Kitabı oku: «Grit», sayfa 7

CHAPTER XXI.
MR. BRANDON LOSES HIS SUPPER

When Brandon and Travers had discussed the plan, and decided to accept the terms offered by Colonel Johnson, the latter, looking cautiously about, inquired:

"Where's the boy?"

"Out with the boat, I expect," said Brandon.

"He's a little ruffian. I never saw such a desperate boy of his age."

"He managed you neatly," said Brandon, with a smile.

"Pooh!" returned Travers, who did not like the allusion. "I didn't want to hurt the boy."

"He didn't want to harm you," said Brandon, with an exasperating smile.

"I could wind him round my finger," said Travers disdainfully. "You don't think I'm afraid of that half-grown cub, I hope."

Grit heard this, and smiled to himself at the evident annoyance of Travers.

"As to winding me round his finger," thought the young boatman, "I may have something to say about that."

Brandon did not continue his raillery, not wishing to provoke the friend who had secured him participation in so profitable a job.

"Where's the old lady?" asked Travers, with a glance toward the staircase.

"I believe she's gone out, but I'll see."

Brandon went to the foot of the stairs, and called:

"Mrs. B.!"

There was no response.

"Yes, she's gone, and the coast is clear. Where are you staying, Travers?"

"I s'pose I'll have to stay at the hotel, unless you can provide for me here."

"You'd better go to the tavern, for there might be trouble about keepin' you here. Mrs. B. and the boy don't like you."

"I thought you were master of the house," said Travers, with mild sarcasm.

"So I am," answered Brandon, a little embarrassed, "but I don't want to be in hot water all the time."

"You don't want me to stay to supper, I reckon."

"Well, I guess not to-night. Fact is, I don't know when we shall have supper. Mrs. B. ought to be here gettin' it ready."

"Come out and have a walk, Brandon. I will introduce you to Colonel Johnson, and we can talk this thing over."

"All right. That'll take up the time till supper."

The two men walked over to the tavern, and Colonel Johnson walked out with them. They had a conference together, but it is not necessary to give the details here.

A little after six o'clock Brandon directed his steps homeward.

"I'll be a little late to supper," he said to himself, "but Mrs. B. will save some for me. I feel confoundedly hungry. Must be in the air. There's nothing like country air to give a man a good appetite."

Brandon opened the door of the cottage, and went in. All was quiet and solitary, as he had left it.

"Well. I'll be blowed!" he ejaculated. "What does all this mean? Where's Mrs. B., and where's supper?"

He sat down, and looked about him in surprise and bewilderment.

"What has become of Mrs. B.?" he thought. "She hasn't gone and left me, just when I've come home after an absence of five years? That boy can't have carried her off, can he?"

Brandon did not have long to debate this question in his own mind, for the door opened, and Grit and his mother entered. Brandon was relieved, but he could not forbear expressing his vexation.

"Well, Mrs. B.," he said, "this I call pretty goings on. Are you aware that it is nearly seven o'clock, ma'am?"

"I supposed it was," answered his wife quietly.

"And you've left me to starve here, ma'am! This is a strange time for supper."

"We've had supper," answered Grit coolly.

"Had supper!" ejaculated Brandon, looking about him. "I don't see any signs of supper."

"You won't see any signs of it here," continued Grit.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that mother and I have engaged board at Mrs. Sprague's. We have just had supper there."

"You have! Well, that's a new start. It doesn't matter much, though. I'll go over and get mine."

"We haven't made any arrangements for you," said Grit. "I shall pay for mother's board and mine. You can make any bargain you like for your board."

"Well, if that isn't the meanest treatment I ever received!" exclaimed Brandon, in wrath and disgust. "You actually begrudge me the little I eat, and turn me adrift in the cold world!"

"That's one way of looking at it, Mr. Brandon," said Grit. "Here's the other: You are a strong man, in good health, and able to work. Most men in your position expect to support a family, but you come to live upon my earnings, and expect me not only to provide you with board, but with money for the purpose of drink. That isn't all! You bring home one of your disreputable companions, and expect us to provide for him, too. Now, I am willing to work for mother, and consider it a privilege to do so, but I can't do any more. If you don't choose to contribute to the support of the family, you must at least take care of yourself. I am not going to do it."

