Rupert's Ambition
"One thing I must tell you. You will have to secure a room outside, as the employees are not expected to sleep in the hotel. All the rooms are reserved for guests."
"What will my hours be?"
"From seven in the morning till seven in the evening. By this arrangement you will have your evenings to yourself."
Rupert went to bed in good spirits. He was of an active temperament, and enjoyed occupation. It would be pleasant to him also to feel that he was earning his own living.
In the morning Mr. Sylvester went down town with him.
The Somerset House was a hotel of moderate size, only five stories in height, which is low for a city hotel. I may as well say here that I have not given the correct name of the hotel for obvious reasons. So far as our story is concerned, the name I have chosen will do as well as any other.
"Those who frequent this hotel are not of the fashionable class," explained Mr. Sylvester, "but it is largely patronized by traveling salesmen and people from the country. The rates are moderate, and those come here who would not feel able to afford the Fifth Avenue or hotels of that grade."
The entrance was neat, and Rupert was well pleased with the aspect of his new place of employment.
At some distance from the doorway was the office, and behind the reading room.
"Mr. Malcolm," said Sylvester to a pleasant-looking man of thirty-five, who stood behind a counter, "this is the young man I mentioned to you. He will be glad to fill the position of bell-boy, and from my acquaintance with him I feel quite sure he will suit you. His name is Rupert Rollins."
The clerk smiled pleasantly.
"We shall soon know each other better," he said. "I hope you are strong, for you will have a good deal of exercise here."
"I think I can stand it," said Rupert. "I shall soon get used to it."
"I have a plan of the rooms here," went on the clerk. "Take it and go upstairs and look about you on the different floors. It will be necessary that you should learn the location of the rooms."
"I will leave you now, Rupert," said Mr. Sylvester. "You can come back to my house to-night, and to-morrow you can look up a room near the hotel."
For the first few days Rupert got very tired. He would have to go upstairs perhaps thirty or forty times during the day, sometimes to the fifth floor. There was an elevator in the Somerset Hotel, but the bell-boys were not allowed to use it.
When a guest registered and was assigned to a room on one of the upper floors he was conducted to the elevator, but the bell-boy, carrying his valise, was obliged to walk upstairs, and meet him at the landing-place. Often Rupert felt that there was an injustice in this, and that no harm would be done if he were also allowed to use the elevator. However, he was not foolish enough make any complaint, but by his pleasant manners and cheerful alacrity won the good opinion of Mr. Malcolm, the clerk.
The Somerset Hotel was on the European and American systems combined. If a guest preferred simply to lodge at the hotel he could do so, and take his meals either at the hotel restaurant or in any other.
One day a guest registered who was assigned to No. 143, on the fifth floor.
To Rupert was assigned the duty of carrying up the valise. He found it unusually heavy, and more than once as he climbed the stairs he felt that he would be glad to reach his destination. At the elevator landing he met the owner of the valise, a middle-aged man with a brown, sunburned face.
"You found it rather a heavy tug, didn't you?" he asked, with a smile.
"Your clothes seem to be heavy," returned Rupert.
"It isn't clothes merely," said the stranger. "I come from Colorado, and I have some specimens of quartz inside. Here, give me the valise, and lead the way to my room."
Rupert did so.
When they reached No. 143 the stranger drew a fifty cent piece from his pocket and handed it to Rupert.
"Take it," he said. "You deserve something for carrying such a load."
"Thank you, sir," said Rupert. "I don't find many guests so liberal."
"Shall I tell you why I am so liberal? It is because when I was a boy, rather older than you, I was for four months a bell-boy in a Chicago hotel."
"Were you, indeed, sir?" said Rupert, with interest. "Did you retire on a fortune?"
"No; fees were few and far between. However, I saved a little and borrowed a little more, and made my way first to Nevada, and afterwards to Colorado. I have been pretty well prospered, and now I come home to see my old father and mother in Maine."
"I hope you will find them well."
"Thank you, my boy, I heartily hope so. It is seventeen years since I have seen their dear old faces, and it will be a good day for me when we meet again."
"Are your father and mother both living?"
"Both at last accounts."
"Then you are luckier than I am. My father is dead."
