Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience

CHAPTER XXVI
A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE

Philip Stark sat down to breakfast in a savage frame of mind. He wanted to be revenged upon Gibbon, whom he suspected of having deceived him by opening and appropriating the bonds, and then arranged to have him carry off the box filled with waste paper.

He sat at the table but five minutes, for he had little or no appetite.

From the breakfast room he went out on the piazza, and with corrugated brows smoked a cigar, but it failed to have the usual soothing effect.

If he had known the truth he would have left Milford without delay, but he was far from suspecting that the deception practiced upon him had been arranged by the man whom he wanted to rob. While there seemed little inducement for him to stay in Milford, he was determined to seek the bookkeeper, and ascertain whether, as he suspected, his confederate had in his possession the bonds which he had been scheming for. If so, he would compel him by threats to disgorge the larger portion, and then leave town at once.

But the problem was, how to see him. He felt that it would be venturesome to go round to the factory, as by this time the loss might have been discovered. If only the box had been left, the discovery might be deferred. Then a bright idea occurred to him. He must get the box out of his own possession, as its discovery would compromise him. Why could he not arrange to leave it somewhere on the premises of his confederate?

He resolved upon the instant to carry out the idea. He went up to his room, wrapped the tin box in a paper, and walked round to the house of the bookkeeper. The coast seemed to be clear, as he supposed it would be. He slipped into the yard, and swiftly entered an outhouse. There was a large wooden chest, or box, which had once been used to store grain. Stark lifted the cover, dropped the box inside, and then, with a feeling of relief, walked out of the yard. But he had been observed. Mrs. Gibbon chanced to be looking out of a side window and saw him. She recognized him as the stranger who had been in the habit of spending recent evenings with her husband.

“What can he want here at this time?” she asked herself.

She deliberated whether she should go to the door and speak to Stark, but decided not to do so.

“He will call at the door if he has anything to say,” she reflected.

Phil Stark walked on till he reached the factory. He felt that he must see Julius Gibbon, and satisfy himself as to the meaning of the mysterious substitution of waste paper for bonds.

When he reached a point where he could see into the office, he caught the eye of Leonard, who was sitting at the window. He beckoned for him to come out, and Leonard was glad to do so.

“Where are you going?” asked the bookkeeper, observing the boy’s movement.

“Mr. Stark is just across the street, and he beckoned for me.”

Julius Gibbon flushed painfully, and he trembled with nervous agitation, for he feared something had happened.

“Very well, go out, but don’t stay long.”

Leonard crossed the street and walked up to Stark, who awaited him, looking grim and stern.

“Your uncle is inside?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell him I wish to see him at once—on business of importance.”

“He’s busy,” said Leonard. “‘He doesn’t leave the office in business hours.”

“Tell him I must see him—do you hear? He’ll come fast enough.”

“I wonder what it’s all about,” thought Leonard, whose curiosity was naturally excited.

“Wait a minute!” said Stark, as he turned to go. “Is Jennings in?”

“No, sir, he has gone over to the next town.”

“Probably the box has not been missed, then,” thought Stark. “So much the better! I can find out how matters stand, and then leave town.”

“Very well!” he said, aloud, “let your uncle understand that I must see him.”

Leonard carried in the message. Gibbon made no objection, but took his hat and went out, leaving Leonard in charge of the office.

“Well, what is it?” he asked, hurriedly, as he reached Stark. “Is—is the box all right?”

“Look here, Gibbon,” said Stark, harshly, “have you been playing any of your infernal tricks upon me?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” responded Gibbon, bewildered.

Stark eyed him sharply, but the bookkeeper was evidently sincere.

“Is there anything wrong?” continued the latter.

“Do you mean to tell me you didn’t know that wretched box was filled with waste paper?”

“You don’t mean it?” exclaimed Gibbon, in dismay.

“Yes, I do. I didn’t open it till this morning, and in place of government bonds, I found only folded slips of newspaper.”

By this time Gibbon was suspicious. Having no confidence in Stark, it occurred to him that it was a ruse to deprive him of his share of the bonds.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You want to keep all the bonds for yourself, and cheat me out of my share.”

