pretext, but could not," he answered.

"You may meet her again."

"I hope to do so."

"And if you do?"

Randall smiled.

"Considering that it is not over ten minutes since I first set eyes upon her, it is, perhaps, a little premature to consider that question. I shall certainly try to meet her again."

The two young men sauntered up-town, and the conversation fell upon other themes, but Clinton Randall seemed unusually thoughtful. Do what he might, he could not help recurring again and again to the fair face which he had seen for the first time that morning.

When Rose was at home again the matter seemed no longer serious to her. Whenever she thought of Mr. Parkinson and his suit she felt inclined to laugh.

"Addie," she said, "I have had a proposal this morning."

"A proposal!" repeated her sister, in surprise.

"Yes, an offer of marriage."

"You are not in earnest?"

"Indeed I am! I am not sure but I shall give you a brother-in-law."

"I wasn't aware that you knew any eligible young man."

"He isn't a young man. Let me describe him to you. His name is Parkinson; he is somewhere between forty and fifty; he is partially bald, and – I am not quite sure that he is not bow-legged."

"And you love him?" queried Adeline, mischievously. "If so, I give my consent, for though I had hoped for a better-looking brother-in-law, I am not willing that your young affections should be blighted."

"Nonsense, Addie," returned Rose, half-vexed.

"Tell me all about it."

Rose did so, and her sister listened with fixed interest.

"And this young man who rescued you, and knocked your adorer's hat over his eyes. I suppose he was a commonplace young man, red-haired and freckled, perhaps?"

"Indeed he was not," said Rose, indignantly.

"Then he was handsome?"

"Yes, I think that he would be considered so."

"Take care you don't dream of him. It would be very romantic – wouldn't it? – if you should marry him, as generally happens in romances."

"Don't be a goose, Addie!" said Rose; but she did not seem annoyed. Secretly, she thought Clinton Randall the most attractive young man she had ever met, and wondered if fate would ever throw them together again.

CHAPTER XXIII.
On the Borders of the Lake of Geneva

It is time to look after our hero in his European wanderings.

He had been travelling hither and thither with his guardian, who appeared to have no definite aim except to enjoy himself. Whether he succeeded in doing this was by no means certain. On the whole, he and Ben got along very well together. He did not undertake to control his young secretary, but left him very much to his own devices. There were times when he seemed irritable, but it generally happened when he had been losing money at the gaming-table, for he was fond of play, not so much because he was fascinated by it as because it served as a distraction in lieu of more serious pursuits. On the whole, he did not lose much, for he was cool and self-possessed.

One thing was unsatisfactory to Ben – he had little or nothing to do. He was private secretary in name, but what use Major Grafton had for a private secretary Ben could not divine.

Why Ben need have concerned himself, as long as he received his salary, may excite the wonder of some of my readers, but I think most people like to feel that they are doing something useful.

Ben, however, found a use for part of his time. In his travels through France, Switzerland, and Italy, he had oftentimes found himself, when alone, at a loss on account of a want of knowledge of the French language.

"Why should I not learn it?" he asked himself.

He procured some elementary French books, including a grammar, dictionary, and tourist's guide, and set himself to the task with his usual energy. Having little else to do, he made remarkable progress, and found his studies a source of great interest.

"What are you doing there, Philip?" asked Major Grafton, one afternoon.

"I am trying to obtain some knowledge of French. I suppose you have no objection?"

"Not the least in the world. Do you want a teacher?"

"No, sir; I think I can get along by myself."

Major Grafton was rather glad that Ben had found some way of passing his time. He did not want the boy to become homesick, for his presence was important to him for reasons that we are acquainted with.

Ben supplemented his lessons by going into shops, pricing articles, and attempting to hold a conversation with the clerks. This was a practical way of learning the language, which he found of great use.

Again they found themselves in Geneva, which Ben thought, on the whole, a pleasant place of residence. Here, too, he could make abundant use of his new acquisition, and did not fail to avail himself of his opportunity. So he enjoyed his stay in the charming Swiss city until one day he made an astounding discovery.

The most interesting walk in Geneva is along the borders of the lake. Near it are placed seats on which the visitor may sit and survey the unequalled view.

Ben had seated himself one day, with a French book in his hand, which he was studying, when he observed a couple of ladies seat themselves near him. He would have given them no further thought if by chance the name of Major Grafton, spoken by one of them, had not reached his ears.

"I see that Major Grafton is here," said one. "You know we met him at Florence."

"Yes, the one who had the sick boy with him."

"The same."

"It was his son, was it not?"

"I thought so at the time, but I have since learned that I was mistaken. He was the boy's guardian."

"The boy died, did he not?"

"Yes, and it must have been a serious calamity to him."

"You mean that he was very much attached to the boy?"

"No, I don't mean that. On the contrary, he appeared to care very little for him. It was the pecuniary loss I was thinking of."

"Explain yourself."