"That is unfortunate. You are young to have lost a parent."
"Can I do anything for you, sir? Have you all that you need?"
"Yes," answered the guest, with a look at the washstand. "What I want first is water and towels, for I have just got in from a long railroad journey. Those seem to be provided. If I want anything else I will ring."
"Fifty cents!" repeated Rupert. "I wish I could be as well paid every time I carry a valise up stairs. Then I should get rich fast."
During the second week a tall, thin man with long hair flowing down over his coat collar registered at the Somerset.
"No. 119," said the clerk. "Front!"
Rupert answered the summons.
"Take this gentleman's valise to No. 119."
Rupert thought the stranger a very singular-looking man. His long, unkempt locks were of yellowish hue, and his eyes were shifty and evasive. But of course in a hotel frequented by all sorts of people, no special attention was paid to any particular guest.
Rupert met him upstairs and conducted him to his room.
"Take the valise inside," said the guest.
Rupert did so, when he was startled by the guest locking the door, making him a prisoner.
"Now, boy," he said, his eyes lighted with an insane gleam, "you must prepare to die!"
"What?" exclaimed Rupert, startled. "What do you mean?"
"I am commanded by God to offer you up as a sacrifice, even as Abraham offered up his son Isaac."
As he spoke he drew a knife from his breast and advanced toward the hapless bell-boy.
CHAPTER X.
A BELL-BOY'S EXPERIENCES
It was evident that the guest whom Rupert had conducted to his room was a maniac of the most dangerous character. The man's face was terrible to look upon. His small, ferret-like eyes seemed to dilate with ferocious cunning. He was a man not perhaps robust or strong, but too strong for a boy of sixteen. And Rupert was alone with him.
It was terrible to think that he was to become the victim of such a man. Apart from the pain of death, it was made more terrible at the hands of an insane man.
What should he do?
Rupert had read somewhere that to openly combat an insane person is dangerous. It is advisable to humor his delusions. Fortunately he had read a story recently in which a man had escaped death by this very means. It was a desperate chance, but Rupert resolved to make use of it. Instead of showing the fear he really felt, he forced himself to appear calm.
"You are mistaken," he said; "the boy you are to sacrifice is under the bed."
The maniac was just about to lunge with his knife, but Rupert's words made him pause.
"Look under the bed and you will see him," continued the bell-boy.
The bed was at the other end of the room. The maniac went over to it, and, getting on his knees, began to peer underneath.
Here was Rupert's opportunity. He sprang to the door, turned the key, but did not dare to stop to lock it on the outside, and dashed into the entry. The door of the next room chanced to be open. He darted inside, and bolted himself in.
He was just in time. The maniac, discovering the ruse, rose to his feet, and, knife in hand, ran into the hall with a blood-curdling cry. He looked in vain for Rupert, who was nowhere to be seen. The staircase was near. He ran down, flight after flight, till he reached the office floor, and made a great sensation as he dashed through it with his drawn knife.
Here, however, he had some one more formidable than a boy to contend with. Two burly porters sprang upon him, and felled him to the floor. The knife was taken from him, and the clerk, horror-struck, leaning over him, asked, "What did you do with the boy?"
"I tried to kill him, but he escaped," said the lunatic. "But I will have him yet!"
"Call two policemen," said Mr. Malcolm. "One of you go upstairs and find the bell-boy."
Rupert remained in his temporary refuge, not daring to come out. He heard his unpleasant acquaintance leaving the adjoining room, but was apprehensive that he might return. At length he heard some one calling, "Rupert, where are you?" and recognized it as the voice of one of the other bell-boys. He opened the door and came out.
"Where is the insane man?" he asked quickly.
"He was captured in the office, and his knife taken from him. How did you escape from him?"
"Wait till I go down stairs and I will tell you."
When Rupert reached the office he was eagerly questioned. He gave the particulars of his unpleasant interview with the crank.
"I congratulate you on your presence of mind," said the clerk. "You had a narrow escape from a terrible fate."
"Where is he now?"
"On his way to the station-house. You need not be afraid that he will come back. He is sure to be locked up."
Later in the day the proprietor of the hotel sent for Rupert.
