Kitabı oku: «Charlie Codman's Cruise», sayfa 12

XXXIV.
THE RETURN OF THE BETSEY

It was a fine morning when the Bouncing Betsey, after a quick and prosperous voyage from Valparaiso, entered Boston harbor. There had been few or no changes on board since the ship left Rio Janeiro on the passage out. Captain Brace is still in command, and unfortunately has not at all mended his ways, but has richly merited, as he has obtained, the general dislike of the crew, not one of whom will sail with him again unless forced by dire necessity. Second in odium as he is in command, comes Randall the mate. He cares little how he is regarded by the men under him. To him the voyage has proved in some respects a disappointment. He has not recovered from the vexation occasioned by the escape of Bill Sturdy and Charlie. He has anticipated with eagerness the return to Boston, where he hopes first to meet with the deserters, and secondly intends to wrest a further sum from the fears of Peter Manson.

Before visiting the miser, however, it is his intention to find out what he can about Mrs. Codman, and how she has fared. He hopes in his vindictiveness she has been reduced to the deepest distress, and the hardest shifts to procure a livelihood.

He made his way to the tenement-house where Mrs. Codman formerly lodged. He went up to the door of her former room and knocked, but it was opened by a stranger, who could give him no information about the person for whom he inquired.

Perplexed and quite at a loss to obtain a clew to the knowledge he desired, he went back to Washington Street, and mingled in the busy throng that crowded the sidewalks. He walked leisurely along, gazing listlessly into the shop windows, but intent upon his own thoughts.

Chancing to let his eyes rest upon a passing carriage, he was startled by the glimpse of a face which he was sure he knew. It was an elegant carriage, drawn by two spirited horses, and evidently the equipage of a person of wealth. A negro coachman in livery sat upon the box, and wielded the reins with a dexterous hand. There were two persons inside—one was a child of ten, a lively young girl, across whose face a hundred changeful expressions flit. She was talking in an animated strain to a lady with a beautiful and expressive face, who sat beside her.

These two persons were Bert and her governess. The latter was looking better than when she was introduced to the reader. Surrounded by comforts and luxuries, and above all relieved from her most pressing anxiety by the letter which she had received from Charlie, her cheeks had recovered their wonted fullness and bloom, and the rare beauty for which she had been distinguished in her youth.

Randall could scarcely believe his eyes. This was the woman whom he had pictured to himself as struggling amid the deepest poverty to obtain a scanty subsistence, worn out by harrowing anxiety for the loss of her only son. What a contrast to his anticipations was the reality! He saw her tastefully dressed—the picture of health and happiness—with the same beauty that had dazzled him in times past, surrounded by evidence of prosperity and luxury.

"What can it mean?" he thought in bewilderment. "Is it possible that my eyes are deceived by an accidental resemblance?"

The carriage had already passed him, but as it was obliged to proceed slowly on account of a press of carriages, he had no difficulty, by quickening his pace a little, in overtaking it, and again scanning the face whose presence there had filled him with so much surprise.

The first explanation which suggested itself to him as possible was, that Mrs. Codman had attracted the attention of some wealthy gentleman, who forgetting the distance which circumstances had established between them, had laid himself and his fortune at her feet. But even then how could she appear so lighthearted and happy unless Charlie had returned? There was another supposition that old Peter Manson had died, and on his deathbed, repenting his past wickedness and injustice, had repaired the wrong of which he had been guilty, as far as he could, by leaving all his possessions to Mrs. Codman. This was to Randall the most disagreeable supposition of the two, for it would effectually stand in the way of the designs which he cherished against the same property.

Determined not to lose sight of Mrs. Codman, he with considerable difficulty kept pace with the carriage. It chanced that Bert and her governess were just returning from a drive, otherwise they might have led Randall a long chase. At present they were not very far from home.

From the opposite side of the street Randall watched them descend the steps of the carriage, and enter the house. He paused long enough afterwards to cross the street, note down the name of Bowman together with the number, that he might be able to identify it hereafter. He then examined the house itself with some curiosity. The appearance of the house indicated clearly enough the wealth of the owner.

