The Cash Boy

CHAPTER XV

FROM BAD TO WORSE

Frank’s misgivings were not without good cause. The housekeeper’s call at the store was connected with him. How, will be understood from a conversation which took place that morning between her and John Wade.

“It’s a relief to get that boy out of the house, Mrs. Bradley,” he said at the breakfast table.

“That it is, Mr. John,” she replied. “But he’ll be trying to get back, take my word for it.”

“He won’t dare to,” said John Wade, incredulously. “I told him if he came near the house I would give him up to the police.”

“I am afraid he will write to your uncle. He’s bold enough for anything.”

“I didn’t think of that,” said John, thoughtfully.

“Do you know his handwriting, Mrs. Bradley?”

“I think I should know it.”

“Then if any letters come which you know to be from him, keep them back from my uncle.”

“What shall I do with them?”

“Give them to me. I don’t want my uncle worried by his appeals.”

“Your uncle seems to be very attached to him. He may go to the store to see him.”

“That is true. I should not like that. How shall we prevent it, that’s the question.”

“If Gilbert & Mack knew that he was not honest they would discharge him.”

“Exactly,” said John Wade; “and as probably he would be unable to get another situation, he would be compelled to leave the city, and we should get rid of him. I commend your shrewdness, Mrs. Bradley. Your plan is most excellent.”

John Wade had more reasons than the housekeeper knew of for desiring the removal of our young hero from the city—reasons which the reader has probably guessed. There was a dark secret in his life connected with a wrong done in years past, from which he hoped some day to reap personal benefit. Unconsciously Frank Fowler stood in his way, and must be removed. Such was his determination.

“I am going out this morning,” said the housekeeper. “I will make it in my way to call at Gilbert & Mack’s. My nephew is a salesman there, as I have told you. I will drop a word in his ear, and that will be enough to settle that boy’s hash.”

“Your language is professional, Mrs. Bradley,” said John Wade, laughing, “but you shouldn’t allude to hash in an aristocratic household. I shall be glad to have you carry out your plan.”

“I hope you’ll speak to your uncle about my nephew, Mr. John. He gets very poor pay where he is.”

“I won’t forget him,” said John, carelessly.

In his heart he thought Thomas Bradley a very low, obtrusive fellow, whom he felt by no means inclined to assist, but it was cheap to make promises.

The reader understands now why Mrs. Bradley made a morning call at Gilbert & Mack’s store.

She knew at what part of the counter her nephew was stationed, and made her way thither at once. He did not at first recognize her, until she said:

“Good-morning, Thomas.”

“Good-morning, aunt. What brings you here this morning? Any good news for me? Has the old gentleman come around and concluded to do something handsome?”

“Mr. Wharton is not in the city. He has gone to Washington. But that isn’t what I came about this morning. You remember that boy who has been reading to Mr. Wharton?”

“One of our cash-boys. Yes; there he is, just gone by.”

“Well, he has stolen Mr. John’s pocketbook and some jewelry belonging to him.”

“What have you done about it? What does Mr. Wharton say?”

“He’s away from home. He doesn’t know yet. Mr. John gave him a lecture, and ordered him to leave the house.”

“Does he admit that he took the things?”

“No; he denied it as bold as brass, but it didn’t do him any good. There were the things in his trunk. He couldn’t get over that.”

Thomas fastened a shrewd glance on his aunt’s face, for he suspected the truth.

“So you’ve got rid of him?” he said. “What do you propose to do next?”

“Mr. John thinks your employer ought to know that he is a thief.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“I want you to do it.”

“You must tell them yourself, aunt. I shan’t.”

“Then introduce me to Mr. Gilbert, Thomas, and I’ll do it.”

“Follow me, aunt.”

He led his aunt to the rear of the store, where Mr. Gilbert was standing.

“Mr. Gilbert,” he said, “allow me to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Bradley.”

The housekeeper was courteously received, and invited to be seated. She soon opened her business, and blackened poor Frank’s character as she had intended.

“Really, Mrs. Bradley, I am sorry to hear this,” said Mr. Gilbert. “You think there is no doubt of the boy’s guilt?”

“I am sorry to say that I have no doubt at all,” said the housekeeper, hypocritically.

“Mr. Mack and myself have had a very good opinion of him. He is faithful and prompt.”

“Of course, sir, you will retain him in your employ if you are willing to take the risk, but I thought it my duty to put you on your guard.”

“I am obliged to you, Mrs. Bradley; though, as I said, I regret to find that my confidence in the boy has been misplaced.”