"My boy," he said, "you ran a terrible risk this morning. It was in my service, and I feel that I ought in some way to express my appreciation of your remarkable courage and presence of mind. Here are fifty dollars, which I hope you will find of service."
It was not alone the gift, but the kind words, that gratified Rupert. He was able to buy a new suit for best, and a few other articles of which he had need.
During the day he had a call from a man connected with one of the daily papers, who wished his photograph to reproduce in connection with an account of the incident. This, however, Rupert declined to give, not caring for notoriety. The account of the crank's onset, however, appeared, and a good many curious visitors were attracted to the Somerset Hotel.
Among these was Julian Lorimer. Rupert's name had not been mentioned in the account, and Julian was surprised to meet him.
"How came you here?" he asked.
"I am employed here," answered Rupert, quietly.
"What are you?"
"A bell-boy."
"Is that so? Can you tell me who it was that was nearly killed by a crazy crank yesterday?"
"I was the one."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Julian, in amazement. "Was he really so dangerous?"
"He came near killing me."
"Humph! That was rather unpleasant. Do you get good pay here?"
"Yes, very good—enough to support me."
"It isn't much of a position, though."
"If you will find me a better one I will give this up," said Rupert, smiling.
"I am expecting to go into a wholesale house soon."
"I hope you will succeed in getting such a place. It is rather hard getting business positions now."
"Oh, my father is well known in the city. He can find me one."
"That will be in your favor."
Here Rupert was called off by a summons from the office, and the interview terminated. He had not told Julian of the handsome gift received from the proprietor, as he knew that his old schoolfellow had no real interest in his welfare.
One who is employed in an American hotel has an excellent opportunity to study human nature. It is free to all comers, and among those who sit in the lobby or use the reading room there are always some who are not guests. The larger proportion of these are respectable persons, but some are adventurers who may be on the lookout for victims.
One young man, stylishly dressed and sporting an eyeglass and a cane, Rupert had more than once noticed. He came in from time to time, bought a sheet of paper and an envelope at the news stand, and wrote a letter at one of the tables in the reading room. Rupert, whose acquaintance with the city was limited, decided from his dress that he belonged to some prominent family. It was noteworthy, however, that he always entered alone. He sometimes, however, entered into conversation with one of the guests of the hotel. Those from the country seemed to have his preference.
This surprised Rupert, who wondered what attraction rural visitors could have for a young man of his elegant appearance.
One day an old man of sixty registered from a town in Orange County. His face was weather-beaten, and he looked like a farmer. His clothing was rusty, and appeared to have been worn for several years.
He might have been taken for a poor man, but Rupert had seen him draw out a large wallet full of bills, and judged that, if not rich, he was in comfortable circumstances.
It so happened that the young man already referred to had also seen the wallet, and he at once began to pay attention to the rural visitor. Watching his opportunity, he sat down beside him in the reading room one afternoon.
"It is a pleasant day, sir," he said, sociably.
"So 'tis, so 'tis," said the old man, feeling flattered by attention from a young man of such distinguished appearance.
"I suppose you live in the country?"
"Yes, I am from Orange County."
"The finest part of the State. If my business did not keep me in the city I should like very much to make my residence there."
"What might your business be?" asked the old man, with natural curiosity.
"I am a broker, sir, in Wall Street. Of course you have heard of Wall Street."
"Oh, yes," answered the old man, proud of his familiarity with the name of this famous street. "Is it a pooty good business?"
"Well, that depends on circumstances. Sometimes I make money hand over hand, but for the last month I give you my word I probably haven't made over two hundred dollars."
"Two hundred dollars in a month!" repeated the farmer. "Why, that's doing first rate, I call it."
The young man shrugged his shoulders.
"Not for a broker," he said. "Why if I make less than five hundred I don't call it much."
"Five hundred dollars a month?" asked the farmer, much impressed.
"Yes."
"Why, that's six thousand dollars a year."
"Exactly. You are good in arithmetic," said the young man, languidly.
"Is—is there any chance to go into that business?" asked the Orange County man, eagerly.
"My friend, I would hardly advise you to go into it. You are rather old to begin a new business."