"How hard and unfeeling you are, Grit!" said Brandon, in the tone of a martyr. "After all I have suffered in the last five years you treat me like this."

"As to the last five years, Mr. Brandon," said Grit, "I should think you would hardly care to refer to them. It was certainly your own fault that you were not as free as I am."

"I was a victim of circumstances," whined Brandon.

"We won't discuss that," said Grit. "You had a fair trial, and were sentenced to five years' imprisonment. About the unkindness. I should like to know what you think of a man who deliberately takes away the means of earning a living from his stepson, who is filling his place, and supporting his family, in order to gratify his miserable love of drink."

"You drove me to it, Grit."

"How did I drive you to it?"

"You would not give me from your overflowing hoards, when I felt sick and in need of a mild stimulus. You had sixty dollars, and would not spare me one."

"So you sold my boat for half price, and squandered nearly the whole proceeds in one forenoon!" exclaimed Grit scornfully. "Mr. Brandon, your reasoning is altogether too thin. We have decided to leave you to support yourself as you can."

Here the glowing prospects offered by the plan suggested by Colonel Johnson occurred to Brandon, and his tone changed.

"You may find you have made a mistake, Grit, you and Mrs. B.," said Brandon pompously. "You have snubbed and illtreated me because you looked upon me as a poor, destitute, friendless man. It's the way of the world! But you may regret it, and that very soon. What will you say when I tell you that I have a chance to earn five thousand dollars in the next five days, eh?"

Mrs. Brandon looked surprised, for Grit had not thought it wise to confide to his mother what he had heard of the conversation between Travers and his stepfather. Grit, on the other hand, was immediately interested, for the compensation offered was one of the things he had not overheard.

"Five thousand dollars!" he repeated, appearing to be surprised.

"Yes, five thousand dollars!" repeated Brandon complacently. "That's a thousand dollars a day! Perhaps you won't be so anxious to get rid of me when I am worth my thousands."

"That's pretty good pay," said Grit quietly. "What have you got to do?"

"That would be telling," said Brandon cunningly. "It's a joint speculation of my friend Travers and myself—my friend Travers, whom you treated so badly. It's he that's brought me this fine offer, and you insult and order him out of the house. You were just as bad as Grit, Mrs. B."

"You are welcome to all you make, Mr. Brandon," said Grit. "Neither my mother nor myself will ask a penny of the handsome sum you expect to make. You can spend it all on yourself if you like. All we ask is, that you will take care of yourself, and leave us alone."

"I mean to do so," said Brandon independently, "but, as I shan't get the money for three or four days, I should like to borrow five dollars, and I'll repay you double within a week."

"That's a very generous offer," said Grit, "but I don't lend without better security."

"Isn't there anything to eat in the house, Mrs. B.?" asked Brandon, changing the subject. "I'm famished."

"You will find some cold meat, and bread, and butter in the pantry."

Brandon went to the pantry, and satisfied his appetite as well as he could. He then went out, and Grit soon followed.

"Mother," he said, "I have an important call to make, but will be back soon."

It will be remembered that Mr. Courtney had formerly been president of the bank, but proving unpopular in consequence of his disposition to manage it in his own interest, Mr. Philo Graves, a manufacturer, was put in his place. To the house of Mr. Graves Grit directed his steps.

CHAPTER XXII.
BANK OFFICIALS IN COUNCIL

Mr. Graves was at home, but he was not alone. Mr. Courtney had dropped in, and as he was still a director of the bank, it was natural that the conversation should turn upon affairs of the bank in which he and Mr. Graves had a common interest. Though no longer president, Mr. Courtney was still anxious to control the affairs of the bank, and to make it of as much service to himself as possible. He had recently become interested in certain speculative securities, through a firm of Wall Street brokers, and finding himself rather cramped for money, desired to obtain a loan on them from the bank. To this end he had sought a preliminary interview with Mr. Graves, previous to making a formal application to the full board of directors.

"You are aware, Mr. Courtney," said the president, "that to grant your request would be contrary to the general usage of the bank."

"I ought to know the usage of the bank, having served as president for three years," said Mr. Courtney. "In my time such loans were made."

Mr. Graves was aware of this, but he was also aware that such loans had been made on the former president's sole authority, and either to himself or some one of his friends, and that it was on account of this very circumstance that he had been removed from office.