Late in the afternoon, Frank was called to the cashier’s desk.

“I am directed by Mr. Gilbert to say that your services will not be required after to-day,” he said. “Here are the week’s wages.”

“Why am I discharged? What have I done?” demanded Frank, while his heart sank within him.

“I don’t know. You must ask Mr. Gilbert,” answered the cashier.

“I will speak to him, at any rate,” and Frank walked up to the senior partner, and addressed to him the same question.

“Can you not guess?” asked Mr. Gilbert, sternly.

“I can guess that a false accusation has been brought against me,” said Frank.

“A respectable lady has informed me that you are not honest. I regret it, for I have been pleased with your diligence. Of course, I cannot retain you in my employ.”

“Mr. Gilbert,” said Frank, earnestly, “the charge is false. Mrs. Bradley is my enemy, and wishes me harm. I don’t understand how the things came into my trunk, but I didn’t put them there.”

“I hope you are innocent, but I must discharge you. Business is dull now, and I had decided to part with four of my cash-boys. I won’t pass judgment upon you, but you must go.”

Frank bowed in silence, for he saw that further entreaty would be vain, and left the store more dispirited than at any moment since he had been in the city.

Ten days Frank spent in fruitless efforts to obtain a place.

All this time his money steadily diminished. He perceived that he would soon be penniless. Evidently, something must be done. He formed two determinations. The first was to write to Mr. Wharton, who, he thought, must now have returned from Washington, asserting his innocence and appealing to him to see Gilbert & Mack, and re-establish him in their confidence. The second was, since he could not obtain a regular place, to frequent the wharves and seek chances to carry bundles. In this way he might earn enough, with great economy, to pay for his board and lodging.

One morning the housekeeper entered the library where John Wade sat reading the daily papers.

“Mr. John,” she said, holding out a letter, “here is a letter from that boy. I expected he would write to your uncle.”

John Wade deliberately opened the letter.

“Sit down, Mrs. Bradley, and I will read the letter aloud.”

It will be only necessary to quote the concluding sentences:

“‘I hope, Mr. Wharton, you will not be influenced against me by what Mrs. Bradley and your nephew say. I don’t know why it is, but they are my enemies, though I have always treated them with respect. I am afraid they have a desire to injure me in your estimation. If they had not been, they would have been content with driving me from your house, without also slandering me to my employers, and inducing them to discharge me. Since I was discharged, I have tried very hard to get another place, but as I cannot bring a recommendation from Gilbert & Mack, I have everywhere been refused. I ask you, Mr. Wharton to consider my situation. Already my small supply of money is nearly gone, and I do not know how I am to pay my expenses. If it was any fault of mine that had brought me into this situation, I would not complain, but it seems hard to suffer when I am innocent.

“‘I do not ask to return to your house, Mr. Wharton, for it would not be pleasant, since your nephew and Mrs. Bradley dislike me, but I have a right to ask that the truth may be told to my employers, so that if they do not wish me to return to their service, they may, at least, be willing to give me a recommendation that will give me a place elsewhere.”’

“I must prevent the boy communicating with my uncle, if it is a possible thing. ‘Strike while the iron is hot,’ I say.”

“I think that is very judicious, Mr. John. I have no doubt you will know how to manage matters.”

John Wade dressed himself for a walk, and drawing out a cigar, descended the steps of his uncle’s house into the street.

He reached Fifth Avenue, and walked slowly downtown. He was about opposite Twenty-eighth Street, when he came face to face with the subject of his thoughts.

“Where are you going?” John Wade demanded sternly.

“I don’t know that I am bound to answer your question,” answered Frank, quietly, “but I have no objection. I am going to Thirty-ninth Street with this bundle.”

“Hark you, boy! I have something to say to you,” continued John Wade, harshly. “You have had the impudence to write to my uncle.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing that you would like to hear. He looks upon you as a thief.”

“You have slandered me to him, Mr. Wade,” he said, angrily. “You might be in better business than accusingly a poor boy falsely.”

“Hark you, young man! I have had enough of your impudence. I will give you a bit of advice, which you will do well to follow. Leave this city for a place where you are not known, or I may feel disposed to shut you up on a charge of theft.”

“I shall not leave the city, Mr. Wade,” returned Frank, firmly. “I shall stay here in spite of you,” and without waiting for an answer, he walked on.

CHAPTER XVI

AN ACCOMPLICE FOUND

No sooner had John Wade parted from our hero than he saw approaching him a dark, sinister-looking man, whom he had known years before.

“Good-morning, Mr. Wade,” said the newcomer.