"That's so, but I don't ask for myself. I've got a son—he's my youngest son—a young man of twenty-five, who's anxious to get something to do in the city. He ain't much good on a farm—don't seem to like it. He's read a good many books and stories about New York city, and he wants to come here. I wish I could get him a chance to learn the broker business. You haven't a place in your office now, have you?"
The young swell laughed in his sleeve.
"I've hooked the old man," he said to himself. "Now if I work my cards right, I shall be able to make something out of him."
"My friend," he said, "I can't tell you at once, but I will think it over, and—see you to-morrow morning."
He had not intended to finish his sentence thus, but just then he espied at the door of the reading room a small, quiet-looking man whose glance rested for a moment upon him. He knew—he had reason to know—that this was Richard Darke, a well-known detective.
He rose from his seat and sauntered to the door, and in two minutes he was one of the motley crowd that throng Broadway.
CHAPTER XI.
RUPERT RECEIVES A COMMISSION
The detective, as he left the reading room, passed Rupert, who was just entering.
"Let me see," he said, tapping Rupert on the shoulder, "you are the bell-boy who came near being murdered by a crank?"
"Yes, sir."
"You escaped very cleverly. You are evidently a sharp boy. Keep your eyes open, don't you?"
"Yes, sir; except when I'm asleep."
"We detectives have to keep our eyes open all the time, but we can't be everywhere at once. Now I feel a little inclined to make you my deputy—not permanently, but for a time."
"All right, sir."
"Have you noticed rather a flashy young man, looking like a dude, with an eyeglass and cane?"
"Yes, sir; he is frequently in the hotel."
"You know, of course, that he isn't a guest?"
"Yes, sir. We bell-boys know who are guests and who are not."
"Possibly you may have wondered what his business is here?"
"Yes, sir."
"He is a confidence man. His business is to pick up victims, and make what he can out of them. Do you see that old gentleman over by the window?"
"Yes, sir."
"He is an honest and probably well-to-do old farmer, I judge. That fellow has been having a talk with him. When he saw me he had business elsewhere. But he hasn't given up his scheme for bleeding the old man. Probably he will have another interview with him to-morrow. Now I should like to have you keep your eye on the two. Find out if you can what the man is after. I can't, for he knows me by sight. I want to foil his schemes and save the old man from loss. Here is my address."
The detective placed in Rupert's hand a small, plain card, bearing the name,
RICHARD DARKEBelow he put his address, which need not be given here.
"Don't say anything about this," he said, "except to me. Should you mention it to anyone else in the hotel the fellow would soon see that he was watched, and we might fail to catch him. I am reposing considerable confidence in a boy."
"Yes, sir, but you will not regret it."
"I believe you," said the detective, cordially. "I'll see you again soon."
"One moment, Mr. Darke. What is the young man's name?"
"He has several. The one he uses most frequently is Clarence Clayton."
"I will remember it, sir."
Clarence Clayton left the Somerset Hotel in good spirits. He felt like an angler who was on the point of landing a fine fish.
"I wonder if old Darke saw me talking with that old Granger," he soliloquized. "I hope not. Probably he knows me, though thus far I have escaped having my picture in the Rogues' Gallery. Those old fellows know everybody. Fortunately there is no regular detective at the Somerset, and I shall be able to finish my negotiations with my country friend before he drops in again."
Mr. Clarence Clayton was getting low in funds. Somehow fortune had not favored him of late, and the sums he had realized out of recent victims were very small. Yet he felt so confident of success in the present instance that he sauntered up to the Sinclair House, at the corner of Broadway and Eighth Street, and going into the restaurant, which has a high reputation for choice viands, he ordered an appetizing repast at a cost of a dollar.
He was scarcely half through when a young man, got up in very much the same style, came in and sat down opposite him.
"Ha, Clayton!" he said, "so you're in luck."
"How do, Mortimer? What makes you think so?"
"Your extravagant spread. It isn't permitted to failures like your humble servant to dine in such princely style."
"Then why come here at all?"
"I am only going to order fish balls and coffee, but I want those good, and shall get them good here. Have you made a ten-strike?"
"No; business is dull with me, but I think I'm on the track of a fair thing."