“I wish to Heaven you were right. If there had been any bonds, I would have acted on the square. But somebody had removed them, and substituted paper. I suspected you.”

“I am ready to swear that this has happened without my knowledge,” said Gibbon, earnestly.

“How, then, could it have occurred?” asked Stark.

“I don’t know, upon my honor. Where is the box?”

“I—have disposed of it.”

“You should have waited and opened it before me.”

“I asked you if you had a key that would open it. I wanted to open it last evening in the office.”

“True.”

“You will see after a while that I was acting on the square. You can open it for yourself at your leisure.”

“How can I? I don’t know where it is.”

“Then I can enlighten you,” said Stark, maliciously. “When you go home, you will find it in a chest in your woodshed.”

Gibbon turned pale.

“You don’t mean to say you have carried it to my house?” he exclaimed, in dismay.

“Yes, I do. I had no further use for it, and thought you had the best claim to it.”

“But, good heavens! if it is found there I shall be suspected.”

“Very probably,” answered Stark, coolly. “Take my advice and put it out of the way.”

“How could you be so inconsiderate?”

“Because I suspected you of playing me a trick.”

“I swear to you, I didn’t.”

“Then somebody has tricked both of us. Has Mr. Jennings discovered the disappearance of the box?”

“Yes, I told him.”

“When?”

“When he came to the office.”

“What did he say?”

“He took the matter coolly. He didn’t say much.”

“Where is he?”

“Gone to Winchester on business.”

“Look here! Do you think he suspects you?”

“I am quite sure not. That is why I told him about the robbery.”

“He might suspect me.”

“He said nothing about suspecting anybody.”

“Do you think he removed the bonds and substituted paper?”

“I don’t think so.”

“If this were the case we should both be in a serious plight. I think I had better get out of town. You will have to lend me ten dollars.”

“I don’t see how I can, Stark.”

“You must!” said Stark, sternly, “or I will reveal the whole thing. Remember, the box is on your premises.”

“Heavens! what a quandary I am in,” said the bookkeeper, miserably. “That must be attended to at once. Why couldn’t you put it anywhere else?”

“I told you that I wanted to be revenged upon you.”

“I wish you had never come to Milford,” groaned the bookkeeper.

“I wish I hadn’t myself, as things have turned out.”

They prepared to start for Gibbon’s house, when Mr. Jennings drove up. With him were two tall muscular men, whom Stark and Gibbon eyed uneasily. The two strangers jumped out of the carriage and advanced toward the two confederates.

“Arrest those men!” said Jennings, in a quiet tone. “I charge them with opening and robbing my safe last night about eleven o’clock.”

CHAPTER XXVII
BROUGHT TO BAY

Phil Stark made an effort to get away, but the officer was too quick for him. In a trice he was handcuffed.

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” demanded Stark, boldly.

“I have already explained,” said the manufacturer, quietly.

“You are quite on the wrong tack,” continued Stark, brazenly. “Mr. Gibbon was just informing me that the safe had been opened and robbed. It is the first I knew of it.”

Julius Gibbon seemed quite prostrated by his arrest. He felt it necessary to say something, and followed the lead of his companion.

“You will bear me witness, Mr. Jennings,” he said, “that I was the first to inform you of the robbery. If I had really committed the burglary, I should have taken care to escape during the night.”

“I should be glad to believe in your innocence,” rejoined the manufacturer, “but I know more about this matter than you suppose.”

“I won’t answer for Mr. Gibbon,” said Stark, who cared nothing for his confederate, if he could contrive to effect his own escape. “Of course he had opportunities, as bookkeeper, which an outsider could not have.”

Gibbon eyed his companion in crime distrustfully. He saw that Stark was intending to throw him over.

“I am entirely willing to have my room at the hotel searched,” continued Stark, gathering confidence. “If you find any traces of the stolen property there, you are welcome to make the most of them. I have no doubt Mr. Gibbon will make you the same offer in regard to his house.”

Gibbon saw at once the trap which had been so craftily prepared for him. He knew that any search of his premises would result in the discovery of the tin box, and had no doubt that Stark would be ready to testify to any falsehood likely to fasten the guilt upon him. His anger was roused and he forgot his prudence.