"You must know, then, that the boy was heir to a large fortune, the income of which, during his minority, was payable to Major Grafton for his benefit. No doubt the guardian made a good thing out of it. He probably made it pay both the boy's expenses and his own."

"Then, on the boy's death, he would lose this income?"

"Precisely."

"It is strange," said the younger lady; "but he still has a boy with him."

"He has?" inquired the other, in surprise.

"The name he calls him is Philip."

"That was the name of the boy who died."

"Are you sure that he died? Are you sure that this is not the same boy?"

"Positive."

"It is very singular. A strange idea has occurred to me."

"What is it?"

"What if he is passing off this boy for the first, in order to retain the liberal income which he received as guardian?"

"But that would be fraudulent."

"That is true; but I think Major Grafton would be capable of it. I hear from my brother that he gambles, and a gambler is not apt to be overburdened with principle."

"If this is so, he ought to be exposed. To whom would the boy's fortune go, if it were known that he was dead?"

"To three cousins, who, I understand, are living in poverty in New York. There are two young girls and a brother, named Beaufort. They were cut off by the grandfather, from whom the fortune was inherited. For what reason I am not aware. However, the will stipulated that if the boy should die, the fortune should go to these children."

"Then they ought to be enjoying it now?"

"Exactly. If all is true that I suspect, they are being kept out of it by a conspiracy."

"Who is the boy that Major Grafton has with him now?"

"I don't know. Possibly it is a relative of his own. He calls him Philip to deceive the public, if all is as I suspect."

"Don't you think we ought to do something in the matter, Clara?"

"I never meddle with matters that don't concern me."

"Not even to right such a wrong as this?"

"No; I suppose matters will come right after awhile. The deception will be discovered, you may depend upon it."

"If I knew the boy I would speak to him about it."

"You would have your labor for your pains. The boy is probably in the conspiracy. I think he is a nephew of Major Grafton. If anything were said to him, he would no doubt put the major on his guard, and that would be the end of it. My dear, we shall do much better not to interfere in the matter at all."

The younger lady looked dissatisfied, but did not reply.

The feelings with which Ben heard this revelation may be imagined. He never for a moment doubted the truth of the story. It made clear to him what had seemed singular hitherto. He had never been able to understand why Major Grafton should pick him up, and without any inquiry into his capacity offer him an engagement as private secretary. He had found that the office was merely nominal, and that there were no duties to speak of connected with it. Major Grafton had shown no particular interest in him, and evidently cared nothing for him, save as he served his purpose. But if his presence enabled Grafton to remain in possession of a large income, there was no need to inquire further. Ben saw that he was made an important agent in a wicked conspiracy to divert a large fortune from its lawful owners.

What ought he to do?

CHAPTER XXIV.
The Maison De Fous

This question of what he ought to do disturbed Ben not a little. As an honorable boy he did not wish to benefit any longer than was absolutely necessary by a deception which involved injustice and fraud. He was living very comfortably, it is true, and his allowance was a handsome one. He sent half of it to his mother, and this was sufficient to provide all that was needed for her and his sister's comfort. He had done this innocently, hitherto, but now that his eyes were opened, his knowledge would make him an accomplice in the conspiracy.

In his uncertainty he decided upon what was not, perhaps, the most judicious course, to ask Major Grafton directly in regard to the matter.

An opportunity soon came.

"Major Grafton," Ben began, "how long since did Philip die?"

The major regarded him suspiciously. The question put him on his guard.

"A few months ago," he answered indifferently.

"Were you – his guardian?"

"You seem curious this morning, Philip," answered the major, coldly.

If Ben had been older and more experienced he would have been able to get at the truth indirectly, but it was his nature to be straightforward.

"I heard something yesterday that disturbed me," he said.

Major Grafton threw himself back in an easy-chair and fixed his eyes searchingly on the boy.

"Tell me what you heard," he said, shortly, "and from whom."

"I was sitting on a bench near the lake when two ladies began speaking about you – and me."

"Tell me what they said," broke in Grafton, impatiently.

"The truth must be told," thought Ben, "even if Major Grafton gets offended."

"They said that Philip had a large fortune, and you were his guardian. When he died the money was to go to some cousins in New York. They said that you had concealed his death, and so continued to draw the income of the property, and were palming off me for him. They seemed to think I was your nephew, and was in the plot."

Major Grafton was a good deal disturbed by what Ben had told him. Of course there was a strong chance that the truth would come out some time, but he had hoped to keep it concealed for some years, perhaps.

"These ladies seem to have a large share of imagination," he said, with a forced laugh. "From one fabrication you may judge all. You know whether you are my nephew or not, and whether you are engaged in any plot?"

"No, sir, of course not."

"The whole thing is ridiculous; I don't think you need trouble yourself any more about it."

But Ben was not satisfied, and Major Grafton could see this from his look.

"That was my reason for asking whether Philip had any property," he continued, with an inquiring look.