"I know that such loans were made, but I am equally certain that such a course would not meet the approval of the directors."

"But," insinuated Mr. Courtney, "if you openly favored it, and my vote as director was given, we could probably influence enough other votes to accomplish our object."

"I cannot say whether this would or would not follow," said Mr. Graves, "but I am bound to say for myself that I cannot recommend, or vote for, granting such a loan."

"Perhaps you think I am not responsible," said Mr. Courtney, irritated.

"I presume you are, but that ought not to be considered, when the question is about violating our fixed usage."

"It seems to me, considering my official connection with the bank, that a point might be strained in my favor."

"That is not my view, Mr. Courtney; although I am now president, I should not care to ask any special favor of the bank. I prefer to be treated like any other customer."

Mr. Courtney mentally voted Graves slow and behind the times. In his views, one great advantage of holding a high financial position was to favor himself and his own interests, without special regard to the welfare of the corporation or stockholders.

"You wouldn't find many bank presidents agree with you, Mr. Graves," said Courtney impatiently.

"I am sorry to hear it," returned the president gravely. "It seems to me that I owe a duty to the stockholders of the bank which ought to override any personal considerations."

"You are very quixotic in your ideas," said Courtney coldly.

"I am sure I am right, at any rate," returned Graves firmly.

"I consider your refusal unfriendly—nay, more, I think it is calculated to throw suspicion on my financial position."

"Not at all. I have no reason to doubt your financial stability, and as to the unkindness, when I distinctly state that I would not ask such a favor for myself, you will see that I am disposed to treat you as well as myself."

"It may be so," sneered Courtney, "but I presume you are not at present in need of a personal loan, and—circumstances alter cases, you know."

"If you mean that I shall at any future time ask favors for myself, which, I am not disposed to grant to you, you are mistaken," said the president.

"My financial position is as strong as yours," said Courtney rather irrelevantly.

"Very probably you are a richer man than I am, but as I said, that is not in question."

At this point a servant entered, and said to the president:

"Mr. Graves, there is a boy outside who says he wants to see you."

"What boy is it?"

"Grit Morris."

"Very well; you can bring him in."

"The young boatman," said Courtney contemptuously. "I wouldn't allow a boy like that to take up my time."

"He may have something of importance to communicate. Besides, I don't set so high a value on my time."

This will illustrate the difference between the two men. Mr. Graves was pleasant and affable to all, while Mr. Courtney was stiff, and apparently always possessed of a high idea of his own importance and dignity. In this respect, his son Phil was his counterpart.

Into the presence of these two gentlemen Grit was admitted.

"Good morning, Grit," said the president pleasantly. "Take a seat. Margaret tells me you wish to see me."

"Yes, sir, I wish to see you on a matter of importance."

"Perhaps he wants a loan from the bank," suggested Mr. Courtney scornfully.

"If Grit wanted a loan, he would not need to apply to the bank," said Mr. Graves, in a friendly manner. "I would lend him, myself."

"Thank you, Mr. Graves," said Grit gratefully, "but I don't wish any loan for myself. My business relates to the bank, however."

Both gentlemen were rather surprised to hear this. They could not understand what business Grit could have with the bank.

"Go on, Grit," said Mr. Graves. "Mr. Courtney is one of our directors, so that you may speak freely before him."

"I understand," commenced Grit, coming at once to the point, "that you are intending to send up thirty thousand dollars in government bonds to the Merchants' Bank, in Boston."

Mr. Graves and Mr. Courtney looked at each other in surprise. This was a bank secret, and such matters were generally kept very close with them.

"How did you learn this?" asked the president, in surprise, "and if so, what can you have to say in regard to it?"

"Perhaps he wants to be the messenger," said Mr. Courtney, with a derisive smile.

Grit took no notice of this, for his mind was occupied with the plan of the would-be robbers.

"I will tell you at once," he said. "There is a plan to waylay the messenger, and relieve him of the bonds."

Here was a fresh surprise. Mr. Graves began to find Grit's communication of absorbing interest.

"How do you know this?" he asked cautiously.

"Because I overheard the robbers discussing their plan."

"You say the robbers. Then there are more than one?"

"Yes, there are two."

"Are you willing to tell me who they are, Grit?"