“Good-morning, Mr. Graves. Are you busy just now?”

“No, sir; I am out of employment. I have been unfortunate.”

“Then I will give you a job. Do you see that boy?” said John Wade, rapidly.

“Yes, I see him.”

“I want you to follow him. Find out where he lives, and let me know this evening. Do you understand?”

“I understand. You may rely upon me, sir,” answered Nathan Graves; and quickening his pace, he soon came within a hundred feet of our hero.

After fulfilling his errand, Frank walked downtown again, but did not succeed in obtaining any further employment. Wherever he went, he was followed by Graves. Unconsciously, he exhausted the patience of that gentleman, who got heartily tired of his tramp about the streets. But the longest day will come to an end, and at last he had the satisfaction of tracking Frank to his humble lodging. Then, and not till then, he felt justified in leaving him.

Nathan Graves sought the residence of John Wade. He rang the bell as the clock struck eight.

“Well, what success?” asked Wade, when they met.

“I have tracked the boy. What more can I do for you?” asked Graves.

“I want to get him away from the city. The fact is—I may as well tell you—my uncle has taken a great fancy to the boy, and might be induced to adopt him, and cut me off from my rightful inheritance. The boy is an artful young rascal, and has been doing all he could to get into the good graces of my uncle, who is old and weak-minded.”

It was nine o’clock when Nathan Graves left the house, John Wade himself accompanying him to the door.

“How soon do you think you can carry out my instructions?” asked Wade.

“To-morrow, if possible.”

“The sooner the better.”

“It is lucky I fell in with him,” said Nathan Graves to himself, with satisfaction, as he slowly walked down Fifth Avenue. “It’s a queer business, but that’s none of my business. The main thing for me to consider is that it brings money to my purse, and of that I have need enough.”

Graves left the house richer by a hundred dollars than he entered it.

It was eleven o’clock on the forenoon of the next day when Frank walked up Canal Street toward Broadway. He had been down to the wharves since early in the morning, seeking for employment. He had offered his services to many, but as yet had been unable to secure a job.

As he was walking along a man addressed him:

“Will you be kind enough to direct me to Broadway?”

It was Nathan Graves, with whom Frank was destined to have some unpleasant experiences.

“Straight ahead,” answered Frank. “I am going there, and will show you, if you like.”

“Thank you, I wish you would. I live only fifteen or twenty miles distant,” said Graves, “but I don’t often come to the city, and am not much acquainted. I keep a dry-goods store, but my partner generally comes here to buy goods. By the way, perhaps you can help me about the errand that calls me here today.”

“I will, sir, if I can,” said Frank, politely.

“My youngest clerk has just left me, and I want to find a successor—a boy about your age, say. Do you know any one who would like such a position?”

“I am out of employment myself just now. Do you think I will suit?”

“I think you will,” said Mr. Graves.

“You won’t object to go into the country?”

“No, sir.”

“I will give you five dollars a week and your board for the present. If you suit me, your pay will be raised at the end of six months. Will that be satisfactory?” asked his companion.

“Quite so, sir. When do you wish me to come?”

“Can you go out with me this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir. I only want to go home and pack up my trunk.”

“To save time, I will go with you, and we will start as soon as possible.”

Nathan Graves accompanied Frank to his room, where his scanty wardrobe was soon packed. A hack was called, and they were speedily on their way to the Cortland Street ferry.

They crossed the ferry, and Mr. Graves purchased two tickets to Elizabeth. He bought a paper, and occupied himself in reading. Frank felt that fortune had begun to shine upon him once more. By and by, he could send for Grace, and get her boarded near him. As soon as his wages were raised, he determined to do this. While engaged in these pleasant speculations, they reached the station.

“We get out here,” said Mr. Graves.

“Is your store in this place?” asked Frank.

“No; it is in the next town.”

Nathan Graves looked about him for a conveyance. He finally drove a bargain with a man driving a shabby-looking vehicle, and the two took their seats.

They were driven about six miles through a flat, unpicturesque country, when they reached a branch road leading away from the main one.

It was a narrow road, and apparently not much frequented. Frank could see no houses on either side.

“Is your store on this road?” he asked.

“Oh, no; but I am not going to the store yet. We will go to my house, and leave your trunk.”

At length the wagon stopped, by Graves’ orders, in front of a gate hanging loosely by one hinge.

“We’ll get out here,” said Graves.

Frank looked with some curiosity, and some disappointment, at his future home. It was a square, unpainted house, discolored by time, and looked far from attractive. There were no outward signs of occupation, and everything about it appeared to have fallen into decay. Not far off was a barn, looking even more dilapidated than the house.

