CHAPTER XXXV
THE PITKINS RETIRE IN DISGUST
“Where have you been, Philip?” asked Mr. Carter, breaking the silence. “We were getting anxious about you.”
“I have bad news for you, sir,” returned Phil, saying what stood first in his mind. “I have lost the two hundred dollars Mr. Pitkin paid me this morning.”
“So you lost it?” observed Mr. Pitkin with a sneer, emphasizing the word “lost” to show his incredulity.
“Yes, sir, I lost it,” answered Phil, looking him fearlessly in the eye; “or, rather, it was stolen from me.”
“Oh! now it is stolen, is it?” repeated Pitkin.
“Really, Uncle Oliver, this is getting interesting.”
“I believe I am the proper person to question Philip,” said Mr. Carter coldly. “It was my money, I take it.”
“Yes, it was yours. As I made the payment, I cannot, of course, be responsible for its not reaching you. You will pardon my saying that it would have been wiser to employ a different messenger.”
“Why?” demanded Uncle Oliver, looking displeased.
“Why, really, Uncle Oliver,” said Mr. Pitkin, “I should think the result might convince you of that.”
“We had better let Philip tell his story,” said Mr. Carter quietly. “How did it happen, Philip?”
Thereupon Philip told the story already familiar to the reader.
“Upon my word, quite a romantic story!” commented Mr. Pitkin, unable to repress a sneer. “So you were tracked by a rascal, lured into a den of thieves, robbed of your money, or, rather, Mr. Carter’s, and only released by the house catching fire?”
“That is exactly what happened to me, sir,” said Philip, coloring with indignation, for he saw that Mr. Pitkin was doing his best to discredit him.
“It quite does credit to your imagination. By the way, boy, have you been in the habit of reading dime novels?”
“I never read one in my life, sir.”
“Then I think you would succeed in writing them. For a boy of sixteen, you certainly have a vivid imagination.”
“I quite agree with my husband,” said Mrs. Pitkin. “The boy’s story is ridiculously improbable. I can’t understand how he has the face to stand there and expect Uncle Oliver to swallow such rubbish.”
“I don’t expect you to believe it, either of you,” said Philip manfully, “for you have never treated me fairly.”
“I think you will find, also, that my uncle is too sensible a man to credit it, also,” retorted Mrs Pitkin.
“Speak for yourself, Lavinia,” said Mr. Carter, who had waited intentionally to let his relatives express themselves. “I believe every word of Philip’s story.”
“You do?” ejaculated Mrs. Pitkin, rolling her eyes and nodding her head, in the vain endeavor to express her feelings. “Really, Uncle Oliver, for a man of your age and good sense–”
“Thank you for that admission, Lavinia,” said Mr. Carter mockingly. “Go on.”
“I was about to say that you seem infatuated with this boy, of whom we know nothing, except from his own account. To my mind his story is a most ridiculous invention.”
“Mr. Pitkin, did any one enter your store just after Philip left it to inquire after him?”
“No, sir,” answered Pitkin triumphantly. “That’s a lie, at any rate.”
“You will remember that Philip did not make the assertion himself. This was the statement of the thief who robbed him.”
“Yes, of course,” sneered Pitkin. “He told his story very shrewdly.”
“Mr. Carter,” said Philip, “I can show you or any one else the house in which I was confined in Bleecker Street, and there will be no trouble in obtaining proof of the fire.”
“I dare say there may have been such a fire,” said Mr. Pitkin, “and you may have happened to see it, and decided to weave it into your story.”
“Do you think I stole the money or used it for my own purpose?” asked Philip pointedly.
Mr. Pitkin shrugged his shoulders.
“Young man,” he said, “upon this point I can only say that your story is grossly improbable. It won’t hold water.”
“Permit me to judge of that, Mr. Pitkin,” said Mr. Carter. “I wish to ask YOU one question.”
“To ask ME a question!” said Pitkin, surprised.
“Yes; why did you pay Philip in bills to-day? Why didn’t you give him a check, as usual?”
“Why,” answered Pitkin, hesitating, “I thought it wouldn’t make any difference to you. I thought you would be able to use it more readily.”