“You—scoundrel!” he hissed between his closed teeth.

“You seem excited,” sneered Stark. “Is it possible that you object to the search?”

“If the missing box is found on my premises,” said Gibbon, in a white heat, “it is because you have concealed it there.”

Phil Stark shrugged his shoulders.

“I think, gentlemen,” he said, “that settles it. I am afraid Mr Gibbon is guilty. I shall be glad to assist you to recover the stolen property. Did the box contain much that was of value?”

“I must caution you both against saying anything that will compromise you,” said one of the officers.

“I have nothing to conceal,” went on Stark, brazenly. “I am obliged to believe that this man committed the burglary. It is against me that I have been his companion for the last week or two, but I used to know him, and that will account for it.”

The unhappy bookkeeper saw the coils closing around him.

“I hope you will see your way to release me,” said Stark, addressing himself to Mr. Jennings. “I have just received information that my poor mother is lying dangerously sick in Cleveland, and I am anxious to start for her bedside to-day.”

“Why did you come round here this morning?” asked Mr. Jennings.

“To ask Mr. Gibbon to repay me ten dollars which he borrowed of me the other day,” returned Stark, glibly.

“You—liar!” exclaimed Gibbon, angrily.

“I am prepared for this man’s abuse,” said Stark. “I don’t mind admitting now that a few days since he invited me to join him in the robbery of the safe. I threatened to inform you of his plan, and he promised to give it up. I supposed he had done so, but it is clear to me now that he carried out his infamous scheme.”

Mr. Jennings looked amused. He admired Stark’s brazen effrontery.

“What have you to say to this charge, Mr. Gibbon?” he asked.

“Only this, sir, that I was concerned in the burglary.”

“He admits it!” said Stark, triumphantly.

“But this man forced me to it. He threatened to write you some particulars of my past history which would probably have lost me my position if I did not agree to join him in the conspiracy. I was weak, and yielded. Now he is ready to betray me to save himself.”

“Mr. Jennings,” said Stark, coldly, “you will know what importance to attach to the story of a self-confessed burglar. Gibbon, I hope you will see the error of your ways, and restore to your worthy employer the box of valuable property which you stole from his safe.”

“This is insufferable!” cried the bookkeeper “You are a double-dyed traitor, Phil Stark. You were not only my accomplice, but you instigated the crime.”

“You will find it hard to prove this,” sneered Stark. “Mr. Jennings, I demand my liberty. If you have any humanity you will not keep me from the bedside of my dying mother.” “I admire your audacity, Mr. Stark,” observed the manufacturer, quietly. “Don’t suppose for a moment that I give the least credit to your statements.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Gibbon. “I’m ready to accept the consequences of my act, but I don’t want that scoundrel and traitor to go free.”

“You can’t prove anything against me,” said Stark, doggedly, “unless you accept the word of a self-confessed burglar, who is angry with me because I would not join him.”

“All these protestations it would be better for you to keep till your trial begins, Mr. Stark,” said the manufacturer. “However, I think it only fair to tell you that I am better informed about you and your conspiracy than you imagine. Will you tell me where you were at eleven o’clock last evening?”

“I was in my room at the hotel—no, I was taking a walk. I had received news of my mother’s illness, and I was so much disturbed and grieved that I could not remain indoors.”

“You were seen to enter the office of this factory with Mr. Gibbon, and after ten minutes came out with the tin box under your arm.”

“Who saw me?” demanded Stark, uneasily.

Carl Crawford came forward and answered this question.

“I did!” he said.

“A likely story! You were in bed and asleep.”

“You are mistaken. I was on watch behind the stone wall just opposite. If you want proof, I can repeat some of the conversation that passed between you and Mr. Gibbon.”

Without waiting for the request, Carl rehearsed some of the talk already recorded in a previous chapter.

Phil Stark began to see that things were getting serious for him, but he was game to the last.

“I deny it,” he said, in a loud voice.

“Do you also deny it, Mr. Gibbon?” asked Mr. Jennings.

“No, sir; I admit it,” replied Gibbon, with a triumphant glance at his foiled confederate.

