CHAPTER XIII.
FOGSON IN PURSUIT
"What do you mean, Percy?" asked Squire Dixon, referring to his son's exclamation at the close of the preceding chapter. "Do you know anything of Jed?"
"Yes; I saw him last evening at Duncan."
"But what took him there? What was he doing?"
"He was on the stage. He was playing in 'The Gold King.'"
"What do you mean by this absurd statement?" demanded his father angrily.
"It is true. Ask mother if it isn't."
"I think Percy is right," said Mrs. Dixon. "The young actor bears a wonderful resemblance to the boy Jed."
"But Jed doesn't know anything about acting."
"That is why I thought I was mistaken. But if Jed has run away it must be he."
"Why didn't you manage to speak to him after the play?"
"I did, and he denied that he was Jed. He calls himself Ralph Clinton."
"Really, this is a most surprising circumstance," said the squire. "The boy is a hardened young villain. His running away from those who are lawfully set over him in authority is a most audacious and highhanded outrage."
"That's what I think," chimed in Percy. "What shall you do about it? Shan't you go after him?"
"I think it my duty to do so. As soon as breakfast is over, ask Mr. Fogson to come round here. Tell him I have news of the fugitive."
Three-quarters of an hour later Simeon Fogson was admitted into the august presence of the Overseer of the Poor.
"I hear you have news of Jed Gilman," he said. "That is what your son Percy tells me."
"It is true, Mr. Fogson. The young scapegrace has joined a company of actors. What is he coming to?"
"To the gallows, I think," answered Fogson. "But how did you learn this?"
"Percy saw him on the stage last evening."
"And he actually played a part?"
"Yes."
"In his ragged suit?"
"No," answered Percy. "He had a telegraph boy's suit first, and afterwards a nice brown suit—as nice as mine."
"Where did he get 'em?" asked Fogson.
"That's the question!" returned the squire solemnly. "There is a strange mystery about the boy's goings on. Have you observed anything queer in his conduct of late?"
"I have noticed that he has been unusually impudent. Ha, I have it!" said Fogson, suddenly, slapping his thigh.
"What have you?" asked Percy.
"There was an actor stayed at the poorhouse night before last—an actor named Bertram. It is he that has lured Jed astray."
"There was an actor by that name in the play last evening."
"Then that settles it. Squire Dixon, what shall I do?"
"I think, Mr. Fogson, you had better go at once to Duncan—I will lend you my buggy—and secure the boy, tying him hand and foot, if necessary, and take him back to the poorhouse."
Simeon Fogson smiled grimly. It was an errand that suited him.
"I will do so," he said, "and I will lose no time."
"Don't ask for Jed Gilman," suggested Percy. "Ask for Ralph Clinton. That's the name he goes by now."
Mr. Fogson drew out a stub of a lead-pencil and put down this name. In twenty minutes he was on his way, and an hour later he drew up in front of the hotel in Duncan.
He left the buggy and entered the public room of the inn.
"Is there such a boy as Ralph Clinton here?" he asked the clerk.
"Yes; do you want to see him?"
"I should like very much to see him," answered Fogson grimly.
"He is in No. 12. Jim, show the gentleman up. He is sick."
Fogson nodded.
"I dare say," he added significantly. "I guess his acting made him sick."
"Yes, that's what I heard. Is he your son?"
"No, but I am his guardian."
Fogson was quite elated at so easily getting on the track of the fugitive.
"Sick!" he repeated to himself, as he ascended the staircase. "I guess he'll be sick before he gets through with me."
The servant knocked at No. 12, and a boy's voice was heard to say "Come in!"
The door was opened, and Fogson, rushing in, grasped the arm of a boy sitting in a rocking-chair.
"I've got you, you young rascal!" he exclaimed.
"What do you mean, you lunatic?" demanded the boy in a clear voice, higher pitched than was Jed's.
Then for the first time Fogson, who was shortsighted, found out that the boy was not Jed, but a youth of lighter complexion and slighter physique.
He fell back in confusion.
"I was told you were Ralph Clinton," he explained, looking rather foolish.
"I am Ralph Clinton."
"But I want Jed Gilman."
"Then why don't you look for Jed Gilman? What have I got to do with him?"
