Kitabı oku: «Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience», sayfa 10

CHAPTER XXIX
THE LOST BANK BOOK

Carl was not long in concluding that he had been robbed by his roommate. It was hard to believe that a Stuyvesant—a representative of one of the old Dutch families of New Amsterdam—should have stooped to such a discreditable act. Carl was sharp enough, however, to doubt the genuineness of Mr. Stuyvesant’s claims to aristocratic lineage. Meanwhile he blamed himself for being so easily duped by an artful adventurer.

To be sure, it was not as bad as it might be. His pocketbook only contained ten dollars in small bills. The balance of his money he had deposited for safe keeping in the inside pocket of his vest. This he had placed under his pillow, and so it had escaped the notice of the thief.

The satchel contained a supply of shirts, underclothing, etc., and he was sorry to lose it. The articles were not expensive, but it would cost him from a dozen to fifteen dollars to replace them.

Carl stepped to the door of his stateroom and called a servant who was standing near.

“How long have we been at the pier?” he asked.

“About twenty minutes, sir.”

“Did you see my roommate go out?”

“A tall young man in a light overcoat?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir. I saw him.”

“Did you notice whether he carried a valise in his hand?”

“A gripsack? Yes, sir.”

“A small one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It was mine.”

“You don’t say so, sir! And such a respectable-lookin’ gemman, sir.”

“He may have looked respectable, but he was a thief all the same.”

“You don’t say? Did he take anything else, sir?”

“He took my pocketbook.”

“Well, well! He was a rascal, sure! But maybe it dropped on the floor.”

Carl turned his attention to the carpet, but saw nothing of the lost pocketbook. He did find, however, a small book in a brown cover, which Stuyvesant had probably dropped. Picking it up, he discovered that it was a bank book on the Sixpenny Savings Bank of Albany, standing in the name of Rachel Norris, and numbered 17,310.

“This is stolen property, too,” thought Carl. “I wonder if there is much in it.”

Opening the book he saw that there were three entries, as follows:

1883. Jan. 23. Five hundred dollars.

“    June 10. Two hundred dollars.

“    Oct. 21. One hundred dollars.

There was besides this interest credited to the amount of seventy-five dollars. The deposits, therefore, made a grand total of $875.

No doubt Mr. Stuyvesant had stolen this book, but had not as yet found an opportunity of utilizing it.

“What’s dat?” asked the colored servant.

“A savings bank book. My roommate must have dropped it. It appears to belong to a lady named Rachel Norris. I wish I could get it to her.”

“Is she an Albany lady, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

“You might look in the directory.”

“So I will. It is a good idea.”

“I hope the gemman didn’t take all your money, sir.”

“No; he didn’t even take half of it. I only wish I had been awake when the boat got to the dock.”

“I would have called you, sir, if you had asked me.”

“I am not much used to traveling. I shall know better next time what to do.”

The finding of the bank book partially consoled Carl for the loss of his pocketbook and gripsack. He was glad to be able to defeat Stuyvesant in one of his nefarious schemes, and to be the instrument of returning Miss Norris her savings bank book.

When he left the boat he walked along till he reached a modest-looking hotel, where he thought the charges would be reasonable. He entered, and, going to the desk, asked if he could have a room.

“Large or small?” inquired the clerk.

“Small.”

“No. 67. Will you go up now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any baggage?”

“No; I had it stolen on the boat.”

The clerk looked a little suspicious.

“We must require pay in advance, then,” he said.

“Certainly,” answered Carl, pulling out a roll of bills. “I suppose you make special terms to commercial travelers?”

“Are you a drummer?”

“Yes. I represent Henry Jennings, of Milford, New York.”

“All right, sir. Our usual rates are two dollars a day. To you they will be a dollar and a quarter.”

“Very well; I will pay you for two days. Is breakfast ready?”

“It is on the table, sir.”

“Then I will go in at once. I will go to my room afterwards.”