"I wish I knew," muttered the mate, "on what footing Mrs. Codman resides here. She must either be the wife of the proprietor or his housekeeper, one or the other."

At this moment an infirm old woman limped out of the side-gate, with a basket slung on her arm.

Pressing forward, he accosted her.

"You seem heavily laden, my good woman."

"Yes," said she, "thanks to the good lady who lives in the house."

"What is her name?"

"It's Mrs. Codman. Do you know her, sir?"

"I am not sure. I once knew some one of the name. But there is a different name on the door—Bowman."

"Yes, he is the gentleman of the house."

"And Mrs. Codman?"

"She is the young lady's governess."

"How long has she been there?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Never mind. It doesn't matter much."

"I wish I could tell you, sir."

"It's of no consequence at all, and you needn't mention that any questions have been asked you. But I am afraid I have been detaining you. Here is something to pay you for your trouble."

So saying he slipped half a dollar into her hand and, avoiding her profuse thanks, walked hastily away.

"Now, for a visit to the miser," he said to himself.

XXXV.
CHARLIE TURNS UP UNEXPECTEDLY

There was but little variety in the monotonous life of Peter Manson. His life was one struggle for gold, his thoughts were continually upon gold; gold seemed to be the end and aim of his existence. But what did he propose to do with it all? He was not an old man yet, but all the infirmities of age were upon him.

Peter had not forgotten nor ceased to lament the heavy draft which had been made upon him by Randall. The thousands which he had left could not compensate to him for the one he had lost. So, in the hope of making it up, he strove to live even more economically than before, if, indeed, that were possible. The additional privations to which he subjected himself began to tell upon the old man's constitution. He grew thinner and weaker and more shrivelled than before, and all this to save a penny or two additional each day.

As Peter was crawling feebly along towards his gloomy den one afternoon, clad in the invariable blue cloak, he was startled by hearing a hoarse voice behind him, calling out, "Peter Manson—Peter, I say!"

"Who calls?" asked Peter, in a quavering voice, slowly turning round.

"Don't you remember me?" asked Randall, for it was he.

Peter muttered something unintelligible as he cast a terrified glance at the mate, and quickened his pace.

"You're not very polite, Peter," said the other, quickly overtaking and joining the old man. "Is this the way to greet an old friend, whom you have not seen for nearly a year?"

Peter looked anxious and alarmed, and glanced askance at his companion.

By this time they had reached the miser's quarters, and Peter, taking out a key, opened the door.

He opened it just sufficiently to admit himself, and was then about to close it when Randall, unceremoniously pushing him aside, entered also.

"By your leave, Peter, I will spend a short time with you."

"I have no fire," said Peter Manson, hastily.

"I dare say not," said Randall, carelessly, "but you can easily kindle one."

"I—I have no fuel."

"None at all?"

"Why, a little—a very little," stammered Peter, uneasily.

"I thought so. Come, lead the way. I won't trouble you to light the fire. I'll do it myself."

With something that sounded like a groan, the old man led the way, and ushered his unwelcome guest into the room described in one of the earlier chapters.

Randall used as much wood in kindling a fire as would have lasted Peter a whole day.

"You will ruin me," he said, in dismay.

"Then you'll be ruined in a good cause," said Randall. "But I say, Peter, don't you remember what we talked about when I visited you last?"

The old man groaned, thinking of the thousand dollars.

"Seems to me it has not left a very agreeable impression upon your mind," remarked his companion. "Don't you want me to tell you of the boy that I spirited away?"

"Is he dead?" asked Peter, eagerly.

"No; curse him, he escaped from me."

"You—you didn't let him know about the money?"

"Which you feloniously kept from him? Was that what you mean?"

"Ye—yes."

"No, I didn't."

Peter looked relieved.

"Where is he now?"