“Did you suppose I would specially need to use money instead of a check this week? Why break over your usual custom?”
“Really, I didn’t give much thought to the matter,” answered Pitkin, hesitating. “I acted on a sudden impulse.”
“Your impulse has cost me two hundred dollars. Do me the favor, when Philip calls next week, to hand him a check.”
“You mean to retain him in your employ after this?” asked Mrs. Pitkin sharply.
“Yes, I do. Why shouldn’t I?”
“You are very trustful,” observed the lady, tossing her head. “If this had happened to Lonny here, we should never have heard the last of it.”
“Perhaps not!” responded the old gentleman dryly. “When a young gentleman is trusted with a letter to mail containing money, and that letter never reaches its destination, it may at least be inferred that he is careless.”
It will be remembered that this was the first knowledge Mrs. Pitkin or her husband had of the transaction referred to.
“What do you mean, Uncle Oliver?” demanded Mr. Pitkin.
Mr. Carter explained.
“This is too much!” said Mrs. Pitkin angrily.
“You mean to accuse my poor boy of opening the letter and stealing the money?”
“If I was as ready to bring accusations as you, Lavinia, I should undoubtedly say that it looked a little suspicious, but I prefer to let the matter rest.”
“I think, Mr. Pitkin, we had better go,” said Mrs. Pitkin, rising with dignity. “Since Uncle Oliver chooses to charge his own nephew with being a thief–”
“I beg pardon, Lavinia, I have not done so.”
“You might just as well,” said Lavinia Pitkin, tossing her head. “Come, Mr. Pitkin; come, my poor Lonny, we will go home. This is no place for you.”
“Good-evening, Lavinia,” said Mr. Carter calmly. “I shall be glad to see you whenever you feel like calling.”
“When you have discharged that boy, I may call again,” said Mrs. Pitkin spitefully.
“You will have to wait some time, then. I am quite capable of managing my own affairs.”
When Mr. Pitkin had left the house, by no means in a good humor, Phil turned to his employer and said gratefully:
“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Carter, for your kind confidence in me. I admit that the story I told you is a strange one, and I could not have blamed you for doubting me.”
“But I don’t doubt you, my dear Philip,” said Mr. Carter kindly.
“Nor I,” said Mrs. Forbush. “I feel provoked with Lavinia and her husband for trying to throw discredit upon your statement.”
“In fact,” said Mr. Carter humorously, “the only one of us that suspected you was Julia.”
“Oh, Uncle Oliver!” exclaimed Julia, in dismay. “I never dreamed of doubting Phil.”
“Then,” said Mr. Carter, “it appears that you have three friends, at least.”
“If,” said Phil? “you would allow me to make up part of the loss, by surrendering a part of my salary–”
“Couldn’t be thought of, Philip!” said Uncle Oliver resolutely. “I don’t care for the money, but I should like to know how the thief happened to know that to-day you received money instead of a check.”
Without saying a word to Phil, Uncle Oliver called the next day on a noted detective and set him to work ferreting out the secret.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE FALSE HEIR
In the suburbs of Chicago, perhaps a dozen miles from the great city, stands a fine country house, in the midst of a fine natural park. From the cupola which surmounts the roof can be seen in the distance the waters of Lake Michigan, stretching for many miles from north to south and from east to west, like a vast inland sea.
The level lawns, the greenhouses, the garden with rare plants and flowers, show clearly that this is the abode of a rich man. My readers will be specially interested to know that this is the luxurious and stately home of Mr. Granville, whose son’s fortunes we have been following.
This, too, is the home of Mrs. Brent and Jonas, who, under false representations, have gained a foothold in the home of the Western millionaire.
Surely it is a great change for one brought up like Jonas to be the recognized heir and supposed son of so rich a man! It is a change, too, for his mother, who, though she dare not avow the relationship, is permitted to share the luxury of her son. Mrs. Brent has for her own use two of the best rooms in the mansion, and so far as money can bring happiness, she has every right to consider herself happy.
Is she?
Not as happy as she anticipated. To begin with, she is always dreading that some untoward circumstance will reveal the imposition she has practiced upon Mr. Granville. In that case what can she expect but to be ejected in disgrace from her luxurious home? To be sure, she will have her husband’s property left, but it would be a sad downfall and descent in the social scale.