In spite of his loss, Carl had a hearty appetite, and did justice to the comfortable breakfast provided. He bought a morning paper, and ran his eye over the advertising columns. He had never before read an Albany paper, and wished to get an idea of the city in its business aspect. It occurred to him that there might be an advertisement of the lost bank book. But no such notice met his eyes.

He went up to his room, which was small and plainly furnished, but looked comfortable. Going down again to the office, he looked into the Albany directory to see if he could find the name of Rachel Norris.

There was a Rebecca Norris, who was put down as a dressmaker, but that was as near as he came to Rachel Norris.

Then he set himself to looking over the other members of the Norris family. Finally he picked out Norris & Wade, furnishing goods, and decided to call at the store and inquire if they knew any lady named Rachel Norris. The prospect of gaining information in this way did not seem very promising, but no other course presented itself, and Carl determined to follow up the clew, slight as it was.

Though unacquainted with Albany streets, he had little difficulty in finding the store of Norris & Wade. It was an establishment of good size, well supplied with attractive goods. A clerk came forward to wait upon Carl.

“What can I show you?” he asked.

“You may show me Mr. Norris, if you please,” responded Carl, with a smile.

“He is in the office,” said the clerk, with an answering smile.

Carl entered the office and saw Mr. Norris, a man of middle age, partially bald, with a genial, business-like manner.

“Well, young man?” he said, looking at Carl inquiringly.

“You must excuse me for troubling you, sir,” said Carl, who was afraid Mr. Norris would laugh at him, “but I thought you might direct me to Rachel Norris.”

Mr. Norris looked surprised.

“What do you want of Rachel Norris?” he asked, abruptly.

“I have a little business with her,” answered Carl.

“Of what nature?”

“Excuse me, but I don’t care to mention it at present.”

“Humph! you are very cautious for a young man, or rather boy.”

“Isn’t that a good trait, sir?”

“Good, but unusual. Are you a schoolboy?”

“No, sir; I am a drummer.”

Mr. Norris put on a pair of glasses and scrutinized Carl more closely.

“I should like to see—just out of curiosity—the man that you travel for,” he said.

“I will ask him to call whenever he visits Albany. There is his card.”

Mr. Norris took it.

“Why, bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “It is Henry Jennings, an old schoolmate of mine.”

“And a good business man, even if he has sent out such a young drummer.”

“I should say so. There must be something in you, or he wouldn’t have trusted you. How is Jennings?”

“He is well, sir—well and prosperous.”

“That is good news. Are you in his employ?”

“Yes, sir. This is the first time I have traveled for him.”

“How far are you going?”

“As far as Chicago.”

“I don’t see what you can have to do with Rachel Norris. However, I don’t mind telling you that she is my aunt, and—well, upon my soul! Here she is now.”

And he ran hastily to greet a tall, thin lady, wearing a black shawl, who at that moment entered the office.

CHAPTER XXX
AN ECCENTRIC WOMAN

Miss Norris dropped into a chair as if she were fatigued.

“Well, Aunt Rachel, how are you feeling this morning?” asked her nephew.

“Out of sorts,” was the laconic reply.

“I am very sorry for that. I suppose there is reason for it.”

“Yes; I’ve been robbed.”

“Indeed!” said Mr. Norris. “Lost your purse? I wonder more ladies are not robbed, carrying their money as carelessly as they do.”

“That isn’t it. I am always careful, as careful as any man.”

“Still you got robbed.”

“Yes, but of a bank book.”

Here Carl became attentive. It was clear that he would not have to look any farther for the owner of the book he had found in his stateroom.

“What kind of a bank book?” inquired Mr. Norris.

“I had nearly a thousand dollars deposited in the Sixpenny Savings Bank. I called at the bank to make some inquiries about interest, and when I came out I presume some rascal followed me and stole the book–”

“Have you any idea who took it?”

“I got into the horse cars, near the bank; next to me sat a young man in a light overcoat. There was no one on the other side of me. I think he must have taken it.”

“That was Stuyvesant,” said Carl to himself.

“When did this happen, Aunt Rachel?”

