Kitabı oku: «Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XXXV
WHAT CARL LEARNED IN CHICAGO

As Carl walked back from the falls he met Mr. Atwood, who was surprised to find his young acquaintance on such intimate terms with Lord Bedford. He was about to pass with a bow, when Carl, who was good-natured, said: “Won’t you join us, Mr. Atwood? If Lord Bedford will permit, I should like to introduce you.”

“Glad to know any friend of yours, Mr. Crawford,” said the Englishman, affably.

“I feel honored by the introduction,” said Atwood, bowing profoundly.

“I hope you are not a friend of Mr.—ah, Mr. Stuyvesant,” said the nobleman, “the person I was talking with this morning. Mr. Crawford tells me he is a—what do you call it?—a confidence man.”

“I have no acquaintance with him, my lord. I saw him just now leaving the hotel.”

“I am afraid he has gone away with my valise and money,” said Carl.

“If you should be inconvenienced, Mr. Crawford,” said the nobleman, “my purse is at your disposal.”

“Thank you very much, Lord Bedford,” said Carl, gratefully. “I am glad to say I am still fairly well provided with money.”

“I was about to make you the same offer, Mr. Crawford,” said Atwood.

“Thank you! I appreciate your kindness, even if I’m not obliged to avail myself of it.”

Returning to the hotel, Lord Bedford ordered a carriage, and invited Atwood and Carl to accompany him on a drive. Mr. Atwood was in an ecstasy, and anticipated with proud satisfaction telling his family of his intimate friend, Lord Bedford, of England. The peer, though rather an ordinary-looking man, seemed to him a model of aristocratic beauty. It was a weakness on the part of Mr. Atwood, but an amiable one, and is shared by many who live under republican institutions.

After dinner Carl felt obliged to resume his journey. He had found his visit to Niagara very agreeable, but his was a business and not a pleasure trip, and loyalty to his employer required him to cut it short. Lord Bedford shook his hand heartily at parting.

“I hope we shall meet again, Mr. Crawford,” he said. “I expect, myself, to reach Chicago on Saturday, and shall be glad to have you call on me at the Palmer House.”

“Thank you, my lord; I will certainly inquire for you there.”

“He is a very good fellow, even if he is a lord,” thought Carl.

Our young hero was a thorough American, and was disposed to think with Robert Burns, that

 
“The rank is but the guinea, stamp;
The man’s the gold for a’ that!”
 

No incident worth recording befell Carl on his trip to Chicago. As a salesman he met with excellent success, and surprised Mr. Jennings by the size of his orders. He was led, on reaching Chicago, to register at the Sherman House, on Clark Street, one of the most reliable among the many houses for travelers offered by the great Western metropolis.

On the second day he made it a point to find out the store of John French, hoping to acquire the information desired by Miss Norris.

It was a store of good size, and apparently well stocked. Feeling the need of new footgear, Carl entered and asked to be shown some shoes. He was waited upon by a young clerk named Gray, with whom he struck up a pleasant acquaintance.

“Do you live in Chicago?” asked Gray? sociably.

“No; I am from New York State. I am here on business.”

“Staying at a hotel?”

“Yes, at the Sherman. If you are at leisure this evening I shall be glad to have you call on me. I am a stranger here, and likely to find the time hang heavy on my hands.”

“I shall be free at six o’clock.”

“Then come to supper with me.”

“Thank you, I shall be glad to do so,” answered Gray, with alacrity. Living as he did at a cheap boarding house, the prospect of a supper at a first-class hotel was very attractive. He was a pleasant-faced young man of twenty, who had drifted to Chicago from his country home in Indiana, and found it hard to make both ends meet on a salary of nine dollars a week. His habits were good, his manner was attractive and won him popularity with customer’s, and with patience he was likely to succeed in the end.

“I wish I could live like this every day,” he said, as he rose from a luxurious supper. “At present my finances won’t allow me to board at the Sherman.”

“Nor would mine,” said Carl; “but I am allowed to spend money more freely when I am traveling.”

“Are you acquainted in New York?” asked Gray.

“I have little or no acquaintance in the city,” answered Carl.

“I should be glad to get a position there.”

“Are you not satisfied with your present place?”

“I am afraid I shall not long keep it.”

“Why not? Do you think you are in any danger of being discharged?”

“It is not that. I am afraid Mr. French will be obliged to give up business.”

“Why?” asked Carl, with keen interest.

“I have reason to think he is embarrassed. I know that he has a good many bills out, some of which have been running a long time. If any pressure is brought to bear upon him, he may have to suspend.”

