Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World

CHAPTER XXXII.
AN EXCITING ADVENTURE

Dodger soon became accustomed to his duties at Tucker’s express office, in his new San Francisco home. He found Mr. Tucker an exacting, but not an unreasonable, man. He watched his new assistant closely for the first few days, and was quietly taking his measure.

At the end of the first week he paid the salary agreed upon—fifteen dollars.

“You have been with me a week, Arthur,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“And I have been making up my mind about you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dodger, looking up inquiringly. “I hope you are satisfied with me?”

“Yes, I think I may say that I am. You don’t seem to be afraid of work.”

“I have always been accustomed to work.“

“That is well. I was once induced to take the son of a rich man in the place you now occupy. He had never done a stroke of work, having always been at school. He didn’t take kindly to work, and seemed afraid that he would be called upon to do more than he had bargained for. One evening I was particularly busy, and asked him to remain an hour overtime.

“ ‘It will be very inconvenient, Mr. Tucker,’ said the young man, ‘as I have an engagement with a friend.’

“He left me to do all the extra work, and—I suppose you know what happened the next Saturday evening?”

“I can guess,” returned Dodger, with a smile.

“I told him that I thought the duties were too heavy for his constitution, and he had better seek an easier place. Let me see—I kept you an hour and a half overtime last Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You made no objection, but worked on just as if you liked it.”

“Yes, sir; I am always willing to stay when you need me.”

“Good! I shan’t forget it.”

Dodger felt proud of his success, and put away the fifteen dollars with a feeling of satisfaction. He had never saved half that sum in the same time before.

“Curtis Waring did me a favor when he sent me out here,” he reflected; “but as he didn’t mean it, I have no occasion to feel grateful.”

Dodger found that he could live for eight dollars a week, and he began to lay by seven dollars a week with the view of securing funds sufficient to take him back to New York.

He was in no hurry to leave San Francisco, but he felt that Florence might need a friend. But he found that he was making progress slowly.

At that time the price of a first-class ticket to New York was one hundred and twenty-eight dollars, besides the expense of sleeping berths, amounting then, as now, to twenty-two dollars extra. So it looked as if Dodger would be compelled to wait at least six months before he should be in a position to set out on the return journey.

About this time Dodger received a letter from Florence, in which she spoke of her discharge by Mrs. Leighton.

“I shall try to obtain another position as teacher,” she said, concealing her anxiety. “I am sure, in a large city, I can find something to do.”

But Dodger knew better than she the difficulties that beset the path of an applicant for work, and he could not help feeling anxious for Florence.

“If I were only in New York,” he said to himself, “I would see that Florence didn’t suffer. I will write her to let me know if she is in need, and I will send her some money.”

About this time he met with an adventure which deserves to be noted.

It was about seven o’clock one evening that he found himself in Mission Street.

At a street corner his attention was drawn to a woman poorly dressed, who held by the hand a child of three.

Her clothing was shabby, and her attitude was one of despondency. It was clear that she was ill and in trouble.

Dodger possessed quick sympathies, and his own experience made him quick to understand and feel for the troubles of others.

Though the woman made no appeal, he felt instinctively that she needed help.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, with as much deference as if he were addressing one favored by fortune, “but you seem to be in need of help?”

“God knows, I am!” said the woman, sadly.

“Perhaps I can be of service to you. Will you tell me how?”

“Neither I nor my child has tasted food since yesterday.”

“Well, that can be easily remedied,” said Dodger, cheerfully. “There is a restaurant close by. I was about to eat supper. Will you come in with me?”

“I am ashamed to impose upon the kindness of a stranger,” murmured the woman.

“Don’t mention it. I shall be very glad of company,” said Dodger, heartily.

“But you are a poor boy. You may be ill able to afford the expense.”

“I am not a millionaire,” said Dodger, “and I don’t see any immediate prospect of my building a palace on Nob Hill”—where live some of San Francisco’s wealthiest citizens—“but I am very well supplied with money.”

“Then I will accept your kind invitation.”