Besides, she finds cause for anxiety in Jonas, and the change which his sudden and undeserved elevation has wrought in him. It requires a strong mind to withstand the allurements and temptations of prosperity, and Jonas is far from possessing a strong mind. He is, indeed, if I may be allowed the expression, a vulgar little snob, utterly selfish, and intent solely upon his own gratification. He has a love for drink, and against the protests of his mother and the positive command of Mr. Granville, indulges his taste whenever he thinks he can do so without fear of detection. To the servants he makes himself very offensive by assuming consequential airs and a lordly bearing, which excites their hearty dislike.
He is making his way across the lawn at this moment. He is dressed in clothes of the finest material and the most fashionable cut. A thick gold chain is displayed across his waistcoat, attached to an expensive gold watch, bought for him by his supposed father. He carries in his hand a natty cane, and struts along with head aloft and nose in the air.
Two under-gardeners are at work upon a flowerbed as he passes.
“What time is it, Master Philip?” says one, a boy about a year older than Jonas.
“My good boy,” said Jonas haughtily, “I don’t carry a watch for your benefit.”
The gardener bit his lip, and surveyed the heir with unequivocal disgust.
“Very well,” he retorted; “I’ll wait till a gentleman comes this way.”
A flush of anger was visible on the cheek of Jonas despite his freckles.
“Do you mean to say I’m not a gentleman!” he demanded angrily.
“You don’t act like one,” returned Dan.
“You’d better not be impertinent to me!” exclaimed Jonas, his small gray eyes flashing with indignation. “Take that back!”
“I won’t, for it’s true!” said Dan undauntedly.
“Take that, then!”
Jonas raised his cane and brought it down smartly on the young gardener’s shoulder.
He soon learned that he had acted imprudently. Dan dropped his rake, sprang forward, and seizing the cane, wrenched it from the hands of the young heir, after which he proceeded to break it across his knee.
“There’s your cane!” he said contemptuously, as he threw the pieces on the ground.
“What did you do that for?” demanded Jonas, outraged.
“Because you insulted me. That’s why.”
“How can I insult you? You’re only a poor working boy!”
“I wouldn’t change places with you,” said Dan. “I’d like well enough to be rich, but I wouldn’t be willing to be as mean as you are.”
“You’ll suffer for this!” said Jonas, his little bead-like eyes glowing with anger. “I’ll have you turned off this very day, or as soon as my father get’s home.”
“If he says I’m to go, I’ll go!” said Dan. “He’s a gentleman.”
Jonas made his way to his mother’s room. She noticed his perturbed look.
“What’s the matter, my dear boy?” she asked. “What’s the matter, Jonas?”
“I wish you’d stop calling me your dear boy,” said Jonas angrily.
“I—I forget sometimes,” said Mrs. Brent, with a half-sigh.
“Then you ought not to forget. Do you want to spoil everything?”
“We are alone now, Jonas, and I cannot forget that I am your mother.”
“You’d better, if you know what’s best for both of us,” said Jonas.
Mrs. Brent was far from being a kind-hearted woman. Indeed she was very cold, but Jonas was her only son, and to him she was as much attached as it was possible for her to be to any one. Formerly he had returned her affection in a slight degree, but since he had figured as a rich man’s son and heir he had begun, incredible as it may appear, to look down upon his own mother. She was not wholly ignorant of this change in his feelings, and it made her unhappy. He was all she had to live for. But for him she would not have stooped to take part in the conspiracy in which she was now a participant. It seemed hard that her only son, for whom she had sinned, should prove so ungrateful.
“My boy,” she said, “I would not on any account harm you or injure your prospects, but when we are alone there can be no harm in my treating you as my son.”
“It can’t do any good,” grumbled Jonas, “and we might be overheard.”
“I will be cautious. You may be sure of that. But why do you look so annoyed?”
“Why? Reason enough. That boy Dan, the under-gardener, has been impudent to me.”
“He has?” said Mrs. Brent quickly. “What has he done?”
Jonas rehearsed the story. He found in his mother a sympathetic listener.