Carl felt that he was obtaining important information. If Mr. French were in such a condition Miss Norris would be pretty sure to lose her money if she advanced it.

“To what do you attribute Mr. French’s embarrassment?” he asked.

“He lives expensively in a handsome house near Lincoln Park, and draws heavily upon the business for his living expenses. I think that explains it. I only wonder that he has been able to hold out so long.”

“Perhaps if he were assisted he would be able to keep his head above water.”

“He would need a good deal of assistance. You see that my place isn’t very secure, and I shall soon need to be looking up another.”

“I don’t think I shall need to inquire any farther,” thought Carl. “It seems to me Miss Norris had better keep her money.”

Before he retired he indited the following letter to his Albany employer:

Miss Rachel Norris.

“Dear Madam:—I have attended to your commission, and have to report that Mr. French appears to be involved in business embarrassments, and in great danger to bankruptcy. The loan he asks of you would no doubt be of service, but probably would not long delay the crash. If you wish to assist him, it would be better to allow him to fail, and then advance him the money to put him on his feet. I am told that his troubles come from living beyond his means.

“Yours respectfully,

“Carl Crawford.”

By return mail Carl received the following note:

“My Dear Young Friend:—Your report confirms the confidence I reposed in you. It is just the information I desired. I shall take your advice and refuse the loan. What other action I may take hereafter I cannot tell. When you return, should you stop in Albany, please call on me. If unable to do this, write me from Milford.

“Your friend,

“Rachel Norris.”

Carl was detained for several days in Chicago. He chanced to meet his English friend, Lord Bedford, upon his arrival, and the nobleman, on learning where he was staying, also registered at the Sherman House. In his company Carl took a drive over the magnificent boulevard which is the pride of Chicago, and rose several degrees in the opinion of those guests who noticed his intimacy with the English guest.

Carl had just completed his Chicago business when, on entering the hotel, he was surprised to see a neighbor of his father’s—Cyrus Robinson—a prominent business man of Edgewood Center. Carl was delighted, for he had not been home, or seen any home friends for over a year.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Robinson,” he said, offering his hand.

“What! Carl Crawford!” exclaimed Robinson, in amazement. “How came you in Chicago? Your father did not tell me you were here.”

“He does not know it. I am only here on a business visit. Tell me, Mr. Robinson, how is my father?”

“I think, Carl, that he is not at all well. I am quite sure he misses you, and I don’t believe your stepmother’s influence over him is beneficial. Just before I came away I heard a rumor that troubled me. It is believed in Edgewood that she is trying to induce your father to make a will leaving all, or nearly all his property to her and her son.”

“I don’t care so much for that, Mr. Robinson, as for my father’s health.”

“Carl,” said Robinson, significantly, “if such a will is made I don’t believe your father will live long after it.”

“You don’t mean that?” said Carl, horror-struck.

“I think Mrs. Crawford, by artful means will worry your father to death. He is of a nervous temperament, and an unscrupulous woman can shorten his life without laying herself open to the law.”

Carl’s face grew stern.

“I will save my father,” he said, “and defeat my stepmother’s wicked schemes.”

“I pray Heaven you can. There is no time to be lost.”

“I shall lose no time, you may be sure. I shall be at Edgewood within a week.”

CHAPTER XXXVI
MAKING A WILL

In Edgewood Center events moved slowly. In Carl Crawford’s home dullness reigned supreme. He had been the life of the house, and his absence, though welcome to his stepmother, was seriously felt by his father, who day by day became thinner and weaker, while his step grew listless and his face seldom brightened with a smile. He was anxious to have Carl at home again, and the desire became so strong that he finally broached the subject.

“My dear,” he said one day at the breakfast table, “I have been thinking of Carl considerably of late.”

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Crawford, coldly.

“I think I should like to have him at home once more.”

Mrs. Crawford smiled ominously.

“He is better off where he is,” she said, softly.

“But he is my only son, and I never see him,” pleaded her husband.

“You know very well, Dr. Crawford,” rejoined his wife, “that your son only made trouble in the house while he was here.”

“Yet it seems hard that he should be driven from his father’s home, and forced to take refuge among strangers.”

“I don’t know what you mean by his being driven from home,” said Mrs. Crawford, tossing her head. “He made himself disagreeable, and, not being able to have his own way, he took French leave.”

“The house seems very lonely without him,” went on Dr. Crawford, who was too wise to get into an argument with his wife.

“It certainly is more quiet. As for company, Peter is still here, and would at any time stay with you.”

Peter did not relish this suggestion, and did not indorse it.