It was a small restaurant, but neat in its appointments, and, as in most San Francisco restaurants, the prices were remarkably moderate.

At an expense of twenty-five cents each, the three obtained a satisfactory meal.

The woman and child both seemed to enjoy it, and Dodger was glad to see that the former became more cheerful as time went on.

There was something in the child’s face that looked familiar to Dodger. It was a resemblance to some one that he had seen, but he could not for the life of him decide who it was.

“How can I ever thank you for your kindness?” said the lady, as she arose from the table. “You don’t know what it is to be famished–”

“Don’t I?” asked Dodger. “I have been hungry more than once, without money enough to buy a meal.”

“You don’t look it,” she said.

“No, for now I have a good place and am earning a good salary.”

“Are you a native of San Francisco?”

“No, madam. I can’t tell you where I was born, for I know little or nothing of my family. I have only been here a short time. I came from New York.”

“So did I,” said the woman, with a sigh. “I wish I were back there again.”

“How came you to be here? Don’t answer if you prefer not to,” Dodger added, hastily.

“I have no objection. My husband deserted me, and left me to shift for myself and support my child.”

“How have you done it?”

“By taking in sewing. But that is a hard way of earning money. There are too many poor women who are ready to work for starvation wages, and so we all suffer.”

“I know that,” answered Dodger. “Do you live near here?”

The woman mentioned a street near by.

“I have one poor back room on the third floor,” she explained; “but I should be glad if I were sure to stay there.”

“Is there any danger of your being ejected?”

“I am owing for two weeks’ rent, and this is the middle of the third week. Unless I can pay up at the end of this week I shall be forced to go out into the streets with my poor child.”

“How much rent do you pay?”

“A dollar a week.”

“Then three dollars will relieve you for the present?”

“Yes; but it might as well be three hundred,” said the woman, bitterly.

“Not quite; I can supply you with three dollars, but three hundred would be rather beyond my means.”

“You are too kind, too generous! I ought not to accept such a liberal gift.”

“Mamma, I am tired. Take me up in your arms,” said the child.

“Poor child! He has been on his feet all day,” sighed the mother.

She tried to lift the child, but her own strength had been undermined by privation, and she was clearly unable to do so.

“Let me take him!” said Dodger. “Here, little one, jump up!”

He raised the child easily, and despite the mother’s protest, carried him in his arms.

“I will see you home, madam,” he said.

“I fear the child will be too heavy for you.”

“I hope not. Why, I could carry a child twice as heavy.”

They reached the room at last—a poor one, but a welcome repose from the streets.

“Don’t you ever expect to see your husband again?” asked Dodger. “Can’t you compel him to support you?”

“I don’t know where he is,” answered the woman, despondently.

“If you will tell me his name, I may come across him some day.”

“His name,” said the woman, “is Curtis Waring.”

Dodger stared at her, overwhelmed with surprise.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY

“Curtis Waring!” ejaculated Dodger, his face showing intense surprise. “Is that the name of your husband?”

“Yes. Is it possible that you know him?” asked the woman, struck by Dodger’s tone.

“I know a man by that name. I will describe him, and you can tell me whether it is he. He is rather tall, dark hair, sallow complexion, black eyes, and a long, thin nose.”

“It is like him in every particular. Oh, tell me where he is to be found?”

“He lives in New York. He is the nephew of a rich man, and is expecting to inherit his wealth. Through his influence a cousin of his, a young lady, has been driven from home.”

“Was he afraid she would deprive him of the estate?”

“That was partly the reason. But it was partly to revenge himself on her because she would not agree to marry him.”

“But how could he marry her,” exclaimed the unfortunate woman, “when he is already married to me?”

“Neither she nor any one of his family or friends knew that he was already married. I don’t think it would trouble him much.”

“But it must be stopped!” she exclaimed, wildly. “He is my husband. I shall not give him up to any one else.”

“So far as Florence is concerned—she is the cousin—she has no wish to deprive you of him. But is it possible that you are attached to a man who has treated you so meanly?” asked Dodger, in surprise.