"Do you act with the Gold King Company?"
"Yes, when I am well."
"Did you act last evening?"
"No; there was another boy that took my place."
"That's the one I want. He ran away from me."
"Are you his father?"
"No, I'm his guardian."
"I don't like your looks," said Ralph, who was a very free-spoken young man. "I don't blame him for running away from you."
Fogson scowled.
"I believe you're as bad as he," he growled. "There's one thing sure—I'm going to get the boy back. Where is he?"
"On the road, I expect. He will take my place till I get well."
"Not much, he won't. Have the rest of the actors left Duncan?"
"You'd better ask down stairs. I'm not going to help you get the boy back."
Fogson had nothing to do but to go down again to the public room. The clerk told him that the company were to play that evening at Bolton, twelve miles away, and were probably there now, having taken the morning train.
"Twelve miles away!" thought Fogson in dismay. "I can't drive so far as that. Squire Dixon wouldn't like to have me drive his horse so many miles. What shall I do?"
This was a question easier asked than answered. If he had not been burdened with the horse and buggy he would have taken the next train for Bolton. As it was, he didn't feel at liberty to do this.
He wished Squire Dixon were at hand, so that he might ask his advice, for he felt quite unable to decide for himself what was best to be done. As he stood beside his team in a state of indecision he heard the sound of approaching wheels, and looking up, recognized Dr. Redmond's carriage.
"What brings you to Duncan, Mr. Fogson?" asked the doctor with a peculiar smile.
"I've come after that rascal Jed."
"Is he here?" asked the doctor innocently.
"He has run away from the poorhouse and joined some strolling players. He played in the theatre last evening."
"Did he, indeed?" asked the doctor, really surprised. "He must be a smart boy to take up acting so suddenly."
"He is a very impudent boy."
"Is he? Then I should think you would be glad to get rid of him."
"I don't mean to let him off so easily. I'm going to bring him back to the poorhouse, and when I get hold of him I'll–"
Mr. Fogson nodded his head significantly. It was clear that he intended that the way of the transgressor should be hard.
"It strikes me, Mr. Fogson, that you are acting in a very foolish manner," said the doctor.
"Why am I?"
"I will tell you. Jed has got tired of being supported by the town, and he has taken the matter into his own hands. In other words, he proposes to relieve the town of the expense of his maintenance. The town will doubtless be glad to have one dependent less on its hands. You appear to want to get him back, and make the town once more responsible for his support. Is it not so?"
Fogson looked blank. The matter had never presented itself to him in that light before.
"You certainly won't make yourself very popular by this action," proceeded Dr. Redmond. "As a good citizen you ought to be glad that the town's expenses are lessened."
"Would you have me let the boy go?" Fogson ejaculated.
"Certainly, I would. Jed is able to support himself, and there is no earthly reason for keeping him in the poorhouse. I advise you to represent the matter to Squire Dixon, and see what he thinks about it."
Mr. Fogson drove home slowly. He found it hard to have Jed escape from his clutches, but Squire Dixon, upon consultation, reluctantly decided that perhaps it was best to drop the matter then and there. No one was more disappointed over this decision than Percy Dixon.
CHAPTER XIV.
JED'S LUCK
Jed continued to act in the part assigned to him. He knew that he was liable to be superseded at any time by Ralph Clinton, but he did not care to borrow trouble.
As a matter of fact, however, he was allowed to play till the end of the season, but this was not very far off. Warm weather had set in, and audiences became small.
One day Harry Bertram called Jed aside.
"Well, Jed," he said, "I am afraid we must part."
"Why, Mr. Bertram?"
"The weather has become so warm that we are no longer paying expenses. Mr. Mordaunt has decided to close the season on Saturday night."
Jed looked blank. He didn't know what would come next.
"I thought we might hold out another week, and we might if the weather had remained comfortable, but people won't come to see 'The Gold King' or any other play when the thermometer stands at eighty degrees."
"What shall you do, Mr. Bertram?"
"Fall back on my trade, if possible."
"What is that?"
"I am a telegraph operator, and I may be able to fill in the summer in some Western Union office. I have to work at summer prices, but as long as I make my board and lodging I shall be content."
"I wish I had a trade," said Jed thoughtfully.