“This is a conspiracy against an innocent man,” said Stark, scowling. “You want to screen your bookkeeper, if possible. No one has ever before charged me with crime.”

“Then how does it happen, Mr. Stark, that you were confined at the Joliet penitentiary for a term of years?”

“Did he tell you this?” snarled Stark, pointing to Gibbon.

“No.”

“Who then?”

“A customer of mine from Chicago. He saw you at the hotel, and informed Carl last evening of your character. Carl, of course, brought the news to me. It was in consequence of this information that I myself removed the bonds from the box, early in the evening, and substituted strips of paper. Your enterprise, therefore, would have availed you little even if you had succeeded in getting off scot-free.”

“I see the game is up,” said Stark, throwing off the mask. “It’s true that I have been in the Joliet penitentiary. It was there that I became acquainted with your bookkeeper,” he added, maliciously. “Let him deny it if he dare.”

“I shall not deny it. It is true,” said Gibbon. “But I had resolved to live an honest life in future, and would have done so if this man had not pressed me into crime by his threats.”

“I believe you, Mr. Gibbon,” said the manufacturer, gently, “and I will see that this is counted in your favor. And now, gentlemen, I think there is no occasion for further delay.”

The two men were carried to the lockup and in due time were tried. Stark was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment, Gibbon to five. At the end of two years, at the intercession of Mr. Jennings, he was pardoned, and furnished with money enough to go to Australia, where, his past character unknown, he was able to make an honest living, and gain a creditable position.

CHAPTER XXVIII
AFTER A YEAR

Twelve months passed without any special incident. With Carl it was a period of steady and intelligent labor and progress. He had excellent mechanical talent, and made remarkable advancement. He was not content with attention to his own work, but was a careful observer of the work of others, so that in one year he learned as much of the business as most boys would have done in three.

When the year was up, Mr. Jennings detained him after supper.

“Do you remember what anniversary this is, Carl?” he asked, pleasantly.

“Yes, sir; it is the anniversary of my going into the factory.”

“Exactly. How are you satisfied with the year and its work?”

“I have been contented and happy, Mr. Jennings; and I feel that I owe my happiness and content to you.”

Mr. Jennings looked pleased.

“I am glad you say so,” he said, “but it is only fair to add that your own industry and intelligence have much to do with the satisfactory results of the year.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The superintendent tells me that outside of your own work you have a general knowledge of the business which would make you a valuable assistant to himself in case he needed one.”

Carl’s face glowed with pleasure.

“I believe in being thorough,” he said, “and I am interested in every department of the business.”

“Before you went into the factory you had not done any work.”

“No, sir; I had attended school.”

“It was not a bad preparation for business, but in some cases it gives a boy disinclination for manual labor.”

“Yes; I wouldn’t care to work with my hands all my life.”

“I don’t blame you for that. You have qualified yourself for something better. How much do I pay you?”

“I began on two dollars a week and my board. At the end of six months you kindly advanced me to four dollars.”

“I dare say you have found it none too much for your wants.”

Carl smiled.

“I have saved forty dollars out of it,” he answered.

Mr. Jennings looked pleased.

“You have done admirably,” he said, warmly. “Forty dollars is not a large sum, but in laying it by you have formed a habit that will be of great service to you in after years. I propose to raise you to ten dollars a week.”

“But, sir, shall I earn so much? You are very kind, but I am afraid you will be a loser by your liberality.”

Mr. Jennings smiled.

“You are partly right,” he said. “Your services at present are hardly worth the sum I have agreed to pay, that is, in the factory, but I shall probably impose upon you other duties of an important nature soon.”

“If you do, sir, I will endeavor to meet your expectations.”

“How would you like to take a journey Carl?”

“Very much, sir.”

“I think of sending you—to Chicago.”

Carl, who had thought perhaps of a fifty-mile trip, looked amazed, but his delight was equal to his surprise. He had always wished to see the West, though Chicago can hardly be called a Western city now, since between it and the Pacific there is a broad belt of land two thousand miles in extent.

“Do you think I am competent?” he asked, modestly.

“I cannot say positively, but I think so,” answered Mr. Jennings.

“Then I shall be delighted to go. Will it be very soon?”

“Yes, very soon. I shall want you to start next Monday.”