“I should not care to confine him to the house,” said Dr. Crawford, as his glance rested on the plain and by no means agreeable face of his stepson.

“I suppose I need not speak of myself. You know that you can always call upon me.”

If Dr. Crawford had been warmly attached to his second wife, this proposal would have cheered him, but the time had gone by when he found any pleasure in her society. There was a feeling of almost repulsion which he tried to conceal, and he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that the presence of his wife gave him rather uneasiness than comfort.

“Carl is very well off where he is,” resumed Mrs. Crawford. “He is filling a business position, humble, perhaps, but still one that gives him his living and keeps him out of mischief. Let well enough alone, doctor, and don’t interrupt his plans.”

“I—I may be foolish,” said the doctor, hesitating, “but I have not been feeling as well as usual lately, and if anything should happen to me while Carl was absent I should die very unhappy.”

Mrs. Crawford regarded her husband with uneasiness.

“Do you mean that you think you are in any danger?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I am not an old man, but, on the other hand, I am an invalid. My father died when he was only a year older than I am at present.”

Mrs. Crawford drew out her handkerchief, and proceeded to wipe her tearless eyes.

“You distress me beyond measure by your words, my dear husband. How can I think of your death without emotion? What should I do without you?”

“My dear, you must expect to survive me. You are younger than I, and much stronger.”

“Besides,” and Mrs. Crawford made an artful pause, “I hardly like to mention it, but Peter and I are poor, and by your death might be left to the cold mercies of the world.”

“Surely I would not fail to provide for you.”

Mrs. Crawford shook her head.

“I am sure of your kind intentions, my husband,” she said, “but they will not avail unless you provide for me in your will.”

“Yes, it’s only right that I should do so. As soon as I feel equal to the effort I will draw up a will.”

“I hope you will, for I should not care to be dependent on Carl, who does not like me. I hope you will not think me mercenary, but to Peter and myself this is of vital importance.”

“No, I don’t misjudge you. I ought to have thought of it before.”

“I don’t care so much about myself,” said Mrs. Crawford, in a tone of self-sacrifice, “but I should not like to have Peter thrown upon the world without means.”

“All that you say is wise and reasonable,” answered her husband, wearily. “I will attend to the matter to-morrow.”

The next day Mrs. Crawford came into her husband’s presence with a sheet of legal cap.

“My dear husband,” she said, in a soft, insinuating tone, “I wished to spare you trouble, and I have accordingly drawn up a will to submit to you, and receive your signature, if you approve it.”

Dr. Crawford looked surprised.

“Where did you learn to write a will?” he asked.

“I used in my days of poverty to copy documents for a lawyer,” she replied. “In this way I became something of a lawyer myself.”

“I see. Will you read what you have prepared?”

Mrs. Crawford read the document in her hand. It provided in the proper legal phraseology for an equal division of the testator’s estate between the widow and Carl.

“I didn’t know, of course, what provision you intended to make for me,” she said, meekly. “Perhaps you do not care to leave me half the estate.”

“Yes, that seems only fair. You do not mention Peter. I ought to do something for him.”

“Your kindness touches me, my dear husband, but I shall be able to provide for him out of my liberal bequest. I do not wish to rob your son, Carl. I admit that I do not like him, but that shall not hinder me from being just.”

Dr. Crawford was pleased with this unexpected concession from his wife. He felt that he should be more at ease if Carl’s future was assured.

“Very well, my dear,” he said, cheerfully. “I approve of the will as you have drawn it up, and I will affix my signature at once.” “Then, shall I send for two of the neighbors to witness it?”

“It will be well.”

Two near neighbors were sent for and witnessed Dr. Crawford’s signature to the will.

There was a strangely triumphant look in Mrs. Crawford’s eyes as she took the document after it had been duly executed.

“You will let me keep this, doctor?” she asked. “It will be important for your son as well as myself, that it should be in safe hands.”

“Yes; I shall be glad to have you do so. I rejoice that it is off my mind.”

“You won’t think me mercenary, my dear husband, or indifferent to your life?”

“No; why should I?”

“Then I am satisfied.”

Mrs. Crawford took the will, and carrying it upstairs, opened her trunk, removed the false bottom, and deposited under it the last will and testament of Dr. Paul Crawford.

“At last!” she said to herself. “I am secure, and have compassed what I have labored for so long.”

Dr. Crawford had not noticed that the will to which he affixed his signature was not the same that had been read to him. Mrs. Crawford had artfully substituted another paper of quite different tenor. By the will actually executed, the entire estate was left to Mrs. Crawford, who was left guardian of her son and Carl, and authorized to make such provision for each as she might deem suitable. This, of course, made Carl entirely dependent on a woman who hated him.