“There was a time when he treated me well, when he appeared to love me,” was the murmured reply. “I cannot forget that he is the father of my child.”

Dodger did not understand the nature of women or the mysteries of the female heart, and he evidently thought this poor woman very foolish to cling with such pertinacity to a man like Curtis Waring.

“Do you mind telling me how you came to marry him?” he asked.

“It was over four years ago that I met him in this city,” was the reply. “I am a San Francisco girl. I had never been out of California. I was considered pretty then,” she added, with a remnant of pride, “faded as I am to-day.”

Looking closely in her face, Dodger was ready to believe this.

Grief and privation had changed her appearance, but it had not altogether effaced the bloom and beauty of youth.

“At any rate, he seemed to think so. He was living at the Palace Hotel, and I made his acquaintance at a small social gathering at the house of my uncle. I am an orphan, and was perhaps the more ready to marry on that account.”

“Did Mr. Waring represent himself as wealthy?”

“He said he had expectations from a wealthy relative, but did not mention where he lived.”

“He told the truth, then.”

“We married, securing apartments on Kearney Street. We lived together till my child was born, and for three months afterward. Then Mr. Waring claimed to be called away from San Francisco on business. He said he might be absent six weeks. He left me a hundred dollars, and urged me to be careful of it, as he was short of money, and needed considerable for the expenses of the journey. He left me, and I have never seen or heard from him since.”

“Did he tell you where he was going, Mrs. Waring?”

“No; he said he would be obliged to visit several places—among others, Colorado, where he claimed to have some mining property. He told me that he hoped to bring back considerable money.”

“Do you think he meant to stay away altogether?”

“I don’t know what to think. Well, I lived on patiently, for I had perfect confidence in my husband. I made the money last me ten weeks instead of six, but then I found myself penniless.”

“Did you receive any letters in that time?”

“No, and it was that that worried me. When at last the money gave out, I began to pawn my things—more than once I was tempted to pawn my wedding-ring, but I could not bring my mind to do that. I do not like to think ill of my husband, and was forced, as the only alternative, to conclude that he had met with some accident, perhaps had died. I have not felt certain that this was not so till you told me this evening that you know him.”

“I can hardly say that I know him well, yet I know him a good deal better than I wish I did. But for him I would not now be in San Francisco.”

“How is that? Please explain.”

Dodger told her briefly the story of his abduction.

“But what motive could he have in getting you out of New York? I cannot understand.”

“I don’t understand myself, except that I am the friend of Florence.”

“His cousin?”

“Yes.”

“But why should she be compelled to leave her uncle’s home?”

“Because Curtis Waring made him set his heart upon the match. She had her choice to marry Curtis or to leave the house, and forfeit all chance of the estate. She chose to leave the house.”

“She ought to know that he has no right to marry,” said the poor woman, who, not understanding the dislike of Florence for the man whom she herself loved, feared that she might yet be induced to marry him.

“She ought to know, and her uncle ought to know,” said Dodger. “Mrs. Waring, I can’t see my way clear yet. If I were in New York I would know just what to do. Will you agree to stand by me, and help me?”

“Yes, I will,” answered the woman, earnestly.

“I will see you again to-morrow evening. Here is some money to help you along for the present. Good-night.”

Dodger, as he walked away, pondered over the remarkable discovery he had made.

It was likely to prove of the utmost importance to Florence.

Her uncle’s displeasure was wholly based upon her refusal to marry Curtis Waring, but if it should be proved to him that Curtis was already a married man, there would seem no bar to reconciliation.

Moreover—and thas was particularly satisfactory—it would bring Curtis himself into disfavor.

Florence would be reinstated in her rightful place in her uncle’s family, and once more be recognized as heiress to at least a portion of his large fortune.

This last consideration might not weigh so much with Florence, but Dodger was more practical, and he wished to restore her to the social position which she had lost through the knavery of her cousin.

But in San Francisco—at a distance of over three thousand miles—Dodger felt at a loss how to act.