“He is bold!” she said, compressing her lips.
“Yes, he is. When I told him I would have him turned off, he coolly turned round and said that my father was a gentleman, and wouldn’t send him away. Ma, will you do me a favor?”
“What is it, Jonas?”
“Send him off before the governor gets home. You can make it all right with him.”
Mrs. Brent hesitated.
“Mr. Granville might think I was taking a liberty.”
“Oh, you can make it all right with him. Say that he was very impudent to me. After what has happened, if he stays he’ll think he can treat me just as he pleases.”
Again Mrs. Brent hesitated, but her own inclination prompted her to do as her son desired.
“You may tell Dan to come here. I wish to speak to him,” she said.
Jonas went out and did the errand.
“Mrs. Brent wants to see me?” said Dan. “I have nothing to do with her.”
“You’d better come in if you know what’s best for yourself.” said Jonas, with an exultation he did not attempt to conceal.
“Oh, well, I have no objection to meeting Mrs. Brent,” said Dan. “I’ll go in.”
Mrs. Brent eyed the young gardener with cold animosity.
“You have been impudent to Master Philip,” she said. “Of course you cannot remain any longer in his father’s employment. Here are five dollars—more than is due you. Take it, and leave the estate.”
“I won’t take your money, Mrs. Brent,” said Dan independently, “and I won’t take my dismissal from any one but Mr. Granville himself.”
“Do you defy me, then?” said Mrs. Brent, with a firmer compression of her lips.
“No, Mrs. Brent, I don’t defy you, but you have nothing to do with me, and I shall not take any orders or any dismissal from you.”
“Don’t be impertinent to my–” burst forth from Jonas, and then he stopped in confusion.
“To your—what?” asked Dan quickly.
“To my—nurse,” faltered Jonas.
Dan looked suspiciously from one to the other.
“There’s something between those two,” he said to himself. “Something we don’t know of.”
CHAPTER XXXVII
MRS. BRENT’S PANIC
The chambermaid in the Granville household was a cousin of Dan, older by three years. She took a warm interest in Dan’s welfare, though there was nothing but cousinly affection between them.
Fresh from his interview with Mrs. Brent, Dan made his way to the kitchen.
“Well, Aggie,” he said, “I may have to say good-by soon.”
“What, Dan! You’re not for lavin’, are you?” asked Aggie, in surprise.
“Mrs. Brent has just given me notice,” answered Dan.
“Mrs. Brent! What business is it of her’s, and how did it happen, anyway?”
“She thinks it’s her business, and it’s all on account of that stuck-up Philip.”
“Tell me about it, Cousin Dan.”
Dan did so, and wound up by repeating his young master’s unfinished sentence.
“It’s my belief,” he said, “that there’s something between those two. If there wasn’t, why is Mrs. Brent here?”
“Why, indeed, Dan?” chimed in Aggie. “Perhaps I can guess something.”
“What is it?”
“Never you mind. I’ll only say I overheard Mrs. Brent one day speaking to Master Philip, but she didn’t call him Philip.”
“What then?”
“JONAS! I’m ready to take my oath she called him Jonas.”
“Perhaps that is his real name. He may have it for his middle name.”
“I don’t believe it. Dan, I’ve an idea. I’m going to see Mrs. Brent and make her think I know something. You see?”
“Do as you think best, Aggie. I told her I wouldn’t take a dismissal from her.”
Mrs. Brent was in her own room. She was not a woman who easily forgave, and she was provoked with Dan, who had defied her authority. She knew very well that in dismissing him she had wholly exceeded her authority, but this, as may readily be supposed, did not make her feel any more friendly to the young gardener. Jonas artfully led her indignation.
“Dan doesn’t have much respect for you, mother,” he said. “He doesn’t mind you any more than he does a kitchen-girl.”
“He may find he has made a mistake,” said Mrs. Brent, a bright red spot in each cheek, indicating her anger. “He may find he has made a mistake in defying my authority.”
“I wouldn’t stand it if I was you, ma.”
“I won’t!” said Mrs. Brent decidedly, nodding vigorously and compressing her lips more firmly.