“Now, Dr. Paul Crawford,” said Mrs. Crawford to herself, with a cold smile, “you may die as soon as you please. Peter and I are provided for. Your father died when a year older than you are now, you tell me. It is hardly likely that you will live to a greater age than he.”

She called the next day on the family physician, and with apparent solicitude asked his opinion of Dr. Crawford’s health.

“He is all I have,” she said, pathetically, “all except my dear Peter. Tell me what you think of his chances of continued life.”

“Your husband,” replied the physician, “has one weak organ. It is his heart. He may live for fifteen or twenty years, but a sudden excitement might carry him off in a moment. The best thing you can do for him is to keep him tranquil and free from any sudden shock.”

Mrs. Crawford listened attentively.

“I will do my best,” she said, “since so much depends on it.”

When she returned home it was with a settled purpose in her heart.

CHAPTER XXXVII
PETER LETS OUT A SECRET

“Can you direct me to the house of Dr. Crawford?” asked a stranger.

The inquiry was addressed to Peter Cook in front of the hotel in Edgewood Center.

“Yes, sir; he is my stepfather!”

“Indeed! I did not know that my old friend was married again. You say you are his stepson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He has an own son, about your age, I should judge.”

“That’s Carl! he is a little older than me.”

“Is he at home?”

“No,” answered Peter, pursing up his lips.

“Is he absent at boarding school?”

“No; he’s left home.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated the stranger, in surprise. “How is that?”

“He was awfully hard to get along with, and didn’t treat mother with any respect. He wanted to have his own way, and, of course, ma couldn’t stand that.”

“I see,” returned the stranger, and he eyed Peter curiously. “What did his father say to his leaving home?” he asked.

“Oh, he always does as ma wishes.”

“Was Carl willing to leave home?”

“Yes; he said he would rather go than obey ma.”

“I suppose he receives an allowance from his father?”

“No; he wanted one, but ma put her foot down and said he shouldn’t have one.”

“Your mother seems to be a woman of considerable firmness.”

“You bet, she’s firm. She don’t allow no boy to boss her.”

“Really, this boy is a curiosity,” said Reuben Ashcroft to himself. “He doesn’t excel in the amiable and attractive qualities. He has a sort of brutal frankness which can’t keep a secret.”

“How did you and Carl get along together?” he asked, aloud.

“We didn’t get along at all. He wanted to boss me, and ma and I wouldn’t have it.”

“So the upshot was that he had to leave the house and you remained?”

“Yes, that’s the way of it,” said Peter, laughing.

“And Carl was actually sent out to earn his own living without help of any kind from his father?”

“Yes.”

“What is he doing?” asked Ashcroft, in some excitement. “Good heavens! he may have suffered from hunger.”

“Are you a friend of his?” asked Peter, sharply.

“I am a friend of anyone who requires a friend.”

“Carl is getting along well enough. He is at work in some factory in Milford, and gets a living.”

“Hasn’t he been back since he first left home?”

“No.”

“How long ago is that?”

“Oh, ‘bout a year,” answered Peter, carelessly.

“How is Dr. Crawford? Is he in good health?”

“He ain’t very well. Ma told me the other day she didn’t think he would live long. She got him to make a will the other day.”

“Why, this seems to be a conspiracy!” thought Ashcroft. “I’d give something to see that will.”

“I suppose he will provide for you and your mother handsomely?”

“Yes; ma said she was to have control of the property. I guess Carl will have to stand round if he expects any favors.”

“It is evident this boy can’t keep a secret,” thought Ashcroft. “All the better for me. I hope I am in time to defeat this woman’s schemes.”

“There’s the house,” said Peter, pointing it out.

“Do you think Dr. Crawford is at home?”

“Oh, yes, he doesn’t go out much. Ma is away this afternoon. She’s at the sewing circle, I think.”

“Thank you for serving as my guide,” said Ashcroft. “There’s a little acknowledgment which I hope will be of service to you.”

He offered a half dollar to Peter, who accepted it joyfully and was profuse in his thanks.

“Now, if you will be kind enough to tell the doctor that an old friend wishes to see him, I shall be still further obliged.”

“Just follow me, then,” said Peter, and he led the way into the sitting-room.

CHAPTER XXXVIII
Dr. CRAWFORD IS TAKEN TO TASK

After the first greetings, Reuben Ashcroft noticed with pain the fragile look of his friend.

“Are you well?” he asked

“I am not very strong,” said Dr. Crawford, smiling faintly, “but Mrs. Crawford takes good care of me.”