At the front door, instead of knocking—there was no bell—Graves drew a rusty key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock. They found themselves in a small entry, uncarpeted and dingy.

“We’ll go upstairs,” said Graves.

Arrived on the landing, he threw open a door, and ushered in our hero.

“This will be your room,” he said.

Frank looked around in dismay.

It was a large, square room, uncarpeted, and containing only a bed, two chairs and a washstand, all of the cheapest and rudest manufacture.

“I hope you will soon feel at home here,” said Graves. “I’ll go down and see if I can find something to eat.”

He went out, locking the door behind him

“What does this mean?” thought Frank, with a strange sensation.

CHAPTER XVII

FRANK AND HIS JAILER

It was twenty minutes before Frank, waiting impatiently, heard the steps of his late companion ascending the stairs.

But the door was not unlocked. Instead, a slide was revealed, about eight inches square, through which his late traveling companion pushed a plate of cold meat and bread.

“Here’s something to eat,” he said; “take it.”

“Why do you lock me in?” demanded our hero.

“You can get along without knowing, I suppose,” said the other, with a sneer.

“I don’t mean to,” said Frank, firmly. “I demand an explanation. How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“I am sorry I can’t gratify your curiosity, but I don’t know myself.”

“Perhaps you think that I am rich, but I am not. I have no money. You can’t get anything out of me,” said Frank.

“That may be so, but I shall keep you.”

“I suppose that was all a lie about your keeping store?”

“It was a pretty little story, told for your amusement, my dear boy,” said Graves. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come without it.”

“You are a villain!” said Frank.

“Look here, boy,” said Graves, in a different tone, his face darkening, “you had better not talk in that way. I advise you to eat your dinner and be quiet. Some supper will be brought to you before night.”

So saying, he abruptly closed the slide, and descended the stairs, leaving Frank to his reflections, which it may be supposed, were not of the pleasantest character.

Frank did not allow his unpleasant situation to take away his appetite, and though he was fully determined to make the earliest possible attempt to escape, he was sensible enough first to eat the food which his jailer had brought him.

His lunch dispatched, he began at once to revolve plans of escape.

There were three windows in the room, two on the front of the house, the other at the side.

He tried one after another, but the result was the same. All were so fastened that it was quite impossible to raise them.

Feeling that he could probably escape through one of the windows when he pleased, though at the cost of considerable trouble, Frank did not trouble himself much, or allow himself to feel unhappy. He decided to continue his explorations.

In the corner of the room was a door, probably admitting to a closet.

“I suppose it is locked,” thought Frank, but on trying it, he found that such was not the case. He looked curiously about him, but found little to repay him. His attention was drawn, however to several dark-colored masks lying upon a shelf.

He also discovered a small hole in the wall of the size of a marble. Actuated by curiosity, he applied his eye to the opening, and peeped into what was probably the adjoining room. It was furnished in very much the same way as the one in which he was confined, but at present it was untenanted. Having seen what little there was to be seen, Frank withdrew from his post of observation and returned to his room.

It was several hours later when he again heard steps ascending the stairs, and the slide in the door was moved.

He looked toward it, but the face that he saw was not that of Nathan Graves.

It was the face of a woman.

CHAPTER XVIII

“OVER THE HILL TO THE POORHOUSE”

We are compelled for a time to leave our hero in the hands of his enemies, and return to the town of Crawford, where an event has occurred which influences seriously the happiness and position of his sister, Grace.

Ever since Frank left the town, Grace had been a welcome member of Mr. Pomeroy’s family, receiving the kindest treatment from all, so that she had come to feel very much at home.

So they lived happily together, till one disastrous night a fire broke out, which consumed the house, and they were forced to snatch their clothes and escape, saving nothing else.

Mr. Pomeroy’s house was insured for two-thirds of its value, and he proposed to rebuild immediately, but it would be three months at least before the new house would be completed. In the interim, he succeeded in hiring a couple of rooms for his family, but their narrow accommodations would oblige them to dispense with their boarder. Sorry as Mr. and Mrs. Pomeroy were to part with her, it was obvious that Grace must find another home.

“We must let Frank know,” said Mr. Pomeroy, and having occasion to go up to the city at once to see about insurance, he went to the store of Gilbert & Mack, and inquired for Prank.

“Fowler? What was he?” was asked.

“A cash-boy.”

“Oh, he is no longer here. Mr. Gilbert discharged him.”

“Do you know why he was discharged?” asked Mr. Pomeroy, pained and startled.