Kitabı oku: «Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience», sayfa 3

CHAPTER VII
ENDS IN A TRAGEDY

Carl obtained permission to leave his trunk at the Vance mansion, merely taking out what he absolutely needed for a change.

“When I am settled I will send for it,” he said. “Now I shouldn’t know what to do with it.”

There were cordial good-bys, and Carl started once more on the tramp. He might, indeed, have traveled by rail, for he had ten dollars and thirty-seven cents; but it occurred to him that in walking he might meet with some one who would give him employment. Besides, he was not in a hurry to get on, nor had he any definite destination. The day was fine, there was a light breeze, and he experienced a hopeful exhilaration as he walked lightly on, with the world before him, and any number of possibilities in the way of fortunate adventures that might befall him.

He had walked five miles, when, to the left, he saw an elderly man hard at work in a hay field. He was leaning on his rake, and looking perplexed and troubled. Carl paused to rest, and as he looked over the rail fence, attracted the attention of the farmer.

“I say, young feller, where are you goin’?” he asked.

“I don’t know—exactly.”

“You don’t know where you are goin’?” repeated the farmer, in surprise.

Carl laughed. “I am going out in the world to seek my fortune,” he said.

“You be? Would you like a job?” asked the farmer, eagerly.

“What sort of a job?”

“I’d like to have you help me hayin’. My hired man is sick, and he’s left me in a hole. It’s goin’ to rain, and–”

“Going to rain?” repeated Carl, in surprise, as he looked up at the nearly cloudless sky.

“Yes. It don’t look like it, I know, but old Job Hagar say it’ll rain before night, and what he don’t know about the weather ain’t worth knowin’. I want to get the hay on this meadow into the barn, and then I’ll feel safe, rain or shine.”

“And you want me to help you?”

“Yes; you look strong and hardy.”

“Yes, I am pretty strong,” said Carl, complacently.

“Well, what do you say?”

“All right. I’ll help you.”

Carl gave a spring and cleared the fence, landing in the hay field, having first thrown his valise over.

“You’re pretty spry,” said the farmer. “I couldn’t do that.”

“No, you’re too heavy,” said Carl, smiling, as he noted the clumsy figure of his employer. “Now, what shall I do?”

“Take that rake and rake up the hay. Then we’ll go over to the barn and get the hay wagon.”

“Where is your barn?”

The farmer pointed across the fields to a story-and-a-half farmhouse, and standing near it a good-sized barn, brown from want of paint and exposure to sun and rain. The buildings were perhaps twenty-five rods distant.

“Are you used to hayin’?” asked the farmer.

“Well, no, not exactly; though I’ve handled a rake before.”

Carl’s experience, however, had been very limited. He had, to be sure, had a rake in his hand, but probably he had not worked more than ten minutes at it. However, raking is easily learned, and his want of experience was not detected. He started off with great enthusiasm, but after a while thought it best to adopt the more leisurely movements of the farmer. After two hours his hands began to blister, but still he kept on.

“I have got to make my living by hard work,” he said to himself, “and it won’t do to let such a little thing as a blister interfere.”

When he had been working a couple of hours, he began to feel hungry. His walk, and the work he had been doing, sharpened his appetite till he really felt uncomfortable. It was at this time—just twelve o’clock—that the farmer’s wife came to the front door and blew a fish horn so vigorously that it could probably have been heard half a mile.

“The old woman’s got dinner ready,” said the farmer. “If you don’t mind takin’ your pay in victuals, you can go along home with me, and take a bite.”

“I think I could take two or three, sir.”

“Ho, ho! that’s a good joke! Money’s scarce, and I’d rather pay in victuals, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Do you generally find people willing to work for their board?” asked Carl, who knew that he was being imposed upon.

“Well, I might pay a leetle more. You work for me till sundown, and I’ll give you dinner and supper, and—fifteen cents.”

Carl wanted to laugh. At this rate of compensation he felt that it would take a long time to make a fortune, but he was so hungry that he would have accepted board alone if it had been necessary.

“I agree,” he said. “Shall I leave my rake here?”

“Yes; it’ll be all right.”

“I’ll take along my valise, for I can’t afford to run any risk of losing it.”

“Jest as you say.”

Five minutes brought them to the farmhouse.