Even if Mr. Linden was informed that his nephew had a wife living in San Francisco, the statement would no doubt be denied by Curtis, who would brand the woman as an impudent adventuress.

“The absent are always in the wrong,” says a French proverb.

At all events, they are very much at a disadvantage, and therefore it seemed imperatively necessary, not only that Dodger, but that Curtis Waring’s wife should go to New York to confront the unprincipled man whose schemes had brought sorrow to so many.

It was easy to decide what plan was best, but how to carry it out presented a difficulty which seemed insurmountable.

The expenses of a journey to New York for Dodger, Mrs. Waring and her child would not be very far from five hundred dollars, and where to obtain this money was a problem.

Randolph Leslie probably had that sum, but Dodger could not in conscience ask him to lend it, being unable to furnish adequate security, or to insure repayment.

“If I could only find a nugget,” thought Dodger, knitting his brows, “everything would be easy.” But nuggets are rare enough in the gold fields, and still rarer in city streets.

He who trusts wholly to luck trusts to a will-o’-the-wisp, and is about as sure of success as one who owns a castle in Spain.

The time might come when Dodger, by his own efforts, could accumulate the needed sum, but it would require a year at least, and in that time Mr. Linden would probably be dead.

Absorbed and disturbed by these reflections, Dodger walked slowly through the darkened streets till he heard a stifled cry, and looking up, beheld a sight that startled him.

On the sidewalk lay the prostrate figure of a man. Over him, bludgeon in hand, bent a ruffian, whose purpose was only too clearly evident.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
JUST IN TIME

Dodger, who was a strong, stout boy, gathered himself up and dashed against the ruffian with such impetuosity that he fell over his intended victim, and his bludgeon fell from his hand.

It was the work of an instant to lift it, and raise it in a menacing position.

The discomfited villain broke into a volley of oaths, and proceeded to pick himself up.

He was a brutal-looking fellow, but was no larger than Dodger, who was as tall as the majority of men.

“Give me that stick,” he exclaimed, furiously.

“Come and take it,” returned Dodger, undaunted.

The fellow took him at his word, and made a rush at our hero, but a vigorous blow from the bludgeon made him cautious about repeating the attack.

“Curse you!” he cried, between his teeth. “I’d like to chaw you up.”

“I have no doubt you would,” answered Dodger; “but I don’t think you will. Were you going to rob this man?”

“None of your business!”

“I shall make it my business. You’d better go, or you may be locked up.”

“Give me that stick, then.”

“You’ll have to do without it.”

He made another rush, and Dodger struck him such a blow on his arm that he winced with pain.

“Now I shall summon the police, and you can do as you please about going.”

Dodger struck the stick sharply on the sidewalk three times, and the ruffian, apprehensive of arrest, ran around the corner just in time to rush into the arms of a policeman.

“What has this man been doing?” asked the city guardian, turning to Dodger.

“He was about to rob this man.”

“Is the man hurt?”

“Where am I?” asked the prostrate man, in a bewildered tone.

“I will take care of him, if you will take charge of that fellow.”

“Can you get up, sir?” asked Dodger, bending over the fallen man.

The latter answered by struggling to his feet and looking about him in a confused way.

“Where am I?” he asked. “What has happened?”

“You were attacked by a ruffian. I found you on the sidewalk, with him bending over you with this club in his hand.”

“He must have followed me. I was imprudent enough to show a well-filled pocketbook in a saloon where I stopped to take a drink. No doubt he planned to relieve me of it.”

“You have had a narrow escape, sir.”

“I have no doubt of it. I presume the fellow was ready to take my life, if he found it necessary.”

“I will leave you now, sir, if you think you can manage.”

“No, stay with me. I feel rather upset.”

“Where are you staying, sir?”

“At the Palace Hotel. Of course you know where that is?”

“Certainly. Will you take my arm?”

“Thank you.”

Little was said till they found themselves in the sumptuous hotel, which hardly has an equal in America.

“Come to my room, young man; I want to speak to you.”