"You don't feel like going back to your old home?"
"In the Scranton poorhouse? Not much!" answered Jed energetically. "I'll starve first. Have you got any place engaged?"
"No, but I have worked two summers at Sea Spray, an Atlantic coast summer resort. I shall go there and see if there is an opening."
"Is it far away?"
"About fifty miles. I'll tell you what, Jed, you had better come with me. Something may turn up for you."
"What is the fare, Mr. Bertram?"
"About a dollar and a half. You will have some money coming to you. You haven't been paid anything yet, have you?"
"No; I didn't suppose I was entitled to any."
"You will get something. I will speak to the treasurer and arrange matters for you."
Accordingly on Saturday evening, after the last performance, Jed was made happy by receiving twelve dollars, or at the rate of four dollars per week for the time he had been employed.
"Mr. Mordaunt directs me to say that he would pay you more if the business would permit," said the treasurer.
"Tell him this is more than I expected," said Jed elated.
"That isn't professional," remarked Bertram smiling. "Actors generally claim to be worth a good deal more than they are paid."
"I haven't been on the stage long enough to be professional," said Jed.
Early on Monday morning Jed and his friend Bertram took the cars for Sea Spray. As they neared the coast, the ocean breeze entered cool and refreshing through the open windows. Presently the cars stopped, only two hundred feet from the bluff, and Jed for the first time gazed with delight at the Atlantic billows rolling in on the beach.
"This is beautiful!" he exclaimed. "I hope I can stay here all summer."
"Have you never seen the sea before?"
"No; I have never travelled before. All my life has been spent at Scranton."
"Take a walk with me along Ocean Avenue, and I will see what chance there is of my obtaining employment."
Harry Bertram made his way to the principal hotel, where he knew there was a Western Union office. He told Jed to sit down in the reading-room while he sought for information.
In ten minutes he came back with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
"I am in great luck," he said. "The operator here has just been summoned home by the serious illness of his father in Chicago. He was considering whom he could get to take his place when I presented myself. The result is that I am engaged to take charge of the telegraph office at twelve dollars a week and my board."
"Then you are provided for."
"Yes. I can get through the summer very well."
"I should think so. You will have the twelve dollars a week clear."
"No; I must get a room outside. However, my predecessor has recommended his—in a private house about a quarter of a mile from the shore—at only four dollars a week."
"Then I suppose we must part," said Jed with a tinge of sadness.
"No, Jed. You shall room with me, and your room will cost you nothing. As to meals, I can see you through till you secure some work."
"But I don't want to be a burden upon you, Mr. Bertram."
"I don't mean that you shall be, any longer than is necessary. It will go hard if a boy like you can't find something to do that will buy his meals at a crowded watering-place."
"Thank you, Mr. Bertram. I have money enough left to buy my meals for two weeks at least."
"If we were at a regular office I could employ you as messenger, but most of the messages will come to guests in the hotel."
"I don't know exactly what I can do, but I am ready to do anything."
"Except black boots," said Bertram with a smile.
"I don't think I should like to do that if there is anything else to be found."
"I couldn't think of allowing a member of our honorable profession to undertake such menial employment."
Harry Bertram went to work that evening. Jed kept him company in the office a part of the time, and during the three succeeding days went from one hotel to another to see if he could obtain anything to do.
But every position had been filled for the season. Jed began to fear that there was no work for him at Sea Spray.
On the fourth morning, as he was sitting with Bertram, a gentleman whom he had several times seen—a guest of the house—approached them.
"Is this boy your brother?" he asked of Bertram.
"No, but he is my valued friend. In fact, I may call myself his guardian for the time being."
"Yes," assented Jed with a smile.
"He does not assist you?"
"No, he knows nothing of telegraphy."
"Would you like employment?" asked the gentleman, turning to Jed.
"I am very anxious to get work," said Jed quickly.
"Then I think I may be able to meet your wishes. How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"You may have seen a boy of ten walking about with me?"
"Yes, sir."
"He is my son. He and I are here alone, but until yesterday I had a nurse in my employ whose sole business was to look after Chester. I felt entire confidence in her, but discovered last evening that she had purloined some jewelry belonging to me. Of course I discharged her instantly, and in consequence am obliged to find some one in her place.