“Can I wash my hands?” asked Carl.

“Yes, you can go right to the sink and wash in the tin basin. There’s a roll towel behind the door. Mis’ Perkins”—that was the way he addressed his wife—“this is a young chap that I’ve hired to help me hayin’. You can set a chair for him at the table.”

“All right, Silas. He don’t look very old, though.”

“No, ma’am. I ain’t twenty-one yet,” answered Carl, who was really sixteen.

“I shouldn’t say you was. You ain’t no signs of a mustache.”

“I keep it short, ma’am, in warm weather,” said Carl.

“It don’t dull a razor any to cut it in cold weather, does it?” asked the farmer, chuckling at his joke.

“Well, no, sir; I can’t say it does.”

It was a boiled dinner that the farmer’s wife provided, corned beef and vegetables, but the plebeian meal seemed to Carl the best he ever ate. Afterwards there was apple pudding, to which he did equal justice.

“I never knew work improved a fellow’s appetite so,” reflected the young traveler. “I never ate with so much relish at home.”

After dinner they went back to the field and worked till the supper hour, five o’clock. By that time all the hay had been put into the barn.

“We’ve done a good day’s work,” said the farmer, in a tone of satisfaction, “and only just in time. Do you see that dark cloud?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In half an hour there’ll be rain, or I’m mistaken. Old Job Hagar is right after all.”

The farmer proved a true prophet. In half an hour, while they were at the supper table, the rain began to come down in large drops—forming pools in the hollows of the ground, and drenching all exposed objects with the largesse of the heavens.

“Where war you a-goin’ to-night?” asked the farmer.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I was thinkin’ that I’d give you a night’s lodgin’ in place of the fifteen cents I agreed to pay you. Money’s very skeerce with me, and will be till I’ve sold off some of the crops.”

“I shall be glad to make that arrangement,” said Carl, who had been considering how much the farmer would ask for lodging, for there seemed small chance of continuing his journey. Fifteen cents was a lower price than he had calculated on.

“That’s a sensible idea!” said the farmer, rubbing his hands with satisfaction at the thought that he had secured valuable help at no money outlay whatever.

The next morning Carl continued his tramp, refusing the offer of continued employment on the same terms. He was bent on pursuing his journey, though he did not know exactly where he would fetch up in the end.

At twelve o’clock that day he found himself in the outskirts of a town, with the same uncomfortable appetite that he had felt the day before, but with no hotel or restaurant anywhere near. There was, however, a small house, the outer door of which stood conveniently open. Through the open window, Carl saw a table spread as if for dinner, and he thought it probable that he could arrange to become a boarder for a single meal. He knocked at the door, but no one came. He shouted out: “Is anybody at home?” and received no answer. He went to a small barn just outside and peered in, but no one was to be seen.

What should he do? He was terribly hungry, and the sight of the food on the table was tantalizing.

“I’ll go in, as the door is open,” he decided, “and sit down to the table and eat. Somebody will be along before I get through, and I’ll pay whatever is satisfactory, for eat I must.”

He entered, seated himself, and ate heartily. Still no one appeared.

“I don’t want to go off without paying,” thought Carl. “I’ll see if I can find somebody.”

He opened the door into the kitchen, but it was deserted. Then he opened that of a small bedroom, and started back in terror and dismay.

There suspended from a hook—a man of middle age was hanging, with his head bent forward, his eyes wide open, and his tongue protruding from his mouth!

CHAPTER VIII
CARL FALLS UNDER SUSPICION

To a person of any age such a sight as that described at the close of the last chapter might well have proved startling. To a boy like Carl it was simply overwhelming. It so happened that he had but twice seen a dead person, and never a victim of violence. The peculiar circumstances increased the effect upon his mind.

He placed his hand upon the man’s face, and found that he was still warm. He could have been dead but a short time.

“What shall I do?” thought Carl, perplexed. “This is terrible!”

Then it flashed upon him that as he was alone with the dead man suspicion might fall upon him as being concerned in what might be called a murder.

“I had better leave here at once,” he reflected. “I shall have to go away without paying for my meal.”

He started to leave the house, but had scarcely reached the door when two persons—a man and a woman—entered. Both looked at Carl with suspicion.

“What are you doing here?” asked the man.