"I must satisfy him in some way," thought the major, "or he will compromise me."

"I wouldn't like to think I was keeping any property away from the rightful owners," proceeded Ben.

"You can put yourself at ease," said the major, carelessly. "Those ladies, whoever they are, know almost nothing about the matter. Philip did have a little property, yielding scarcely enough for his own expenses. At his death it fell to me. His grandfather was an intimate friend of mine, and made the arrangement in gratitude for my care of the boy."

"Then there were no cousins in New York?" asked Ben, doubtfully.

"Not that I am aware of. That is a lie out of whole cloth. There is no one more unscrupulous than a female gossip. Did you speak to either of the ladies?"

"No, sir."

"That was right. You might have made mischief and seriously offended me. Do you often write home?"

"Every week, sir."

"I have no objection to that, but I must caution you against repeating this nonsensical and absurd story. I have taken a great deal of interest in you on account of your resemblance to poor Philip, to whom I was tenderly attached. It is on that account I engaged you to accompany me. You would not be likely to do as well in New York?"

"No, sir; no one would think of paying me as liberally as you do."

"I am glad you appreciate the advantages of your position. I hope you won't lose it by any foolishness," added Grafton, significantly.

Ben felt that there was no more to say, but he was far from satisfied. He was thoroughly persuaded within himself that the story was true, and that Major Grafton was acting a fraudulent part. How could he find out?

He had not forgotten his visit to the office of Mr. Codicil, just before they left New York. He had seen enough, then, to be aware that between Major Grafton and the lawyer there were business relations, and he suspected that they referred to the boy whose place he had taken. This would seem to bear out and confirm the story told by the two ladies. Now, if he should write a letter to Mr. Codicil he might ascertain all he needed to know, and if all was as he suspected he could refuse having any further part in the conspiracy. He did not remember the exact location of Mr. Codicil's office, but he did remember his first name, and he judged rightly that a letter simply directed to the lawyer, and addressed New York, would be likely to reach him.

Major Grafton, after the interview between Ben and himself, watched our hero with ever-increasing suspicion. He felt that he was in the boy's power. An indiscreet revelation would overthrow the fabric of fraud which in his self-interest he had erected, and reduce him to earning a precarious living at the gaming-table. In the case of an average boy he would have been secure, from the boy's regard for his own interest; but he saw that Ben was a conscientious boy, of honorable impulses, and this disgusted him.

"The boy is dangerous," he decided. "I must place him where he can do no mischief."

When a man is thoroughly unprincipled he can always find ways and means for the carrying out of his iniquitous plans. Major Grafton experienced no difficulty in devising a method for staving off the threatened danger.

One day after a leisurely breakfast, during which Major Grafton had been unusually chatty and affable, he said:

"Philip, I have a pleasure in store for you."

"What is it, sir?"

"We are going to take a long drive into the country."

"Thank you, sir. I shall enjoy it."

Fifteen minutes afterward an open carriage drove into the court-yard of the hotel.

"Is this the carriage I ordered?" asked Major Grafton.

"It is for M. de Grafton," said the driver.

"But you are not the man I spoke to."

"No, it was my brother. He is obliged to stay at home; his wife is taken suddenly sick."

"Very well; you will no doubt answer the purpose equally well. Philip, take a seat inside."

Ben did so.

"Where shall I drive, monsieur?"

Major Grafton indicated the direction.

They drove over a broad, smooth road on the eastern shore of the lake. It was a charming drive, not alone on account of the smooth waters of the lake which were in constant view, but also on account of the distant mountains and the picturesque Swiss habitations which regaled their eyes.

They kept on uninterruptedly for nearly two hours, until Ben began to marvel at the length of the drive.

Finally they came in sight of a large, picturesquely situated house, surrounded by trees.

"We will descend here, Philip," said Major Grafton. "I want you to see this chateau."

"Is there anything interesting connected with it?" asked Ben.

"Yes, I believe Voltaire once lived here," answered Grafton.

"I always thought he lived at the Chateau de Ferney."

"He also lived here for a few months," said Major Grafton, shortly. "I think Calvin also lived here once."

Ben entered without suspicion. A suave, black-whiskered man welcomed them. He seemed to recognize Major Grafton, and was voluble in his protestations of joy at meeting them.

"Is this the boy you spoke of?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Grafton. "Philip," he said, "remain in this room a few minutes while I speak with M. Bourdon."

"Certainly, sir."

He waited fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes, and no one came back. Finally the door opened and the black-whiskered man made his appearance – alone.

"Where is Major Grafton?" asked Ben.

The other smiled craftily.

"He is gone, M. Philippe."

"Gone! and without me?"

"You are to live with me, my son."

"I don't understand you. What sort of a place is this?"

"It is a maison de fous."

Ben was horror-struck. He knew now that he was in a lunatic asylum. He could guess why he was placed there.