It was still early in the evening, and Dodger’s time was his own.

He had no hesitation, therefore, in accepting the stranger’s invitation.

On the third floor the stranger produced a key and opened the door of a large, handsomely-furnished room.

“If you have a match, please light the gas.”

Dodger proceeded to do so, and now, for the first time, obtained a good view of the man he had rescued. He was a man of about the average height, probably not far from fifty, dressed in a neat business suit, and looked like a substantial merchant.

“Please be seated.”

Dodger sat down in an easy-chair conveniently near him.

“Young man,” said the stranger, impressively, “you have done me a great favor.”

Dodger felt that this was true, and did not disclaim it.

“I am very glad I came up just as I did,” he said.

“How large a sum of money do you think I had about me?” asked his companion.

“Five hundred dollars?”

“Five hundred dollars! Why, that would be a mere trifle.”

“It wouldn’t be a trifle to me, sir,” said Dodger.

“Are you poor?” asked the man, earnestly.

“I have a good situation that pays me fifteen dollars a week, so I ought not to consider myself poor.”

“Suppose you had a considerable sum of money given you, what would you do with it?”

“If I had five hundred dollars, I should be able to defeat the schemes of a villain, and restore a young lady to her rights.”

“That seems interesting. Tell me the circumstances.”

Dodger told the story as briefly as he could. He was encouraged to find that the stranger listened to him with attention.

“Do you know,” he said, reflectively, “you have done for me what I once did for another—a rich man? The case was very similar. I was a poor boy at the time. Do you know what he gave me?”

“What was it, sir?”

“A dollar! What do you think of that for generosity?”

“Well, sir, it wasn’t exactly liberal. Did you accept it?”

“No. I told him that I didn’t wish to inconvenience him. But I asked you how much money you supposed I had. I will tell you. In a wallet I have eleven thousand dollars in bank notes and securities.”

“That is a fortune,” said Dodger, dazzled at the mention of such a sum.

“If I had lost it, I have plenty more, but the most serious peril was to my life. Through your opportune assistance I have escaped without loss. I fully appreciate the magnitude of the service you have done me. As an evidence of it, please accept these bills.”

He drew from the roll two bills and handed them to Dodger.

The boy, glancing at them mechanically, started in amazement. Each bill was for five hundred dollars.

“You have given me a thousand dollars!” he gasped.

“I am aware of it. I consider my life worth that, at least. James Swinton never fails to pay his debts.”

“But, sir, a thousand dollars–”

“It’s no more than you deserve. When I tell my wife, on my return to Chicago, about this affair, she will blame me for not giving you more.”

“You seem to belong to a liberal family, sir.”

“I detest meanness, and would rather err on the side of liberality. Now, if agreeable to you, I will order a bottle of champagne, and solace ourselves for this little incident.”

“Thank you, Mr. Swinton, but I have made up my mind not to drink anything stronger than water. I have tended bar in New York, and what I have seen has given me a dislike for liquor of any kind.”

“You are a sensible young man. You are right, and I won’t urge you. There is my card, and if you ever come to Chicago, call upon me.”

“I will, sir.”

When Dodger left the Palace Hotel he felt that he was a favorite of fortune.

It is not always that the money we need is so quickly supplied.

He resolved to return to New York as soon as he could manage it, and take with him the wife and child of Curtis Waring.

This would cost him about five hundred dollars, and he would have the same amount left.

Mr. Tucker was reluctant to part with Dodger.

“You are the best assistant I ever had,” he said. “I will pay you twenty dollars a week, if that will induce you to stay.”

“I would stay if it were not very important for me to return to New York, Mr. Tucker. I do not expect to get a place in New York as good.”

“If you come back to San Francisco at any time, I will make a place for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mrs. Waring was overjoyed when Dodger called upon her and offered to take her back to New York.

“I shall see Curtis again,” she said. “How can I ever thank you?”

But Dodger, though unwilling to disturb her dreams of happiness, thought it exceedingly doubtful if her husband would be equally glad to see her.