"Chester objects to another nurse. It hurts his boyish pride to have a woman accompanying him everywhere. It appears to me that a boy old enough to look after him will suit him much better. But perhaps you would not like being encumbered with a small boy?"
"I should like it very much, sir," said Jed. "I like young boys, and I am sure I should like your son."
"Come up stairs, then. I will see how he likes you."
Jed followed his new acquaintance up to a suite of two rooms on the second floor. A young boy was at the window. He looked inquiringly at his father and Jed.
"Come here, Chester," said the former. "Are you quite sure you don't want another nurse?"
"Yes," answered the boy. "Some of the boys in the hotel call me 'sissy' because I have a girl always with me."
"Would you prefer this boy?"
Chester took a long, close look at Jed, who met his glance with a smile.
"Yes," said the little boy confidently. "I shall like him much better than a girl."
"That settles it," said Mr. Holbrook in a tone of satisfaction. "What is your name?"
"Jed Gilman."
"What was your last employment?"
"I took the boy's part in 'The Gold King.'"
"Are you an actor?" asked Chester, much interested.
"Not much of one."
"You must have some talent," remarked Mr. Holbrook, "or Mr. Mordaunt, who is a manager of reputation, would not have employed you. Is your season over?"
"Yes, sir."
"I think you will suit me. I am obliged to be in New York every day on business, and this leaves Chester alone. I wish you to act as his companion, to go with him on the beach and in bathing, and to look after him while I am away. Are you boarding here?"
"No, sir; I could not afford it."
"I shall arrange to have you take meals here with Chester, but after eight o'clock in the evenings you will be your own master. Now as to the matter of compensation. Will ten dollars a week satisfy you?"
"Ten dollars a week and my meals?"
"Yes."
"I didn't expect so much."
"I like to pay liberally, and expect to be well served."
"When shall I commence, sir?"
"At once. I want to take the next train for the city. As I go down stairs I will tell them that you are to take your meals here. Now, Chester, I will leave you with your new friend, as I have barely time to reach the next train for New York."
CHAPTER XV.
TWO ODD ACQUAINTANCES
"Ten dollars a week!" repeated Harry Bertram, to who Jed communicated his good luck. "Why, that is famous!"
"Ten dollars a week and my meals!"
"Better still. That is better than acting."
"I don't know how I shall suit Mr. Holbrook."
"You will suit him if you suit the boy."
By this time Chester made his appearance.
"I want to walk on the beach," he said. "Come, Jed."
And the boy put his hand confidingly in that of Jed.
They descended the steps that led from the bluff to the beach, and walked leisurely up and down on the sand. Presently Chester expressed a wish to sit down, and before long was engaged with a small wooden spade in making a sand fortification.
Relieved from duty, since his young charge could come to no harm, Jed had leisure to watch the crowds passing him in both directions.
Presently a thin, dark-complexioned man, of perhaps thirty-five, after walking up and down the beach, came to a stop, and, apparently without motive, seated himself on the sand beside Chester and his youthful guardian.
"A pleasant day," he remarked, looking at Jed.
"Yes," answered Jed politely.
He was not favorably impressed by the stranger's appearance, but recognized the claims of courtesy.
"Is this little boy your brother?"
"No," answered Jed.
"I thought perhaps you brought him down to the beach."
"I did."
"I have seen him about before—with a girl."
"That was Clara, my old nurse," said Chester, who caught the drift of the conversation. "I haven't got any nurse now," he added proudly. "I saw you talking to Clara one day," he added, after a closer examination of the stranger's features.
"Oh, no, my little boy!" said the man, seeming annoyed. "I don't know Clara, as you call her."
"Then you look just like the man that was talking with her."
The stranger opened his mouth and smiled unpleasantly.
"I dare say there are people that look like me," he said, "though I can't say I ever met one. What is your name, my little friend?"
"I am not your friend," said Chester, who did not appear favorably impressed by his new acquaintance.
"My little enemy, then."
"My name is Chester Holbrook."
"And how old are you?"
"Ten years old. How old are you?"
Again the man's lips opened in an unpleasant smile.
"You have an inquiring mind, Chester," he said. "I am—thirty years old."
"You look older than that."
"I am afraid that is not polite, Chester," said Jed gently.
