CHAPTER XXI.
MIKE HOGAN’S CAPTURE
The sudden transformation of Perkins into a woman struck Andy with amazement. He knew nothing about detectives and their ways, and could not understand how the change had been effected so rapidly. Perkins enjoyed the boy’s astonishment.
“I see you are surprised at my appearance,” he remarked, with a smile.
“Yes, ma’am – I mean, sir.”
“I assure you that I am a man,” continued the detective, noticing his confusion.
“I was wondering where you got a dress to fit you so well,” Andy ventured to say.
“Oh, I brought it with me!” said Perkins, composedly.
“Do you often dress up as a woman?”
“Not often; but sometimes, as in the present instance, it seems desirable. You see, our friends of the highway wouldn’t be very apt to show themselves, if they should see a man with you.”
“I don’t know,” said Andy, doubtfully. “Both of them together would be more than a match for us.”
“You think so?” returned the detective. “I see you haven’t a very high opinion of my abilities or physical strength.”
“Hogan, as you call him, looks like a very strong man,” said Andy.
“And I don’t, eh?”
“Well,” said Andy, not willing to give offense, “he is a good deal larger than you.”
“That is true. But a man’s strength isn’t always in proportion to his size. Give me your hand, please.”
Andy did so, though he did not quite understand the detective’s object in making the request.
Perkins’ hands were incased in tight-fitting kid gloves, and were small for a man. What was Andy’s surprise, then, to find his fingers in an ironlike grip that positively pained him. Perkins smiled as he felt Andy wince under the pressure.
“You’ve got the strongest hand of any lady I ever met,” said Andy, with a smile.
“Suppose I get a grip on Mike Hogan?” suggested Perkins.
“I think he would find it hard to get away.”
“He is the man I want. The other is of little consequence, compared with Hogan. If I can take but one, I shall hold on to the older villain.”
As they traveled over the road, Perkins entertained his young companion with scraps of personal adventure, borrowed from his ten years’ experience as a detective. He closed by instructing Andy how to act if they should encounter the men whom they sought.
Meanwhile, Hogan and the young man he called Bill, had stationed themselves near the road, in the shelter of some underbrush. Of the two, Hogan was the more excited and eager. His companion, under the impression that there was no money to be got from Andy, did not feel much interested in the matter. True, Andy had played a trick upon him, but, although provoked, he rather applauded the boy’s smartness.
With Mike Hogan it was different. He had suffered physical pain at Andy’s hands, besides losing, through his brave defense, the large sum which would otherwise unquestionably have fallen into his hands, and it was natural that he should thirst for revenge.
“I should like to wring the boy’s neck,” he muttered, as they lay together in concealment.
“It might not be altogether safe to kill him,” suggested Bill, who shrank from murder, and feared that Hogan’s temper might involve them in serious trouble.
“Oh, I won’t kill him!” growled Hogan. “I wouldn’t mind doing it, but for the law; but I don’t want my neck stretched.”
“That wouldn’t pay, Hogan, as you say.”
“I won’t kill him, but I’ll give him something to remember me by.”
“That’s all right; but don’t go too far.”
“I won’t do any worse by him that he did by me, I tell you. Are you sure there is no other road, Bill, by which he can come back? I should feel like a fool if he went another way, while we were lying in wait for him.”
“No danger, Hogan. I found out about that before I started.”
Presently their waiting was rewarded. The sound of carriage wheels was heard.
“Look out and see who it is, Bill,” said Hogan.
Bill peered through the leaves, looking cautiously up the road.
“It’s the boy,” he reported to his chief; “but he is not alone.”
“Confusion!” muttered Mike Hogan, disappointed. “Who is with him?” he asked.
“Only a woman.”
“Why didn’t you say so before, you fool?” exclaimed Hogan, with an air of relief. “That won’t make any difference.”
“She’ll scream!”
“Let her scream. No harm shall come to her. As for the boy, I’ll attend to his case.”
“What do you want me to do, Hogan?”
“Stop the horse, and I’ll attend to the passengers.”
By direction of Perkins, Andy drove a little slower when he came to the lonely part of the road.
“We’ll give the gentleman a chance to stop us, my boy,” said the detective.