“I beg your pardon,” answered Carl; “I was very hungry, and seeing no one about, took the liberty to sit down at the table and eat. I am willing to pay for my dinner if you will tell me how much it amounts to.”

“Wasn’t my husband here?” asked the woman.

“I—I am afraid something has happened to your husband,” faltered Carl.

“What do you mean?”

Carl silently pointed to the chamber door. The woman opened it, and uttered a loud shriek.

“Look here, Walter!” she cried.

Her companion quickly came to her side.

“My husband is dead!” cried the woman; “basely murdered, and there,” pointing fiercely to Carl, “there stands the murderer!”

“Madam, you cannot believe this!” said Carl, naturally agitated.

“What have you to say for yourself?” demanded the man, suspiciously.

“I only just saw—your husband,” continued Carl, addressing himself to the woman. “I had finished my meal, when I began to search for some one whom I could pay, and so opened this door into the room beyond, when I saw—him hanging there!”

“Don’t believe him, the red-handed murderer!” broke out the woman, fiercely. “He is probably a thief; he killed my poor husband, and then sat down like a cold-blooded villain that he is, and gorged himself.”

Things began to look very serious for poor Carl.

“Your husband is larger and stronger than myself,” he urged, desperately. “How could I overpower him?”

“It looks reasonable, Maria,” said the man. “I don’t see how the boy could have killed Mr. Brown, or lifted him upon the hook, even if he did not resist.”

“He murdered him, I tell you, he murdered him!” shrieked the woman, who seemed bereft of reason. “I call upon you to arrest him.”

“I am not a constable, Maria.”

“Then tie him so he cannot get away, and go for a constable. I wouldn’t feel safe with him in the house, unless he were tied fast. He might hang me!”

Terrible as the circumstances were, Carl felt an impulse to laugh. It seemed absurd to hear himself talked of in this way.

“Tie me if you like!” he said. “I am willing to wait here till some one comes who has a little common sense. Just remember that I am only a boy, and haven’t the strength of a full-grown man!”

“The boy is right, Maria! It’s a foolish idea of yours.”

“I call upon you to tie the villain!” insisted the woman.

“Just as you say! Can you give me some rope?”

From a drawer Mrs. Brown drew a quantity of strong cord, and the man proceeded to tie Carl’s hands.

“Tie his feet, too, Walter!”

“Even if you didn’t tie me, I would promise to remain here. I don’t want anybody to suspect me of such a thing,” put in Carl.

“How artful he is!” said Mrs. Brown. “Tie him strong, Walter.”

The two were left alone, Carl feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The newly-made widow laid her head upon the table and moaned, glancing occasionally at the body of her husband, as it still hung suspended from the hook.

“Oh, William, I little expected to find you dead!” she groaned. “I only went to the store to buy a pound of salt, and when I come back, I find you cold and still, the victim of a young ruffian! How could you be so wicked?” she demanded fiercely of Carl.

“I have told you that I had nothing to do with your husband’s death, madam.”

“Who killed him, then?” she cried.

“I don’t know. He must have committed suicide.”

“Don’t think you are going to escape in that way. I won’t rest till I see you hung!”

“I wish I had never entered the house,” thought Carl, uncomfortably. “I would rather have gone hungry for twenty four hours longer than find myself in such a position.”

Half an hour passed. Then a sound of voices was heard outside, and half a dozen men entered, including besides the messenger, the constable and a physician.

“Why was he not cut down?” asked the doctor, hastily. “There might have been a chance to resuscitate him.”

“I didn’t think of it,” said the messenger. “Maria was so excited, and insisted that the boy murdered him.”

“What boy?”

Carl was pointed out.

“That boy? What nonsense!” exclaimed Dr. Park. “Why, it would be more than you or I could do to overpower and hang a man weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds.”

“That’s what I thought, but Maria seemed crazed like.”

“I tell you he did it! Are you going to let him go, the red-handed murderer?”

“Loose the cord, and I will question the boy,” said Dr. Park, with an air of authority.

Carl breathed a sigh of relief, when, freed from his bonds, he stood upright.

“I’ll tell you all I know,” he said, “but it won’t throw any light upon the death.”

Dr. Park listened attentively, and asked one or two questions.

“Did you hear any noise when you were sitting at the table?” he inquired.

“No, sir.”