"Why isn't it?" asked Chester innocently.
"People don't like to be thought older than they are."
"Oh, never mind," said the dark man. "A child is licensed to say what he pleases. So he is your charge?"
"Yes, sir."
"I don't think I have seen you here before. Have you known Mr. Holbrook long?"
"No." Then upon the impulse of the moment Jed inquired, "Do you know him?"
The man's face changed, and he looked a shade embarrassed.
"Why do you think I know him?" he asked.
"I don't think it, but as you seemed interested in the boy, I asked you the question."
"Oh, that's it. I have seen Mr. Holbrook, and I may have spoken to him. I can't be sure on the subject, as I meet a good many people. Are you going in bathing?"
"Do you want to bathe, Chester?" asked Jed.
"No; papa told me not to go to-day, as I have a cold."
"I thought perhaps I would have had your company in the surf. Well, I must be going or I shall be late for the bath."
The stranger got up slowly and sauntered away.
"I don't like that man. Do you, Jed?" asked Chester.
"Not very much. I never saw him before."
"I have seen him. I saw him one day last week."
"Did you see him on the beach?"
"Yes; he came up and talked with Clara."
"But he said you were mistaken about that."
"I was not mistaken," said Chester positively. "I remember him very well."
"Do you remember what he was talking about?" asked Jed, struck by what the boy said.
"Yes; he was asking questions about me."
"He seems a good deal interested in you. Perhaps he is especially fond of small boys."
Chester shook his head.
"I don't think he is," he answered.
When the bathing hour was over they ascended the steps and took seats in a summer house on the bluff.
Ten minutes later a tall woman, with piercing black eyes and a swarthy complexion, entered the arbor and sat down beside them.
"Do you want your fortune told?" she asked of Jed.
He shook his head.
"I don't believe in fortune-tellers," he said.
"Don't you? Let me convince you of my power. Give me your hand."
There seemed a fascination about the woman, and almost involuntarily he suffered her to take his hand.
"You look prosperous," she began abruptly, "but your life has been full of poverty and privation. Is this true?"
"Yes," answered Jed, impressed in spite of himself by the woman's words.
"Shall I tell you where your early years were passed?"
"No," answered Jed, with a quick look at Chester. He did not care to have the boy hear that his life had been passed in the Scranton poorhouse.
"You are right. The knowledge could do no good and might embarrass you. You admit that I have told the truth?"
"Yes."
"Then shall I tell you of the future?"
Jed did not answer, but the woman took his assent for granted and went on. "You will be rich—some day."
"Shall I? I am glad to hear that. But I don't know where the wealth is to come from."
"It is not necessary for you to know. It will be enough if it comes."
"I agree with you there," said Jed, smiling. "Will it be soon?"
"That is a question which I might answer, but I will not."
"I don't care to know, as long as I am to be prosperous some day. Shall I ever go back to—to the place where my earlier years were passed?"
"You may, but not to live. That part of your life is over."
"I am glad of that at any rate. One question more. Shall I meet my—any one belonging to me—any one to whom I am related?"
Jed fixed his eyes anxiously upon the fortune-teller, for skeptical as he was at first, he was beginning to have some confidence in her claims to knowledge.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Don't seek to know more. Let me look at this boy's hand. Do you want me to tell your fortune, my pretty?"
Chester laughed.
"Yes," he said. "Perhaps you can tell me if I will ever be a soldier. I would like to be a General."
"No; you will never be a soldier, but you will have a fight before you."
"A fight? What kind of a fight?"
The fortune-teller turned to Jed and said rapidly, "This boy is threatened with a serious danger. He has an enemy."
"How can a young boy have an enemy?"
"There are few who do not have enemies," said the woman sententiously.
"Can you describe the enemy?"
"He is a dark man, not tall, but taller than you. He is thin."
"I met such a man on the beach," said Jed, surprised. "I met him only this morning. Is he the one you mean?"
"When you meet such a man beware of him!" said the woman, and without waiting for a reply she rose from her seat and walked away rapidly.
"What a funny old woman!" said Chester. "I am hungry. Let us go up to the hotel. It is time for lunch."
Jed's face became thoughtful. What he had heard left a deep impression upon his mind.