“I will be ready, sir.”

“And I may as well explain what are to be your duties. I am, as you know, manufacturing a special line of chairs which I am desirous of introducing to the trade. I shall give you the names of men in my line in Albany, Buffalo, Cleveland and Chicago, and it will be your duty to call upon them, explain the merits of the chair, and solicit orders. In other words, you will be a traveling salesman or drummer. I shall pay your traveling expenses, ten dollars a week, and, if your orders exceed a certain limit, I shall give you a commission on the surplus.”

“Suppose I don’t reach that limit?”

“I shall at all events feel that you have done your best. I will instruct you a little in your duties between now and the time of your departure. I should myself like to go in your stead, but I am needed here. There are, of course, others in my employ, older than yourself, whom I might send, but I have an idea that you will prove to be a good salesman.”

“I will try to be, sir.”

On Monday morning Carl left Milford, reached New York in two hours and a half and, in accordance with the directions of Mr. Jennings, engaged passage and a stateroom on one of the palatial night lines of Hudson River steamers to Albany. The boat was well filled with passengers, and a few persons were unable to procure staterooms.

Carl, however, applied in time, and obtained an excellent room. He deposited his gripsack therein, and then took a seat on deck, meaning to enjoy as long as possible the delightful scenery for which the Hudson is celebrated. It was his first long journey, and for this reason Carl enjoyed it all the more. He could not but contrast his present position and prospects with those of a year ago, when, helpless and penniless, he left an unhappy home to make his own way.

“What a delightful evening!” said a voice at his side.

Turning, Carl saw sitting by him a young man of about thirty, dressed in somewhat pretentious style and wearing eyeglasses. He was tall and thin, and had sandy side whiskers.

“Yes, it is a beautiful evening,” replied Carl, politely.

“And the scenery is quite charming. Have you ever been all the way up the river?”

“No, but I hope some day to take a day trip.”

“Just so. I am not sure but I prefer the Rhine, with its romantic castles and vineclad hills.”

“Have you visited Europe, then?” asked Carl.

“Oh, yes, several times. I have a passion for traveling. Our family is wealthy, and I have been able to go where I pleased.”

“That must be very pleasant.”

“It is. My name is Stuyvesant—one of the old Dutch families.”

Carl was not so much impressed, perhaps, as he should have been by this announcement, for he knew very little of fashionable life in New York.

“You don’t look like a Dutchman,” he said, smiling.

“I suppose you expected a figure like a beer keg,” rejoined Stuyvesant, laughing. “Some of my forefathers may have answered that description, but I am not built that way. Are you traveling far?”

“I may go as far as Chicago.”

“Is anyone with you?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you have friends in Chicago?”

“Not that I am aware of. I am traveling on business.”

“Indeed; you are rather young for a business man.”

“I am sixteen.”

“Well, that cannot exactly be called venerable.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“By the way, did you succeed in getting a stateroom?”

“Yes, I have a very good one.”

“You’re in luck, on my word. I was just too late. The man ahead of me took the last room.”

“You can get a berth, I suppose.”

“But that is so common. Really, I should not know how to travel without a stateroom. Have you anyone with you?”

“No.”

“If you will take me in I will pay the entire expense.”

Carl hesitated. He preferred to be alone, but he was of an obliging disposition, and he knew that there were two berths in the stateroom.

“If it will be an accommodation,” he said, “I will let you occupy the room with me, Mr. Stuyvesant.”

“Will you, indeed! I shall esteem it a very great favor. Where is your room?”

“I will show you.”

Carl led the way to No. 17, followed by his new acquaintance. Mr. Stuyvesant seemed very much pleased, and insisted on paying for the room at once. Carl accepted half the regular charges, and so the bargain was made.

At ten o’clock the two travelers retired to bed. Carl was tired and went to sleep at once. He slept through the night. When he awoke in the morning the boat was in dock. He heard voices in the cabin, and the noise of the transfer of baggage and freight to the wharf.

“I have overslept myself,” he said, and jumped up, hurriedly. He looked into the upper berth, but his roommate was gone. Something else was gone, too—his valise, and a wallet which he had carried in the pocket of his trousers.