“Was the door closed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That of itself would probably prevent your hearing anything. Mrs. Brown, at what hour did you leave the house?”

“At ten minutes of twelve.”

“It is now five minutes of one. The deed must have been committed just after you left the house. Had you noticed anything out of the way in your—husband’s manner?”

“No, sir, not much. He was always a silent man.”

“Had anything happened to disturb him?”

“He got a letter this morning. I don’t know what was in it.”

“We had better search for it.”

The body was taken down and laid on the bed. Dr. Park searched the pockets, and found a half sheet of note paper, on which these lines were written:

“Maria:—I have made up my mind I can ive no longer. I have made a terrible discovery. When I married you, I thought my first wife, who deserted me four years ago, dead. I learn by a letter received this morning that she is still living in a town of Illinois. The only thing I can do is to free you both from my presence. When you come back from the store you will find me cold and dead. The little that I leave behind I give to you. If my first wife should come here, as she threatens, you can tell her so. Good-by.

“William.”

The reading of this letter made a sensation. Mrs. Brown went into hysterics, and there was a scene of confusion.

“Do you think I can go?” Carl asked Dr. Park.

“Yes. There is nothing to connect you with the sad event.”

Carl gladly left the cottage, and it was only when he was a mile on his way that he remembered that he had not paid for his dinner, after all.

CHAPTER IX
A PLAUSIBLE STRANGER

Three days later found Carl still on his travels. It was his custom to obtain his meals at a cheap hotel, or, if none were met with, at a farmhouse, and to secure lodgings where he could, and on as favorable terms as possible. He realized the need of economy, and felt that he was practicing it. He had changed his ten-dollar bill the first day, for a five and several ones. These last were now spent, and the five-dollar bill alone remained to him. He had earned nothing, though everywhere he had been on the lookout for a job.

Toward the close of the last day he overtook a young man of twenty-five, who was traveling in the same direction.

“Good-afternoon,” said the young man, sociably.

“Good-afternoon, sir.”

“Where are you bound, may I ask?”

“To the next town.”

“Fillmore?”

“Yes, if that is the name.”

“So am I. Why shouldn’t we travel together?”

“I have no objection,” said Carl, who was glad of company.

“Are you in any business?”

“No, but I hope to find a place.”

“Oh, a smart boy like you will soon find employment.”

“I hope so, I am sure. I haven’t much money left, and it is necessary I should do something.”

“Just so. I am a New York salesman, but just now I am on my vacation—taking a pedestrian tour with knapsack and staff, as you see. The beauty of it is that my salary runs on just as if I were at my post, and will nearly pay all my traveling expenses.”

“You are in luck. Besides you have a good place to go back to. There isn’t any vacancy, is there? You couldn’t take on a boy?” asked Carl, eagerly.

“Well, there might be a chance,” said the young man, slowly. “You haven’t any recommendations with you, have you?”

“No; I have never been employed.”

“It doesn’t matter. I will recommend you myself.”

“You might be deceived in me,” said Carl, smiling.

“I’ll take the risk of that. I know a reliable boy when I see him.”

“Thank you. What is the name of your firm?”

“F. Brandes & Co., commission merchants, Pearl Street. My own name is Chauncy Hubbard, at your service.”

“I am Carl Crawford.”

“That’s a good name. I predict that we shall be great chums, if I manage to get you a place in our establishment.”

“Is Mr. Brandes a good man to work for?”

“Yes, he is easy and good-natured. He is liberal to his clerks. What salary do you think I get?”

“I couldn’t guess.”

“Forty dollars a week, and I am only twenty-five. Went into the house at sixteen, and worked my way up.”

“You have certainly done well,” said Carl, respectfully.

“Well, I’m no slouch, if I do say it myself.”

“I don’t wonder your income pays the expenses of your vacation trip.”

“It ought to, that’s a fact, though I’m rather free handed and like to spend money. My prospects are pretty good in another direction. Old Fred Brandes has a handsome daughter, who thinks considerable of your humble servant.”

“Do you think there is any chance of marrying her?” asked Carl, with interest.

“I think my chance is pretty good, as the girl won’t look at anybody else.”

“Is Mr. Brandes wealthy?”

“Yes, the old man’s pretty well fixed, worth nearly half a million, I guess.”