Soon after a knock was heard at Mrs. Brent’s door.
“Come in!” she said in a sharp, incisive voice.
The door was opened and Aggie entered.
“What do you want of me, Aggie?” asked Mrs. Brent, in some surprise.
“I hear you’ve been tellin’ Dan he’ll have to go,” said the chambermaid.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Brent, “but I fail to see what business it is of yours.”
“Dan’s me cousin, ma’am.”
“That’s nothing to me. He has been impertinent to Master Philip, and afterward to me.”
“I know all about it, ma’am. He told me.”
“Then you understand why he must leave. He will do well to be more respectful in his next place.”
“It wasn’t his fault, ma’am, accordin’ to what he told me.”
“No doubt!” sneered Mrs. Brent. “It is hardly likely that he would admit himself to be in fault.”
“Dan’s a good, truthful boy, ma’am.”
“What did he tell you?”
The moment had come for Aggie’s master-stroke, and she fixed her eyes keenly on Mrs. Brent to watch the effect of her words.
“He said he was at work in the garden, ma’am, when Master Jonas–”
“WHAT!” exclaimed Mrs. Brent, staring at the girl in dismay.
“He was at work in the garden, ma’am when Master Jonas–”
“What do you mean, girl? Who is Master Jonas?” asked Mrs. Brent, trying to conceal her agitation.
“Did I say Jonas, ma’am. La, what could I be thinking of? Of course I mean Master Philip.”
“What should have put the name of Jonas into your head?” demanded Mrs. Brent nervously.
“I must have heard it somewhere,” said Aggie, with a quick, shrewd look out of the corner of her eyes. “Well, Dan just asked the young master a civil question, and Master Philip, he snapped him up rude-like. Mrs. Brent I think you’d better not make any fuss about Dan. It wasn’t so much his fault as the fault of Master Jonas—oh, dear! I beg pardon, I mean Master Philip.”
“Don’t repeat that ridiculous name again, Aggie!” said Mrs. Brent. “Your young master has nothing to do with it. You ought to know that his name is Philip.”
“I should say so!” broke in Jonas. “I ain’t goin’ to be called out of my name!”
“As to Dan,” proceeded Mrs. Brent. “I am willing to overlook his impertinence this time. I won’t say a word to Mr. Granville, but he must be more careful hereafter.”
“I’m sure I’m obliged to you, ma’am,” said Aggie demurely.
When she was out of the room she nodded to herself triumphantly.
“Sure, I’ve got the old lady under me thumb, but divil a bit I know how. It’s all in the word Jonas. When I want a favor, all I’ve got to do is to say that word. I wonder what it manes now, anyhow.”
However, Aggie communicated to Dan the welcome intelligence that he would have no trouble with Mrs. Brent or Philip, but as to the way in which she had managed she kept that to herself.
“I want to think it over,” she said. “There’s a secret, and it’s about Jonas. I’ll wait patiently, and maybe I’ll hear some more about it.”
As for Mrs. Brent, she was panic-stricken. Uncertain how much Aggie knew, she feared that she knew all. But how could she have discovered it? And was it come to this that she and Jonas were in the power of an Irish chambermaid? It was galling to her pride.
She turned to her son when they were left alone.
“How could she have found out?” she asked.
“Found out what, mother?”
“That your name is Jonas. She evidently knows it. I could see that in her eyes.”
“She must have heard you calling me so. I’ve told you more than once, ma, that you must never call me anything but Philip.”
“It is hard to have to keep silent always, never to speak to you as my own boy. I begin to think it is a dear price to pay, Jonas.”
“There you go again, mother!” said Jonas, peevishly.
His mother had seated herself and spoke despondently.
“I am afraid it will all come out some day,” she said.
“It will if you don’t take better care, ma. I tell you, it would be the best thing for you to go away. Mr. Granville will give you a good income. If I was left alone, there’d be no fear of its leaking out.”
“Oh, Jonas! would you really have me leave you? Would you really have me live by myself, separated from my only child?”
Cold as she was, her heart was keenly wounded, for, looking at the boy, she saw that he was in earnest, and that he would prefer to have her go, since thereby he would be safer in the position he had usurped.