"That is what I came to tell you. I am sorry to say that one is my stepfather, as I am obliged to call him, Mr. Brandon."

"Mr. Brandon? I thought he was–" Here Mr. Graves paused, out of delicacy.

"He has been in prison until a few days since," said Grit, understanding what the president of the bank intended to say, "but now he is free."

"And where is he?"

"He is living at our house. Since he got back, he has given my mother and myself a great deal of trouble. Not content with living on us, he has spent what money he could get at the tavern, and because I would give him no more, he sold my boat without my knowledge."

"That was bad, Grit. To whom did he sell it?" asked Mr. Graves.

"To Mr. Courtney's son Phil!" answered Grit.

"My son's name is Philip," said Mr. Courtney stiffly.

"We boys generally call him Phil," said Grit, smiling. "However, that doesn't matter."

"My son had a right to purchase the boat," said Mr. Courtney.

"I have nothing to say as to that, at any rate now," returned Grit. "I only mention it to show how Mr. Brandon has treated us."

"Who was the other conspirator, Grit?" asked Graves.

"A companion of Mr. Brandon's, named Travers. I understand they are to be employed by a third person, now staying at the hotel, a man named Johnson."

"One thing more, Grit, how did you come to hear of their plan?"

Grit answered this question fully. He related how he had overheard the conference between his stepfather and Travers in the afternoon.

"This information is of great importance, Grit," said the president. "If, as you say, there are three conspirators, there would be a very good chance of their succeeding in overpowering any messenger, and abstracting the bonds. As it happens, the bonds do not belong to the bank, but to an individual depositor, but it would be very unpleasant and mortifying to have them taken from our messenger. It might lead to a supposition on the part of some that we didn't keep our secrets well, but suffered a matter as important as this to become known outside. Mr. Courtney, what would you advise to be done in such an emergency?"

Courtney always looked important when his advice was asked, and answered promptly:

"It is a very simple matter. Put the messenger on his guard. Supply him with a revolver, if need be, and if he is on the watch he can't be robbed."

Mr. Graves looked thoughtful, and appeared to be turning over this advice in his mind.

"If Mr. Courtney will excuse me," Grit said, "I think there is a better plan than that."

Courtney's lip curled.

"Ask the boy's advice, by all means, Mr. Graves," he said, with a palpable sneer. "It must be very valuable, considering his experience and knowledge of the world."

CHAPTER XXIII.
GRIT GIVES IMPORTANT ADVICE

"Let me hear your idea, Grit," said Mr. Graves courteously.

"I have little experience or knowledge of the world," said Grit, "as Mr. Courtney says, or means to say, but it occurs to me to ask whether you have full confidence in your messenger?"

"Of course we have," said Mr. Courtney. "What foolish idea have you got in your head?"

"Tell me why this question occurs to you, Grit?" asked the president.

"I thought it possible that this Colonel Johnson, who employs the conspirators, as you call them, may have learned from the messenger that he was to be entrusted with a valuable package of bonds."

"Why on earth should the messenger reveal this news to a stranger?" demanded Mr. Courtney sharply.

"Because," said Grit quietly, not allowing himself to be disturbed by the sneering tone of the ex-president, "he might be well paid for doing so."

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Courtney, but the president of the bank said thoughtfully:

"There may be something in that."

"I am sure the messenger is faithful," asserted Mr. Courtney positively, but it may be remarked that his confidence sprang rather from a desire to discredit Grit's suggestion than from any real belief in the integrity of the bank messenger.

"It isn't best to take this integrity for granted in a matter where a mistake would subject us to serious loss," observed President Graves. "I hope he is reliable, but I do not shut my eyes to the fact that such a price as he might demand for conniving with these conspirators would be a strong temptation to a poor man like Ephraim Carver."

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Courtney. "For my part I am free to confess that I attach very little importance to the astounding discovery of this young man, who knows a good deal more, I presume, about managing a boat than managing a bank."

"You are right there, Mr. Courtney," said Grit good-naturedly. "I don't want Mr. Graves to attach any more importance to my suggestion than he thinks it deserves."

"Whatever your suggestion may be worth, Grit," said the president of the bank, "there can be no doubt that you have brought me news of great importance. I shall not forget the obligation the bank is under to you."

Mr. Courtney shrugged his shoulders.