“Perhaps he will take you into the firm,” suggested Carl.

“Very likely. That’s what I’m working for.”

“At any rate, you ought to save something out of your salary.”

“I ought, but I haven’t. The fact is, Carl,” said Chauncy Hubbard, in a burst of confidence, “I have a great mind to make a confession to you.”

“I shall feel flattered, I am sure,” said Carl, politely.

“I have one great fault—I gamble.”

“Do you?” said Carl, rather startled, for he had been brought up very properly to have a horror of gambling.

“Yes, I suppose it’s in my blood. My father was a very rich man at one time, but he lost nearly all his fortune at the gaming table.”

“That ought to have been a warning to you, I should think.”

“It ought, and may be yet, for I am still a young man.”

“Mr. Hubbard,” said Carl, earnestly, “I feel rather diffident about advising you, for I am only a boy, but I should think you would give up such a dangerous habit.”

“Say no more, Carl! You are a true friend. I will try to follow your advice. Give me your hand.”

Carl did so, and felt a warm glow of pleasure at the thought that perhaps he had redeemed his companion from a fascinating vice.

“I really wish I had a sensible boy like you to be my constant companion. I should feel safer.”

“Do you really have such a passion for gambling, then?”

“Yes; if at the hotel to-night I should see a party playing poker, I could not resist joining them. Odd, isn’t it?”

“I am glad I have no such temptation.”

“Yes, you are lucky. By the way, how much money have you about you?”

“Five dollars.”

“Then you can do me a favor. I have a ten-dollar bill, which I need to get me home. Now, I would like to have you keep a part of it for me till I go away in the morning. Give me your five, and I will hand you ten. Out of that you can pay my hotel bill and hand me the balance due me in the morning.”

“If you really wish me to do so.”

“Enough said. Here is the ten.”

Carl took the bill, and gave Mr. Hubbard his five-dollar note.

“You are placing considerable confidence in me,” he said.

“I am, it is true, but I have no fear of being deceived. You are a boy who naturally inspires confidence.”

Carl thought Mr. Chauncy Hubbard a very agreeable and sensible fellow, and he felt flattered to think that the young man had chosen him as a guardian, so to speak.

“By the way, Carl, you haven’t told me,” said Hubbard, as they pursued their journey, “how a boy like yourself is forced to work his own way.”

“I can tell you the reason very briefly—I have a stepmother.”

“I understand. Is your father living?”

“Yes.”

“But he thinks more of the stepmother than of you?”

“I am afraid he does.”

“You have my sympathy, Carl. I will do all I can to help you. If you can only get a place in our establishment, you will be all right. Step by step you will rise, till you come to stand where I do.”

“That would satisfy me. Has Mr. Brandes got another daughter?”

“No, there is only one.”

“Then I shall have to be content with the forty dollars a week. If I ever get it, I will save half.”

“I wish I could.”

“You can if you try. Why, you might have two thousand dollars saved up now, if you had only begun to save in time.”

“I have lost more than that at the gaming table. You will think me very foolish.”

“Yes, I do,” said Carl, frankly.

“You are right. But here we are almost at the village.”

“Is there a good hotel?”

“Yes—the Fillmore. We will take adjoining rooms if you say so.”

“Very well.”

“And in the morning you will pay the bill?”

“Certainly.”

The two travelers had a good supper, and retired early, both being fatigued with the journey. It was not till eight o’clock the next morning that Carl opened his eyes. He dressed hastily, and went down to breakfast. He was rather surprised not to see his companion of the day before.

“Has Mr. Hubbard come down yet?” he asked at the desk.

“Yes; he took an early breakfast, and went off by the first train.”

“That is strange. I was to pay his bill.”

“He paid it himself.”

Carl did not know what to make of this. Had Hubbard forgotten that he had five dollars belonging to him? Fortunately, Carl had his city address, and could refund the money in New York.

“Very well! I will pay my own bill. How much is it?”

“A dollar and a quarter.”

Carl took the ten-dollar bill from his wallet and tendered it to the clerk.

Instead of changing it at once, the clerk held it up to the light and examined it critically.

“I can’t take that bill,” he said, abruptly.

“Why not?”

“Because it is counterfeit.”

Carl turned pale, and the room seemed to whirl round. It was all the money he had.