The slow speed satisfied Hogan and his companion that Andy did not apprehend any attack, and that he would be all the more surprised and disconcerted when confronted by them.
According to the plan they had agreed upon, Bill jumped from the covert, and, dashing across the road, seized the horse by the head, while Mike Hogan, big and burly, with a menacing air, approached the wagon.
“Do you know me, young bantam?” he demanded, grimly.
“I think I’ve seen you before,” said Andy, not seeming so much frightened as the thief expected.
“Yes, curse you! and I’ve seen you. You played a scurvy trick upon me Saturday night.”
“I couldn’t help it,” said Andy. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but you drove me to it.”
“So, so! Well, it was unlucky for you, for I’m going to take pay out of your hide.”
“What do you mean?” asked Andy, appearing disturbed.
“I am going to give you the worst thrashing you ever received.”
“Pray don’t!” entreated Andy. “Don’t you see I have a lady here? Let me carry her home first.”
“Do you think I am a fool? Get down, I say!”
“Then help the lady down first. She won’t dare to stay in the carriage alone.”
Mike Hogan had taken very little notice of the lady. At this request, he turned to her.
“Get down, ma’am, if you want to,” he said. “I’ve got a score to settle with this young whelp.”
Perkins took his hand lightly, and leaped to the ground.
The next moment he felt an iron grip at his collar, while the supposed lady held a revolver to his head.
“What does this mean?” he exclaimed, in utter amazement, recoiling from his fair companion.
With his unoccupied hand the detective threw back the veil which concealed his face.
“Mike Hogan,” he said, “I’ve caught you at last.”
“Who are you?” gasped the tramp and burglar.
“I am Perkins, the detective!”
It was a name that Mike Hogan knew well, though Andy had never heard of it. He started to tear himself away, but the iron grip was not disturbed.
“Surrender, or it will be all over with you,” exclaimed Perkins, sternly.
Mike Hogan turned for help to his companion, but at the dreaded name Bill had escaped into the woods.
“I surrender,” said the tramp, doggedly.
With Andy’s help, handcuffs were put on the captive, and he was hoisted into the back part of the buggy. The horse’s head was turned, and Andy drove back to Cranston, where there was a jail.
I may as well add here that Hogan was duly tried, and sentenced to a term of years in the State’s prison.
Thus it happened that Andy was considerably later than he anticipated when he reached Hamilton on his return. During his absence his mother had received a letter which was of considerable importance.
CHAPTER XXII.
AN IMPORTANT PROPOSAL
When Mrs. Gordon heard of Andy’s adventures during his ride to and from Cranston, she was naturally frightened.
“Oh, Andy!” she said, “I can’t consent to your exposing yourself to be injured by such wicked men. You must tell the Peabody girls you can’t go to the bank for them again.”
“I don’t think there’ll be any danger, mother, for we have caught the chief burglar, and the other man has run away.”
“There may be more of them,” said Mrs. Gordon, apprehensively.
“Bring them along!” replied Andy, smiling. “I am ready for them!”
“I hope we shall never have another of those terrible men visit our village!” said his mother, with a shudder.
“I don’t know about that, mother. I find it pays me. How much do you think the Peabodys are going to give me for my services?”
“Perhaps two dollars,” said Mrs. Gordon, looking at Andy in an inquiring way.
“Do you think two dollars would be pay enough for what I did, mother?”
“No; but boys are not paid as much as men, even where they are entitled to it.”
“There’s nothing mean about the Peabodys, mother. They have promised me more than that.”
“Five dollars, perhaps.”
“You will have to multiply five by ten!” said Andy, triumphantly.
“You don’t mean to say you are to have fifty dollars?” ejaculated Mrs. Gordon, quite overpowered by surprise.
“Yes, I do. Toward night I’ll go up and get the money. I didn’t want to take it along to the bank, for I might have had that stolen, too.”
“Certainly you are in luck, Andy,” said his mother. “With what came in your poor father’s wallet, we shall be very well off.”
“Especially as we shall not have old Starr’s note to pay. When do you expect the note to be presented?”
“Mr. Ross gave me a week to find the receipt.”
“And the week will be up to-morrow. Well, mother, we will be ready for him when he comes.”
At this moment Andy espied a letter on the mantelpiece. It was inclosed in a yellow envelope, and addressed in an irregular, tremulous handwriting to his mother.