"The story looks to me very improbable," he said. "If I were still president of the bank, I should probably dismiss it as an idle fabrication."

"Then, Mr. Courtney," said Mr. Graves emphatically, "permit me to say that you would be wanting in your duty to the bank and its interests."

"I understand the duties of a bank president at least as well as you, Mr. Graves," said Mr. Courtney stiffly. "After that remark you will not be surprised if I bid you good evening."

"Good evening!" said the president quietly, not attempting to call back or placate the offended director.

"Perhaps I had better go, too," said Grit, rising from his chair.

"No, Grit, stay a few minutes longer; I wish to inquire further into this affair."

"Certainly, Mr. Graves, I will stay, with pleasure."

Mr. Courtney heard this fragment of conversation, and it led him to say with pointed sarcasm, as he stood with the knob of the door in his hand:

"Perhaps I had better resign my position, and suggest this young boatman as bank director in my place."

"I doubt whether Grit would consider himself competent to discharge the duties of a director," said Mr. Graves, smiling. "It may come in time."

Mr. Courtney shut the door hastily, and left the room.

"Mr. Courtney is rather a peculiar man; you needn't mind him, Grit," said Mr. Graves, when the ruffled director was gone.

"He doesn't like me very much, nor Phil, either," said Grit. "It is lucky you are president of the bank now, and not he, for there is no humbug about the news I bring you."

"I consider it highly important," said Mr. Graves, "as I have already stated. I am a little puzzled as to what I ought to do in the matter. As you say, the messenger himself may be in the plot. By the way, what put that idea into your head?"

"I didn't know how otherwise Colonel Johnson could have learned about the bonds being sent up to Boston."

"Frequently the messenger himself is ignorant of the service he is to render, but in this particular instance it happened that I told Mr. Carver that I should have occasion to send him to Boston this week, and for what purpose."

"I am sorry that one who is in any way connected with our family should be concerned in such a plot," said Grit.

"Of course; that is natural. Still, you did your duty in telling me of it. Whatever consequences may follow, you have done right."

"I can't take much credit to myself for that," said Grit, "since I don't like Mr. Brandon, and it would be a great relief both to my mother and myself if he were away."

"As I have already consulted you on this matter, Grit," said the bank president, after a pause, "I am disposed to consult you further. Have you any advice to offer as to the best course to pursue?"

"Yes, sir," answered Grit. "As long as you don't think it presumption in me, I will tell you of a plan I thought of as I was coming here. In the first place, I would send the messenger as usual, without letting him know that he was suspected."

"But that would involve risks, wouldn't it Grit," objected Mr. Graves. "We can't afford to lose the bonds."

"I did not intend that he should carry the bonds," continued Grit. "I would make up a parcel, filled with old papers, of about the same size, and let him think he was carrying the bonds."

"So far, so good, but what of the bonds? They would still be here, when we want them delivered in Boston."

"I have thought of that," said Grit promptly. "Either a little before or a little afterward, I would send them by another messenger."

"Good, Grit! You're a trump!" said the banker, his face lighting up. "It's a capital plan. But one thing you have forgotten. We shall not in this way ascertain whether the messenger is in collusion with the conspirators—that is, not necessarily."

"I think you can, sir. As I understand, this is the way in which the theft will be accomplished: The conspirators will make up a bundle of the same shape as the messenger's, and slyly substitute it at some point on the route. They will not openly rob him, for there will be no chance of doing so without attracting attention."

"If the messenger is careful, they could not easily substitute a false for the true package."

"That is true, and that is the reason why I think the messenger is in league with them. If he is careless, the change can easily be made. I understand Brandon and Travers are to receive five thousand dollars each for their services, and Colonel Johnson may, perhaps, have offered the same sum to Mr. Carver."

"It would be a great temptation to a man employed on a small salary like Carver," said Mr. Graves thoughtfully.

"What do you think of my plan, Mr. Graves?" asked Grit.

"I think it a capital one. I shall adopt it in every detail. The only thing that remains is to decide whom to employ to carry the genuine package of bonds to Boston. Do you think of any one?"

Grit shook his head.

"No, sir, I don't know of any one."

"I do," said the president.

"Who is it?" asked Grit, with considerable curiosity.

"I mean to send you!" answered Mr. Graves.