“And Carl, too—he is no doubt a comfort to you?”

Dr. Crawford flushed painfully.

“Carl has been away from home for a year, he said, with an effort.

“That is strange your own son, too! Is there anything unpleasant? You may confide in me, as I am the cousin of Carl’s mother.’

“The fact is, Carl and Mrs. Crawford didn’t hit it off very well.”

“And you took sides against your own son, said Ashcroft, indignantly.

“I begin to think I was wrong, Reuben. You don’t know how I have missed the boy.

“Yet you sent him out into the world without a penny.”

“How do you know that?” asked Dr. Crawford quickly.

“I had a little conversation with your stepson as I came to the house. He spoke very frankly and unreservedly about family affairs; He says you do whatever his mother tells you.”

Dr. Crawford looked annoyed and blushed with shame.

“Did he say that?” he asked.

“Yes; he said his mother would not allow you to help Carl.”

“He—misunderstood.”

“Paul, I fear he understands the case only too well. I don’t want to pain you, but your wife is counting on your speedy death.”

“I told her I didn’t think I should live long.”

“And she got you to make a will?”

“Yes; did Peter tell you that?”

“He said his mother was to have control of the property, and Carl would get nothing if he didn’t act so as to please her.”

“There is some mistake here. By my will—made yesterday—Carl is to have an equal share, and nothing is said about his being dependent on anyone.”

“Who drew up the will?”

“Mrs. Crawford.”

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

Ashcroft looked puzzled.

“I should like to read the will myself,” he said, after a pause. “Where is it now?”

“Mrs. Crawford has charge of it.”

Reuben Ashcroft remained silent, but his mind was busy.

“That woman is a genius of craft,” he said to himself. “My poor friend is but a child in her hands. I did not know Paul would be so pitiably weak.”

“How do you happen to be here in Edgewood, Reuben?” asked the doctor.

“I had a little errand in the next town, and could not resist the temptation of visiting you.”

“You can stay a day or two, can you not?”

“I will, though I had not expected to do so.”

“Mrs. Crawford is away this afternoon. She will be back presently, and then I will introduce you.”

At five o’clock Mrs. Crawford returned, and her husband introduced her to his friend.

Ashcroft fixed his eyes upon her searchingly.

“Her face looks strangely familiar,” he said to himself. “Where can I have seen her?”

Mrs. Crawford, like all persons who have a secret to conceal, was distrustful of strangers. She took an instant dislike to Reuben Ashcroft, and her greeting was exceedingly cold.

“I have invited Mr. Ashcroft to make me a visit of two or three days, my dear,” said her husband. “He is a cousin to Carl’s mother.”

Mrs. Crawford made no response, but kept her eyes fixed upon the carpet. She could not have shown more plainly that the invitation was not approved by her.

“Madam does not want me here,” thought Ashcroft, as he fixed his gaze once more upon his friend’s wife. Again the face looked familiar, but he could not place it.

“Have I not seen you before, Mrs. Crawford?” he asked, abruptly.

“I don’t remember you,” she answered, slowly. “Probably I resemble some one you have met.”

“Perhaps so,” answered Ashcroft, but he could not get rid of the conviction that somewhere and some time in the past he had met Mrs. Crawford, and under circumstances that had fixed her countenance in his memory.

After supper Dr. Crawford said: “My dear, I have told our guest that I had, as a prudential measure, made my will. I wish you would get it, and let me read it to him.”

Mrs. Crawford looked startled and annoyed.

“Couldn’t you tell him the provisions of it?” she said.

“Yes, but I should like to show him the document.”

She turned and went upstairs. She was absent at least ten minutes. When she returned she was empty-handed.

“I am sorry to say,” she remarked, with a forced laugh, “that I have laid away the will so carefully that I can’t find it.”

Ashcroft fixed a searching look upon her, that evidently annoyed her.

“I may be able to find it to-morrow,” she resumed.

“I think you told me, Paul,” said Ashcroft, turning to Dr. Crawford, “that by the will your estate is divided equally between Carl and Mrs. Crawford.”

“Yes.”

“And nothing is said of any guardianship on the part of Mrs. Crawford?”

“No; I think it would be better, Ashcroft, that you should be Carl’s guardian. A man can study his interests and control him better.”

“I will accept the trust,” said Ashcroft, “though I hope it may be many years before the necessity arises.”

Mrs. Crawford bit her lips, and darted an angry glance at the two friends. She foresaw that her plans were threatened with failure.

The two men chatted throughout the evening, and Dr. Crawford had never of late seemed happier. It gave him new life and raised his spirits to chat over old times with his early friend.