“Three days since.”

“Why didn’t you do something about it before?”

“I did. I advertised a reward of twenty-five dollars to anyone who would restore it to me.”

“There was no occasion for that. By giving notice at the bank, they would give you a new book after a time.”

“I preferred to recover the old one. Besides, I thought I would like to know what became of it.”

“I can tell you, Miss Norris,” said Carl, who thought it time to speak.

Hitherto Miss Norris had not seemed aware of Carl’s presence. She turned abruptly and surveyed him through her glasses.

“Who are you?” she asked.

This might seem rude, but it was only Miss Rachel’s way.

“My name is Carl Crawford.”

“Do I know you?”

“No, Miss Norris, but I hope you will.”

“Humph! that depends. You say you know what became of my bank book?”

“Yes, Miss Norris.”

“Well?”

“It was taken by the young man who sat next to you.”

“How do you know?”

“He robbed me last night on the way from New York in a Hudson River steamboat.”

“That doesn’t prove that he robbed me. I was robbed here in this city.”

“What do you say to this?” asked Carl, displaying the bank book.

“Bless me! That is my book. Where did you get it?”

Carl told his story briefly, how, on discovering that he had been robbed, he explored the stateroom and found the bank book.

“Well, well, I am astonished! And how did you know Mr. Norris was my nephew?”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything about him or you, but finding his name in the directory, I came here to ask if he knew any such person.”

“You are a smart boy, and a good, honest one,” said Miss Norris. “You have earned the reward, and shall have it.”

“I don’t want any reward, Miss Norris,” rejoined Carl. “I have had very little trouble in finding you.”

“That is of no consequence. I offered the reward, and Rachel Norris is a woman of her word.”

She thrust her hand into her pocket, and drew out a wallet, more suitable to a man’s use. Openings this, she took out three bills, two tens and a five, and extended them toward Carl.

“I don’t think I ought to take this money, Miss Norris,” said Carl, reluctantly.

“Did that rascal rob you, too?”

“Yes.”

“Of how much?”

“Ten dollars in money and some underclothing.”

“Very well! This money will go toward making up your loss. You are not rich, I take it?”

“Not yet.”

“I am, and can afford to give you this money. There, take it.”

“Thank you, Miss Norris.”

“I want to ask one favor of you. If you ever come across that young man in the light overcoat, have him arrested, and let me know.”

“I will, Miss Norris.”

“Do you live in Albany?”

Carl explained that he was traveling on business, and should leave the next day if he could get through.

“How far are you going?”

“To Chicago.”

“Can you attend to some business for me there?”

“Yes, if it won’t take too long a time.”

“Good! Come round to my house to supper at six o’clock, and I will tell you about it. Henry, write my address on a piece of paper, and give it to this young man.”

Henry Norris smiled, and did as his aunt requested.

“You have considerable confidence in this young man?” he said.

“I have.”

“You may be mistaken.”

“Rachel Norris is not often mistaken.”

“I will accept your invitation with pleasure, Miss Norris,” said Carl, bowing politely. “Now, as I have some business to attend to, I will bid you both good-morning.”

As Carl went out, Miss Norris said: “Henry, that is a remarkable boy.”

“I think favorably of him myself. He is in the employ of an old schoolmate of mine, Henry Jennings, of Milford. By the way, what business are you going to put into his hands?”

“A young man who has a shoe store on State Street has asked me for a loan of two thousand dollars to extend his business. His name is John French, and his mother was an old schoolmate of mine, though some years younger. Now I know nothing of him. If he is a sober, steady, industrious young man, I may comply with his request. This boy will investigate and report to me.”

“And you will be guided by his report?”

“Probably.”

“Aunt Rachel, you are certainly very eccentric.”

“I may be, but I am not often deceived.”

“Well, I hope you won’t be this time. The boy seems to me a very good boy, but you can’t put an old head on young shoulders.”

“Some boys have more sense than men twice their age.”

“You don’t mean me, I hope, Aunt Rachel,” said Mr. Norris, smiling.