"Heaven knows! I don't. He deserted from the ship at Rio Janeiro. But let me ask you, in turn, Peter, what has become of the mother, whom each of us has so much reason to hate?"

"I don't know."

"Then she is no longer a tenant of yours?"

"She moved in less than a month after you went away."

"Couldn't pay her rent, ha!"

"Yes; she paid it as long as she stayed. I have not seen or heard anything of her since."

"I have," said the mate, significantly.

"You!" exclaimed Peter, eagerly.

"I saw her to-day."

"How—where?"

"In a carriage."

"A carriage!" echoed Peter, in surprise.

"Yes; looking as bright and handsome as when she rejected you with scorn."

The miser frowned.

"Where did you meet her?"

"On Washington Street. I was walking there when I chanced to look into a gay carriage that was driving by, and saw her."

"Are you sure you are not mistaken?"

"No. I followed her to her place of residence."

"Where is it?"

"No.–Mt. Vernon Street."

"She must be rich, then."

"No; she is a governess there, though enjoying, I should think, unusual privileges, and is, no doubt, happy."

Peter made no reply, but seemed occupied by other thoughts.

"And now, Peter, have you any idea what I came for?"

"To tell me this."

"I am not fool enough to take all this trouble."

"Then I don't know."

"I want money, Peter."

Peter could not be said to change color, but he grew more ghastly than before, at this demand.

"I have nothing to give you," he said.

"Tell that to the marines. You must give me another thousand dollars."

"Another thousand dollars!" exclaimed the old man. "Where do you think I should get it? Did I not impoverish myself in satisfying your last demand, and have I not been obliged to live on bread and water since?"

Randall shrugged his shoulders.

"I dare say you have lived on bread and water, but as to being obliged to, that is nonsense. I ask you again, to give me a thousand dollars. You will have thousands left."

"I shall be a beggar," said the old man, passionately.

"A beggar!" returned Randall, laughing scornfully.

"Yes," said Peter, with energy. "You promised, when I gave you a thousand dollars,"—his voice faltered as he recalled the sacrifice,—"that you would ask no more. Now, you come back for another sum as large, and it is not yet a year. You shall not have it!" he exclaimed, passionately; "not if I had it fifty times over."

"Bethink you what you are saying, old man," said Randall, menacingly. "Do you know that I can go to Mrs. Codman and denounce you?"

"You will not," said Peter, trembling.

"But I will, unless you comply with my demand. Now what do you say? Better be reasonable, and consent, before I compel you."

"Never!" exclaimed the miser, desperately.

"I will denounce you to the police. Shall I have the money?"

But Peter was no longer to be moved, even by his fears. His love of money overcame every other consideration, and again he exclaimed, "Never!" with all the energy of which he was capable.

"Is this your final answer?"

"It is."

"Then I will help myself," said Randall, coolly, leaving his chair, and beginning to lift up the trap-door, beneath which was the miser's box of treasure.

As soon as Peter fairly comprehended his design, and saw the gold coins in the grasp of the purloiner, unable to restrain himself, he threw himself upon the mate with a cry as of a lioness deprived of her young, and grasped the strong man by the throat with fingers, which, though naturally weak, despair and rage made strong. At all events, it was not particularly comfortable, and provoked Randall, who seized the old man in his strong arms, and, with a muttered curse, hurled him to the floor, where he lay pale and senseless.

"Confusion!" muttered Randall, in dismay, for Peter had uttered a shrill scream as he fell. "I am afraid I shall get into an ugly scrape."

He was not altogether wrong.

The scream had been heard by two, at least, who were passing. The door was burst open, and in rushed Bill Sturdy and Charlie, our young hero, who had just returned to Boston, and were passing on their way up from the wharf at which the vessel was lying.

"Mr. Randall!" exclaimed Charlie, in surprised recognition.

Randall strove to escape through the opened door, but Sturdy, seizing him in his powerful grasp, cried, "Not so fast, my hearty! You've been up to some mischief, and if I don't see justice done you, may I never see salt water again!"