“What letter is that, mother?” he asked.
“I declare, Andy, I forgot to open it! Louis Schick brought it in an hour ago. He saw it at the post office, and knew you were away, so he brought it along.”
“Why didn’t you open it, mother? I thought ladies were always curious.”
“I was mixing bread at the time, and my hands were all over dough, so I asked Louis to put it on the mantelpiece. When I got through with the bread I had forgotten all about the letter. I don’t know when I should have thought of it again if you hadn’t asked about it.”
“You’d better open it, mother. Of course boys are never curious. Still, I should like to know what is in it. It may be money, you know.”
From her work-basket Mrs. Gordon took a pair of scissors, and with them cut open the envelope. She drew out the letter, when, to the amazement of Andy and herself, a bank-note slipped out and fell upon the carpet.
“There is money inside, mother!” exclaimed our young hero, in surprise.
“How much is it?” asked his mother.
Andy stooped over and picked up the bank-note.
“Why, mother, it’s a fifty-dollar bill!” he exclaimed. “It looks genuine, too. There’s no humbug about it. Who can have sent us so much money?”
Meanwhile, Mrs. Gordon had been looking to the end of the letter to discover who had written it.
“Andy,” she said, “it’s from an old uncle of mine, who lives near Buffalo, in the town of Cato.”
“What’s his name, mother?”
“Simon Dodge. He is the oldest brother of my mother.”
“You never mentioned him to me,” said Andy.
“No; he had almost passed out of my recollection. Uncle Simon never wrote letters, and so it happens that, for twenty-five years, none of us have ever heard anything of him.”
“Read his letter, mother. Let us hear what the fifty dollars are for. Perhaps he wants you to lay it out for him.”
Mrs. Gordon began to read:
“My Dear Niece: It is so long since you have heard from me, that you may have forgotten you had an uncle Simon. I never cared for letter writing – thought, from time to time, I have wished that I could hear something of you and how you were prospering. It is only with difficulty I have learned your address and gleaned a little knowledge of you.
“The way it happened was this: I met, last week, a peddler who had been traveling in your neighborhood. He had visited Hamilton, and I found he knew something about you. He told me that you were poor, and that your good husband was dead, but that you were blessed in having a fine boy to be a help and comfort to you.”
Andy blushed when his mother read these words, and looked rather uncomfortable, as modest boys generally do when they hear themselves praised.
“As for me,” the letter proceeded, “I am getting to be an old man. I am seventy-five years old, and, though my health is good and our family is long-lived – my father lived to be eighty-four – I feel that I have not long to live. I have had the good fortune to accumulate considerable property, besides the farm upon which I am living; but in spite of this, I find myself in a very uncomfortable position. I must explain to you how this happens.
“I had an only daughter – Sarah – who was everything that a daughter should be. She was amiable and kind, and, if she were living, I should have no cause to complain.
“She married a man named Brackett, a painter by trade, and for a few years they lived in a small house in the village. But Brackett was a lazy and shiftless man, and every year I had to help him, till at last I thought it would be cheaper taking him into my house and letting him help me look after the farm. My wife had died and I was willing to tolerate him – though I never liked the man – for the sake of my daughter’s presence in the house. Five years afterward, Sarah died, but Brackett still remained. They had had no child that lived, and I should have liked then to have gotten rid of him, but it wasn’t easy.
“Two years later he married a sharp, ill-tempered woman, from the next town, and brought her to the house. That was ten years ago. I ought to have given him notice to quit, but at the time of the marriage I was sick, and when I got well the new wife seemed to have become the mistress of the establishment.
“I have never been comfortable since. There are four children by this marriage, and they overrun the house. I was weak enough, a few years ago, to make over the place to Brackett, and now he and his wife are persecuting me to make a will, bequeathing them the rest of my property. This I will never do. The man has no claim upon me, and I should not have given him the place. My other property amounts to about ten thousand dollars, though he doesn’t suspect it. I find myself watched, as a cat watches a mouse, lest I should dispose of my property away from them. I feel that I have not a friend in the house, and I am so old that I want one.