“Indeed, I don’t. I shall not flatter you by speaking of you as only twice this boy’s age.”

“I see, Aunt Rachel, there is no getting the better of you.”

Meanwhile Carl was making business calls. He obtained a map of the city, and located the different firms on which he proposed to call. He had been furnished with a list by Mr. Jennings. He was everywhere pleasantly received—in some places with an expression of surprise at his youth—but when he began to talk he proved to be so well informed upon the subject of his call that any prejudice excited by his age quickly vanished. He had the satisfaction of securing several unexpectedly large orders for the chair, and transmitting them to Mr. Jennings by the afternoon mail.

He got through his business at four o’clock, and rested for an hour or more at his hotel. Then he arranged his toilet, and set out for the residence of Miss Rachel Norris.

It was rather a prim-looking, three-story house, such as might be supposed to belong to a maiden lady. He was ushered into a sitting-room on the second floor, where Miss Norris soon joined him.

“I am glad to see you, my young friend,” she said, cordially. “You are in time.”

“I always try to be, Miss Norris.”

“It is a good way to begin.”

Here a bell rang.

“Supper is ready,” she said. “Follow me downstairs.”

Carl followed the old lady to the rear room on the lower floor. A small table was set in the center of the apartment.

“Take a seat opposite me,” said Miss Norris.

There were two other chairs, one on each side—Carl wondered for whom they were set. No sooner were he and Miss Norris seated than two large cats approached the table, and jumped up, one into each chair. Carl looked to see them ordered away, but instead, Miss Norris nodded pleasantly, saying: “That’s right, Jane and Molly, you are punctual at meals.”

The two cats eyed their mistress gravely, and began to purr contentedly.

CHAPTER XXXI
CARL TAKES SUPPER WITH MISS NORRIS

“This is my family,” said Miss Norris, pointing to the cats.

“I like cats,” said Carl.

“Do you?” returned Miss Norris, looking pleased. “Most boys tease them. Do you see poor Molly’s ear? That wound came from a stone thrown by a bad boy.”

“Many boys are cruel,” said Carl, “but I remember that my mother was very fond of cats, and I have always protected them from abuse.”

As he spoke he stroked Molly, who purred an acknowledgment of his attention. This completed the conquest of Miss Norris, who inwardly decided that Carl was the finest boy she had ever met. After she had served Carl from the dishes on the table, she poured out two saucers of milk and set one before each cat, who, rising upon her hind legs, placed her forepaws on the table, and gravely partook of the refreshments provided. Jane and Molly were afterwards regaled with cold meat, and then, stretching themselves out on their chairs, closed their eyes in placid content.

During the meal Miss Norris questioned Carl closely as to his home experiences. Having no reason for concealment Carl frankly related his troubles with his stepmother, eliciting expressions of sympathy and approval from his hostess.

“Your stepmother must be an ugly creature?” she said.

“I am afraid I am prejudiced against her,” said Carl, “but that is my opinion.”

“Your father must be very weak to be influenced against his own son by such a woman.”

Carl winced a little at this outspoken criticism, for he was attached to his father in spite of his unjust treatment.

“My father is an invalid,” he said, apologetically, “and I think he yielded for the sake of peace.”

“All the same, he ought not to do it,” said Miss Norris. “Do you ever expect to live at home again?”

“Not while my stepmother is there,” answered Carl. “But I don’t know that I should care to do so under any circumstances, as I am now receiving a business training. I should like to make a little visit home,” he added, thoughtfully, “and perhaps I may do so after I return from Chicago. I shall have no favors to ask, and shall feel independent.”

“If you ever need a home,” said Miss Norris, abruptly, “come here. You will be welcome.”

“Thank you very much,” said Carl, gratefully. “It is all the more kind in you since you have known me so short a time.”

“I have known you long enough to judge of you,” said the maiden lady. “And now if you won’t have anything more we will go into the next room and talk business.”