XXXVI.
HOW CHARLIE COMES INTO HIS FORTUNE

Probably there were no two persons then living whom Randall at that moment cared less about seeing than Bill Sturdy and our hero. Though astonished beyond expression to see them there, his position was too critical to allow him to waste time in giving expression to his surprise.

"Let me go, you scoundrel!" he exclaimed, making a desperate effort to elude Bill's grasp.

He might as well have striven to tear himself from the grasp of a lion.

"Not so fast, Mr. Randall," said Bill Sturdy.

"You mutinous scoundrel!" hissed the mate.

"You forget," said his captor, coolly, "that we are not now on the quarter-deck. Here I am your equal, Mr. Randall, and perhaps you may find me a little ahead."

"Let me go, if you know what is best for yourself," ejaculated Randall, almost foaming at the mouth.

"If you know what is best for yourself," said Bill composedly, "I would advise you to be quiet."

"And now," he continued, tightening his grasp a little, "just let me know what mischief you have been up to?"

"I am not responsible to you," said Randall haughtily.

"Responsible or not, you must give an account of yourself."

"If you will let me go, I will make it worth your while."

"Do you think I am mean enough to accept a bribe?" exclaimed Sturdy, with honest indignation. "Let me know what you have been doing."

"This old man!" said Randall, curbing his pride, "foolishly thought I meant to rob him, and shrieked for assistance."

"Is that all?" asked Bill, keenly glancing at the box of gold. "Things look as if you were going to rob him in reality."

"I am not in the habit of thieving," said Randall, haughtily.

At this moment the miser, who had been insensible, began to show signs of returning consciousness.

"Go and get some water, Charlie," said Bill. "The old man looks as if he might come to with a little help."

There was a pail half full of water standing near by. Charlie sprinkled Peter's face, and a moment after he gasped and opened his eyes. He cast a frightened glance from face to face till his eyes rested on Randall, when he shuddered, and cried feebly, "Take him away, take him away! He will rob me."

"Not while I am here to prevent him," returned Bill, in a tone of assurance.

"You are friends, then?" said the miser, anxiously.

"Of course we are. Did this man attempt to rob you?"

"Take care not to make any false accusations, old man," said Randall, menacingly.

"Speak the truth without fear," said Bill Sturdy; "I'll bear you out in it. He can't do you any harm."

"He demanded a thousand dollars from me," said the old man, "and when I would not give it to him he was going to help himself."

"What do you say to that, Mr. Randall?" asked Sturdy.

"I say this," said the mate, turning a malignant glance upon the miser, "that it was a regular bargain—a matter of business. This man owed me the money—he knows best what for, and refused to pay it."

"I did not," said Peter, hastily, "he had already been paid in full."

"Take care, Peter, or I may tell what it was for."

"I defy you," said the miser in a quavering tone of defiance. "You are a bad man."

"Perhaps you don't know who this boy is?" said Randall.

"Who is he?" asked Peter, doubtfully.

"He is one who has reason to consider you his enemy," said Randall, "even more than myself."

At this unexpected statement Bill Sturdy and Charlie looked at each other in surprise.

"Do you know this old man, then, Charlie?" asked Sturdy, at length.

"Yes," said our hero; "it is Mr. Manson, of whom my mother used to hire a room."

"The landlord?"

"Yes."

"And what harm has he ever done to you?"

"I don't know," said Charlie, shaking his head, "unless," and an anxious look came over his face, "he has distressed her for rent since I have been gone."

"Is that so?" demanded the sailor, sternly.

"No, no!" said Peter Manson, hastily. "She left my tenement a good many months ago."

"And where is she now?" asked Charlie, eagerly—for, having just landed, he knew nothing of his mother's whereabouts.

"Then you have not seen her?" asked Randall, with the sudden thought that he might make better terms for himself by selling his knowledge on the subject.

"No," said Charlie. "Is she well? Tell me, I entreat you, if you know."

"I do know," said Randall, composedly, "both where she is and how she has fared."