“Now, my dear niece, will you do me a favor? Send your boy to me, but let him take another name. I don’t want it known or suspected that he is related to me. Though he is young, he can help me to carry out a plan I have in view, and to baffle my persecutors. I will take care that his services are recompensed. I enclose a fifty-dollar bill to pay his expenses out here.
“I am tired, and must close.
“Your old uncle,Simon Dodge.
“P. S. – It will be a good idea to apply to Mr. Brackett for work – offering to come at very low wages. Brackett wants a boy, but he doesn’t want to pay more than fifty cents a week. Do not answer this letter, if you send your son, as Mr. Brackett would find out that I had received a letter from your neighborhood, and his suspicions would be aroused.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
ANDY’S RESOLVE
“Poor uncle Simon!” said Mrs. Gordon, after the letter had been read. “He seems to be in a difficult position.”
“Why doesn’t he send that man Brackett packing?” asked Andy, indignantly. “He can’t have much spirit.”
“You forget, Andy, how old he is. An old man is not so well able to contend for his rights as a man of middle age. Besides, it appears that his son-in-law has possession of the farm.”
“It is a shame!”
“So it is; but that cannot be recalled. The rest of the property ought to be saved from Mr. Brackett.”
“That’s easy enough. He needn’t give it to him.”
“But uncle Simon may be persecuted into doing what he does not wish to do.”
“Mother,” said Andy, with a sudden thought, “who will get the property if Mr. Dodge dies without a will?”
“I suppose it would go to his relations.”
“What other relations has he besides you?”
“I don’t think he has any others,” answered Mrs. Gordon.
“Then it may come to us.”
“We have more right to it than Mr. Brackett,” said his mother.
“Then,” said Andy, after a short pause, “there must be a struggle between me and Brackett.”
“You wouldn’t fight with a full-grown man, Andy?” asked his mother, in alarm.
“Oh, no!” answered Andy, smiling. “I don’t think it will come to that. But I must go out to your uncle’s help. Between us both, we will see if we can’t circumvent that grasping old Brackett and his wife and children.”
“I don’t see what a boy like you can do, Andy.”
“At any rate, I can try, mother. This money will pay my expenses out to Cato. When I get there I can form my plans.”
“I don’t see how I can spare you, Andy.”
“Remember, mother, I am going in your behalf. Uncle Simon’s money, which may amount to ten thousand dollars, may otherwise be taken from us.”
“If you can induce Uncle Simon to come here and end his days with us, I will try to make him comfortable.”
“A good idea, mother. I’ll see if I can’t bring him.”
“When do you want to start, Andy?”
“Not till after our good friend Joshua Starr has come for his money. I want to be here then, just to see how disappointed and mortified he will look when he sees the receipt with his signature attached.”
On Tuesday afternoon, Joshua Starr called at the office of Brandon Ross, the lawyer.
“To-day’s the day when we are to call on the Widder Gordon for my money, lawyer, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Starr. Do you propose to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“You see, Squire, I thought I could take a look at the furniture,” suggested old Joshua, “and decide what I’ll take. It ain’t likely that the widder’ll have the money to pay the note – at least, not all of it, and I’ll have to take it out in what she’s got.”
“You are a hard man, Mr. Starr. I shouldn’t like to be owing you money which I couldn’t pay.”
“You’re jokin’, squire. There ain’t anything wrong in my wantin’ my money, is there?”
“No; still you’re a rich man, and Mrs. Gordon is a poor woman.”
“That ain’t neither here nor there,” said Joshua Starr, evidently annoyed. “My money’s my own, I take it, and I’m entitled to it. If Mr. Gordon borrowed money, it stands to reason that his widder ought to pay it,” he concluded, triumphantly.
“I can’t gainsay you, Mr. Starr. You must act your will. I am only your agent, you know.”
“Jes’ so! jes’ so!” said the old man, considerably relieved, for he feared that the lawyer was going to act against him.
But he did not know that Brandon Ross derived positive pleasure from the thought of the distress and trouble he was about to bring on the boy who had – as he construed it – insulted and injured his own spoiled son.
The crafty lawyer, however, did not mean to let either his client or his intended victim know how willingly he engaged in the affair.
CHAPTER XXIV.
ANDY’S TRIUMPH OVER MR. STARR
“They’re coming, mother,” said Andy, as, looking from the window, he espied the bent form of old Joshua, with the sprucely dressed lawyer at his side, coming up the village street side by side, and approaching their modest cottage.