"What is it, and where?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, Mortimer?" said Clarence, putting one finger waggishly on one side of his nose. "There isn't enough in it for two."
"Oh, I don't want to interfere with you, of course. I thought I'd like to know whereabouts you are operating at present."
"What do you say to the Windsor Hotel?"
"Isn't that rash? Don't the detective know you?"
"He can't be everywhere, the worthy man. Your friend Clarence knows what he is about. You won't interfere with me?"
"Of course not."
In spite of this assurance Mortimer made it in his way to drop into the Windsor Hotel later in the evening, but of course he did not see Clarence Clayton, who had put him on the wrong scent.
A good dinner was not the end of Clayton's extravagance. He dropped into the Star Theatre, and enjoyed an attractive play, though it cost him a dollar.
"Josiah Onthank will pay for it, I hope," he said, for he had ascertained from the hotel register the name of his Orange County friend. "It will cost something," he laughed, "to get his son into my office in Wall Street. Oh, Clarence, you're a sly one, you are!"
Rupert was free from his duties at seven o'clock, but, remembering the commission he had received, he sought out the farmer and opened a conversation with him.
"How do you like New York?" he asked.
"It's a big city," answered the farmer. "I haven't been here before for twenty years."
"Have you ever traveled on the Elevated cars?"
"No, I'm a little mite afeard to travel so high in the air. Suppose the train should go through?"
"I don't think there's any danger, sir. The road is strongly built."
"I s'pose I'm timid, but I guess I won't ventur'. My son Ephraim wouldn't mind. I came to the city mostly on his account. He wanted me to see if there wasn't an opening here. He's got sick of the farm and wants to be a city man. Are you at work here?"
"Yes, I'm a bell-boy in this hotel."
"Does it pay you well?"
"Yes, sir. I get five dollars a week and my board."
"That's good for a boy like you. It's more than I pay my hired man, and he's twenty-eight. Is your work hard?"
"I have to run upstairs and down a good deal. I got pretty tired at first."
"I met quite a slick young man here this afternoon; he says he's a broker in Wall Street. He knows how to make money."
"Does he, sir?" inquired Rupert, getting interested.
"Yes; he says he made two hundred dollars last month, and he thinks that pretty small."
"I should think it a good deal to make."
"He doesn't have to work very hard, either. Ephraim would like being a broker. He always did like to dress up, but at home he can't do it till evenin' after he has milked the cows and finished the chores."
"Did the gentleman mention his name to you?"
"Yes, he said his name was Clarence Clayton. He thinks he may be able to take my son Ephraim into his office."
"Did he tell you where his office was?"
"Well, down in Wall Street somewhere. I s'pose there's a good deal of money made in Wall Street."
"And a good deal lost, too," suggested Rupert.
"When are you going to see Mr. Clayton again?"
"To-morrow morning. He's goin' down to show me his office, and he'll think it over whether he can take Ephraim or not."
"I suppose he is a rich man."
"I expect he is. He dresses fine. Ephraim would like to dress that way, but he hasn't the shape for it. I should feel proud to have him doin' as well as Mr. Clayton."
"I hope you won't mind my giving you a little advice, Mr. Onthank, even if I am a boy."
"Go ahead, sonny! I'm sure you mean well."
"Don't make any arrangements with Mr. Clayton to take your son till you have had a chance to talk over the matter with some one. I have a friend, a very experienced man, and I am sure his advice would be worth taking."
"You don't think there's anything wrong about Mr. Clayton, do you?" asked the farmer, startled.
"I don't say that, but if he wants you to pay him some money for giving your son a a place, don't do it till you have mentioned it to me."
"I won't. There won't be no harm in that."
"And don't tell him who it is you are going to consult. Supposing he wasn't all right, it would put him on his guard."
"Thank you, sonny, you are a young boy, but I guess you've got a level head."
"I hope so," laughed Rupert.
"Do you know where there's a good place to take supper—a good country supper? I've been to the hotel eatin' houses, but it don't exactly suit my country taste."
"Yes, Mr. Onthank, I think I can find a place that will suit you."
Rupert took the farmer to a plain restaurant not far away, where he got some cream toast, a good cup of strong tea, and a piece of apple pie.