Carl followed her into the adjoining room, and Miss Norris at once plunged into the subject. She handed him a business card bearing this inscription:

JOHN FRENCH, BOOTS, SHOES AND RUBBER GOODS, 42a State Street, CHICAGO.

“This young man wants me to lend him two thousand dollars to extend his business,” she said. “He is the son of an old school friend, and I am willing to oblige him if he is a sober, steady and economical business man. I want you to find out whether this is the case and report to me.”

“Won’t that be difficult?” asked Carl.

“Are you afraid to undertake anything that is difficult?”

“No,” answered Carl, with a smile. “I was only afraid I might not do the work satisfactorily.”

“I shall give you no instructions,” said Miss Norris. “I shall trust to your good judgment. I will give you a letter to Mr. French, which you can use or not, as you think wise. Of course, I shall see that you are paid for your trouble.”

“Thank you,” said Carl. “I hope my services may be worth compensation.”

“I don’t know how you are situated as to money, but I can give you some in advance,” and the old lady opened her pocketbook.

“No, thank you, Miss Norris; I shall not need it. I might have been short if you had not kindly paid me a reward for a slight service.”

“Slight, indeed! If you had lost a bank book like mine you would be glad to get it back at such a price. If you will catch the rascal who stole it I will gladly pay you as much more.”

“I wish I might for my own sake, but I am afraid it would be too late to recover my money and clothing.”

At an early hour Carl left the house, promising to write to Miss Norris from Chicago.

CHAPTER XXXII
A STARTLING DISCOVERY

“Well,” thought Carl, as he left the house where he had been so hospitably entertained, “I shall not lack for business. Miss Norris seems to have a great deal of confidence in me, considering that I am a stranger. I will take care that she does not repent it.”

“Can you give a poor man enough money to buy a cheap meal?” asked a plaintive voice.

Carl scanned the applicant for charity closely. He was a man of medium size, with a pair of small eyes, and a turnup nose. His dress was extremely shabby, and he had the appearance of one who was on bad terms with fortune. There was nothing striking about his appearance, yet Carl regarded him with surprise and wonder. Despite the difference in age, he bore a remarkable resemblance to his stepbrother, Peter Cook.

“I haven’t eaten anything for twenty-four hours,” continued the tramp, as he may properly be called. “It’s a hard world to such as me, boy.”

“I should judge so from your looks,” answered Carl.

“Indeed you are right. I was born to ill luck.”

Carl had some doubts about this. Those who represent themselves as born to ill luck can usually trace the ill luck to errors or shortcomings of their own. There are doubtless inequalities of fortune, but not as great as many like to represent. Of two boys who start alike one may succeed, and the other fail, but in nine cases out of ten the success or failure may be traced to a difference in the qualities of the boys.

“Here is a quarter if that will do you any good,” said Carl.

The man clutched at it with avidity.

“Thank you. This will buy me a cup of coffee and a plate of meat, and will put new life into me.”

He was about to hurry away, but Carl felt like questioning him further. The extraordinary resemblance between this man and his stepbrother led him to think it possible that there might be a relationship between them. Of his stepmother’s family he knew little or nothing. His father had married her on short acquaintance, and she was very reticent about her former life. His father was indolent, and had not troubled himself to make inquiries. He took her on her own representation as the widow of a merchant who had failed in business.

On the impulse of the moment—an impulse which he could not explain—Carl asked abruptly—“Is your name Cook?”

A look of surprise, almost of stupefaction, appeared on the man’s face.

“Who told you my name?” he asked.

“Then your name is Cook?”

“What is your object in asking?” said the man, suspiciously.

“I mean you no harm,” returned Carl, “but I have reasons for asking.”

“Did you ever see me before?” asked the man.

“No.”

“Then what makes you think my name is Cook? It is not written on my face, is it?”

“No.”

“Then how–”

Carl interrupted him.

“I know a boy named Peter Cook,” he said, “who resembles you very strongly.”

“You know Peter Cook—little Peter?” exclaimed the tramp.

“Yes. Is he a relation of yours?”