“I wish the visit were over,” said Mrs. Gordon, nervously.
“I don’t, mother,” said Andy, with a smile of assured triumph. “The victory is to be ours, you know.”
“I don’t like to quarrel.”
“Nor I; but when a man tries to impose upon me, I like to resist him boldly.”
“You won’t be too hasty, Andy?”
“No; but, mother, let me manage the matter, and leave me to produce the receipt when I think it best.”
“Wouldn’t it be well to save trouble by letting them know at once that we have found it, Andy?” asked the widow.
“No, mother; I want to make them show their hand first.”
Andy had hardly completed this sentence, when a knock was heard at the door.
Mrs. Gordon opened it.
“Good-afternoon, widder!” said Joshua Starr, in his cracked voice, which was usually pitched on a high key.
“Good-afternoon, Mrs. Gordon!” said the lawyer, blandly. “We have called – Mr. Starr and myself – on a little matter of business.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’ve called on business,” echoed Starr.
“Won’t you walk in, gentlemen?” said Mrs. Gordon, gravely.
“Thank you!” said the lawyer.
And he bowed ceremoniously.
“I reckon we will,” said Joshua Starr, who forgot to remove his battered old hat as he entered.
“Why, Andy, howdy do?” said the old man, as he espied our young hero seated at the window. “I see you’ve took to scarin’ burglars. Ho, ho! I reckon I’d have to send for you if I had anything in my house wuth stealin’. Ho, ho!”
“Yes, Mr. Starr, I’m ready to defend myself against all sorts of burglars,” said Andy, pointedly.
Mr. Starr did not understand Andy’s meaning, but Mr. Ross darted a sharp glance at the boy, whom he understood better. He said nothing, however.
“Sho! I guess they ain’t likely to get into your house, widder,” said Mr. Starr, turning to Mrs. Gordon.
“I hope not, Mr. Starr.”
The old man’s eyes had already begun to wander about the room, in search of desirable furniture to seize in payment of the note. There was a comfortable rocking-chair, in which the lawyer had seated himself, which he mentally decided to claim. It occurred to him that it would be just the thing for him to sit in after the farm work of the day was over.
He nodded significantly to the lawyer, who thereupon commenced:
“Of course, Mrs. Gordon, you are aware of the nature of the business that has brought us here?”
“Jes’ so! jes’ so!” interjected Mr. Starr.
“Is it about the note?”
“Yes, it is about the note. Including interest, it amounts to – ”
“One hundred and thirty-two dollars and twenty-seven cents,” interrupted Joshua Starr, eagerly.
The lawyer looked at him angrily, and Mr. Starr shrank back in his chair.
“I told you, Mr. Ross, that the note had been paid,” said Mrs. Gordon, beginning to be a little nervous.
“I know you said so,” the lawyer returned, “and you were doubtless under that impression, but my client, Mr. Starr, assures me that it is a mistake. The note still remains unpaid.”
“Jes’ so! jes’ so!” said Starr, eagerly.
“You know better, Mr. Starr!” broke in Andy, hotly. “You are trying to get the note paid twice.”
“Why, Andy,” exclaimed Mr. Starr, appearing to be very much shocked, “how you talk!”
“Young man,” said the lawyer, severely, “this is very disgraceful! I cannot permit my respected client to be insulted by a beardless boy.”
“What I said is true, nevertheless,” said Andy. “I don’t believe Mr. Starr has forgotten it, either!”
“That’s all nonsense, Andy,” said Joshua. “I’ll make it easy for you. I’m willin’ to take part of my pay in furniture, and the rest your mother can pay, say five or ten dollars a month.”
“My mother has no more furniture than she wants,” said Andy, “and she wants all her income to live upon.”
“That won’t do,” said the lawyer, sternly. “Your mother must make some arrangements this very afternoon to pay my client’s note, or it will be necessary for me, in his behalf, to take some very unpleasant measures.”
“There is one excellent reason for our not paying the note,” said Andy, smiling.
“What is that?”
“It has already been paid, and we can show Mr. Starr’s receipt.”
Mr. Ross and his client stared at each other in a dismay which they were powerless to conceal.