"Tell me quick."

"That depend upon circumstances. While I am held in custody I have little inducement to do you a favor."

"Sturdy will release you, won't you, Sturdy. Only tell me where my mother is, that I may go to her at once."

"Why," said Bill, cautiously, "I don't know, exactly. He may be trying a game, and giving us information won't be worth anything."

"You can keep me here till you have sent to ascertain if I have told you the truth."

"No, no," said Peter Manson, terrified at the prospect, "don't let him stay here. He would rob me."

"Rob you," sneered Randall; "it looks well in you whose money has been dishonestly gained, to charge me with theft."

"He—you won't mind what he says, gentlemen," said Peter Manson, trembling. "He only says it to spite me."

"To spite you! Yes, you old hunks, I will spite you, and that with a vengeance! Hark you, Sturdy, I have kept this old man's secret long enough, and though I hate you, and that boy there, I believe I hate him worse. If I will reveal to this boy a secret which will insure to him a property of from twenty to thirty thousand dollars, will you agree to let me go, and give me a thousand dollars?"

"Can you do it?" demanded Sturdy, in surprise.

"I can."

"Well, it ain't for me to say, but if I were Charlie here I would close with your terms."

"Don't you believe him," said Peter, terrified. "He is only making a fool of you. He can't do what he says."

Charlie was not a little astonished at the turn affairs had taken.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Bill, "if there might be something in this, as long as the old man seems so afraid the secret will be let out."

"You will find that I have told you the truth," said Randall; "tell me quickly yes or no. If you decline, you will lose more than I shall."

"Then," said Charlie, "I will accept your terms so far as I am concerned."

"And I'll bear witness to it," said Bill, "if you will carry out your part of the agreement."

"That I will do to your satisfaction. The first thing to be explained is, that in carrying this boy to sea I was only acting as the agent of another."

"And that other!"

"Was Peter Manson—the man you see before you."

"It is false," said the miser, turning ghastly pale.

"Moreover," said Randall, "I was well paid for the service. I received a thousand dollars."

"Oh, oh!" cried the old man, swaying backward and forward—"a thousand dollars in bright gold, and I so poor."

"You see he admits it," said Randall.

"And what did he want Charlie carried away for?"

"Reason enough for that. He feared the boy might learn that it was his wealth which he has been hoarding up."

"Mine!" exclaimed Charlie, in unbounded surprise.

"Did you never hear your mother speak of a certain Peter Thornton, who by purloining and making off with twenty thousand dollars caused your grandfather to fail?"

"Yes, often."

"That man is Peter Thornton!" said Randall, pointing with his finger to the miser.

The latter half rose from his seat, and then, as if he had received a mortal wound sank to the floor.

"You require no other confirmation of my words," said the mate.

"Why my lad, you will be a rich man," said Bill Sturdy, his face beaming with satisfaction.

"How glad mother will be!" exclaimed Charlie. "Where is she, Mr. Randall? I want so much to see her."

The mate gave Charlie briefly the information he required, and added, "You will probably need my assistance to establish your claim to the property of which yonder old man has so long deprived you. I shall hold myself at your service, trusting to your honor to pay me the thousand dollars agreed upon."

"You shall not trust in vain, Mr. Randall," said Charlie, promptly. "Place me in possession of what is rightfully mine, and you shall have no reason to complain."

"Very well, I shall stop at the Tremont House for the present. There you or your lawyer will find me. I advise you to employ legal assistance."

"I will do so, and thank you for the suggestion. As soon as I have seen my mother I shall proceed to business."

Randall withdrew, but was quickly followed by Charlie and his friend.

"Where are you going, my lad?" asked the sailor.

"You needn't ask, Bill,—to see my best friend, my mother. It is for her sake that I welcome this fortune. She shall never want any more while I have money. We will have a nice little home, where you shall be welcome, Bill, always and all the time."

Bill pressed the hand of our young hero in his own rough palm, and there was a suspicious moisture about his eyes, but he said nothing.