“I should think so!” responded Cook, emphatically. “He is my own son—that is, if he is a boy of about your age.”

“Yes.”

“Where is he? Is his mother alive?”

“Your wife!” exclaimed Carl, overwhelmed at the thought.

“She was my wife!” said Cook, “but while I was in California, some years since, she took possession of my small property, procured a divorce through an unprincipled lawyer, and I returned to find myself without wife, child or money. Wasn’t that a mean trick?”

“I think it was.”

“Can you tell me where she is?” asked Cook, eagerly.

“Yes, I can.”

“Where can I find my wife?” asked Cook, with much eagerness.

Carl hesitated. He did not like his stepmother; he felt that she had treated him meanly, but he was not prepared to reveal her present residence till he knew what course Cook intended to pursue.

“She is married again,” he said, watching Cook to see what effect this announcement might have upon him.

“I have no objection, I am sure,” responded Cook, indifferently. “Did she marry well?”

“She married a man in good circumstances.”

“She would take good care of that.”

“Then you don’t intend to reclaim her?”

“How can I? She obtained a divorce, though by false representations. I am glad to be rid of her, but I want her to restore the two thousand dollars of which she robbed me. I left my property in her hands, but when she ceased to be my wife she had no right to take possession of it. I ought not to be surprised, however. It wasn’t the first theft she had committed.”

“Can this be true?” asked Carl, excited.

“Yes, I married her without knowing much of her antecedents. Two years after marriage I ascertained that she had served a year’s term of imprisonment for a theft of jewelry from a lady with whom she was living as housekeeper.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Certainly. She was recognized by a friend of mine, who had been an official at the prison. When taxed with it by me she admitted it, but claimed that she was innocent. I succeeded in finding a narrative of the trial in an old file of papers, and came to the conclusion that she was justly convicted.”

“What did you do?”

“I proposed separation, but she begged me to keep the thing secret, and let ourselves remain the same as before. I agreed out of consideration for her, but had occasion to regret it. My business becoming slack, I decided to go to California in the hope of acquiring a competence. I was not fortunate there, and was barely able, after a year, to get home. I found that my wife had procured a divorce, and appropriated the little money I had left. Where she had gone, or where she had conveyed our son, I could not learn. You say you know where she is.”

“I do.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Mr. Cook,” said Carl, after a pause for reflection, “I will tell you, but not just at present. I am on my way to Chicago on business. On my return I will stop here, and take you with me to the present home of your former wife. You will understand my interest in the matter when I tell you that she is now married to a relative of my own.”

“I pity him whoever he is,” said Cook.

“Yes, I think he is to be pitied,” said Carl, gravely; “but the revelation you will be able to make will enable him to insist upon a separation.”

“The best thing he can do! How long before you return to Albany?”

“A week or ten days.”

“I don’t know how I am to live in the meantime,” said Cook, anxiously. “I am penniless, but for the money you have just given me.”

“At what price can you obtain board?”

“I know of a decent house where I can obtain board and a small room for five dollars a week.”

“Here are twelve dollars. This will pay for two weeks’ board, and give you a small sum besides. What is the address?”

Cook mentioned a number on a street by the river.

Carl took it down in a notebook with which he had provided himself.

“When I return to Albany,” he said, “I will call there at once.”

“You won’t forget me?”

“No; I shall be even more anxious to meet you than you will be to meet me. The one to whom your former wife is married is very near and dear to me, and I cannot bear to think that he has been so wronged and imposed upon!”

“Very well, sir! I shall wait for you with confidence. If I can get back from my former wife the money she robbed me of, I can get on my feet again, and take a respectable position in society. It is very hard for a man dressed as I am to obtain any employment.”

Looking at his shabby and ragged suit, Carl could readily believe this statement. If he had wished to employ anyone he would hardly have been tempted to engage a man so discreditable in appearance. “Be of good courage, Mr. Cook,” he said, kindly. “If your story is correct, and I believe it is, there are better days in store for you.”

“Thank you for those words,” said Cook, earnestly. “They give me new hope.”