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CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROFESSOR’S FLIGHT

Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca was not a wise man. It would have been much more to his interest to deal honestly with Philip, paying his share of the profits of the first performance, and retaining his services as associate and partner.

But the professor was dazzled by the money, and unwilling to give it up. Moreover, he had the vanity to think that he would draw nearly as well alone, thus retaining in his own hands the entire proceeds of any entertainments he might give.

When he met Philip on the road he was well-nigh penniless. Now, including the sum of which he had defrauded our hero and his creditors in Wilkesville, he had one hundred and fifty dollars.

When the professor went to bed, he had not formed the plan of deserting Philip; but, on awaking in the morning, it flashed upon him as an excellent step which would put money in his pocket.

He accordingly rose, dressed himself quietly, and, with one cautious look at Philip—who was fast asleep—descended the stairs to the office.

Only the bookkeeper was in the office.

“You are stirring early, professor,” he said.

“Yes,” answered Riccabocca, “I generally take a morning walk, to get an appetite for breakfast.”

“My appetite comes without the walk,” said the bookkeeper, smiling.

“If Mr. de Gray comes downstairs, please tell him I will be back soon,” said Riccabocca.

The bookkeeper readily promised to do this, not having the slightest suspicion that the distinguished professor was about to take French leave.

When Professor Riccabocca had walked half a mile he began to feel faint. His appetite had come.

“I wish I had stopped to breakfast,” he reflected. “I don’t believe De Gray will be down for an hour or two.”

It was too late to go back and repair his mistake. That would spoil all. He saw across the street a baker’s shop, just opening for the day, and this gave him an idea.

He entered, bought some rolls, and obtained a glass of milk, and, fortified with these, he resumed his journey.

He had walked three miles, when he was over-taken by a farm wagon, which was going his way.

He hailed the driver—a young man of nineteen or thereabouts—ascertained that he was driving to Knoxville, and, for a small sum, secured passage there.

This brings us to the point of time when Philip and Mr. Gates drove up to the hotel at Knoxville.

“I can see the professor,” said Philip, in eager excitement, when they had come within a few rods of the inn.

“Where is he?”

“He is in the office, sitting with his back to the front window. I wonder what he will have to say for himself?”

“So do I,” said the landlord curiously.

“Shall we go in together?” questioned Philip.

“No; let us surprise him a little. I will drive around to the sheds back of the hotel, and fasten my horse. Then we will go round to the front, and you can go in, while I stand outside, ready to appear a little later.”

Philip thought this a good plan. He enjoyed the prospect of confronting the rogue who had taken advantage of his inexperience, and attempted such a bold scheme of fraud. He didn’t feel in the least nervous, or afraid to encounter the professor, though Riccabocca was a man and he but a boy. When all was ready, Philip entered through the front door, which was open, and, turning into the office, stood before the astonished professor.

The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero. He thought he might be quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously waiting for his return. Was his brilliant scheme to fail? He quickly took his resolution—a foolish one. He would pretend not to know Philip.

“Well, Professor Riccabocca,” Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, “you took rather a long walk this morning.”

The professor looked at him vacantly.

“Were you addressing me?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir,” answered Philip, justly provoked.

“I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man.”

“I wish I hadn’t the pleasure of yours,” retorted Philip.

“Do you come here to insult me?” demanded Riccabocca, frowning.

“I came here to demand my share of the money received for the entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, the printer, and bill-poster.”

“You must be crazy!” said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know you. I don’t owe you any money.”

“Do you mean to say we didn’t give an entertainment together last evening at Wilkesville?” asked Philip, rather taken aback by the man’s sublime impudence.

“My young friend, you have been dreaming. Prove what you say and I will admit your claim.”

Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor’s coolness, really supposed him to be in the right. That was what Riccabocca anticipated, and hoped to get off before the discovery of the truth could be made. But he did not know that Philip had a competent witness at hand.

“Mr. Gates!” called Philip.

The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and Riccaboeca saw that the game was up.

“Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that he owes me money?” asked Philip.

“I think he won’t deny it now,” said Gates significantly. “He walked off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid. Professor Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you wish to pass the night in the lockup.”

Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh.

“Why, Mr. de Gray,” he said, “you ought to have known that I was only playing a trick on you.”

“I supposed you were,” said Philip.

“No, I don’t mean that. I was only pretending I didn’t know you, to see if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you.”

“Why did you desert me?” asked Philip suspiciously.

“I started to take a walk—didn’t the bookkeeper tell you?—and finding a chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and make arrangements for our appearance here. Of course, I intended to come back, and pay our good friend, the landlord, and give you your share of the common fund.”

Neither Gates nor Philip believed a word of this. It seemed to them quite too transparent.

“You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca,” said the landlord dryly.

“I hope you don’t suspect my honor or integrity,” said Riccabocca, appearing to be wounded at the thought.

“Never mind about that,” said Mr. Gates shortly. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“I am quite ready to settle—quite,” said the professor. “The money is in my room. I will go up and get it.”

There seemed to be no objection to this, and our two friends saw him ascend the staircase to the second story. Philip felt pleased to think that he had succeeded in his quest, for his share of the concert money would be nearly seventy dollars. That, with the balance of the money; received from Farmer Lovett, would make over a hundred dollars.

They waited five minutes, and the professor did not come down.

“What can keep him?” said Philip.

Just then one of the hostlers entered and caught what our hero had said.

“A man has just run out of the back door,” he said, “and is cutting across the fields at a great rate.”

“He must have gone down the back stairs,” said the clerk.

“In what direction would he go?” asked Philip hastily.

“To the railroad station. There is a train leaves in fifteen minutes.”

“What shall we do, Mr. Gates?” asked Philip, in dismay.

“Jump into my buggy. We’ll get to the depot before the train starts. We must intercept the rascal.”

CHAPTER XXXII. THE RACE ACROSS FIELDS

It so happened that Professor Riccabocca had once before visited Knoxville, and remembered the location of the railroad station. Moreover, at the hotel, before the arrival of Philip, he had consulted a schedule of trains posted up in the office, and knew that one would leave precisely at ten o’clock.

The impulse to leave town by this train was sudden. He had in his pocket the wallet containing the hundred and fifty dollars, of which a large part belonged to Philip, and could have settled at once, without the trouble of going upstairs to his room.

He only asked leave to go up there in order to gain time for thought. At the head of the staircase he saw another narrower flight of stairs descending to the back of the house. That gave him the idea of eluding his two creditors by flight.

I have said before that Professor Riccabocca was not a wise man, or he would have reflected that he was only postponing the inevitable reckoning. Moreover, it would destroy the last chance of making an arrangement with Philip to continue the combination, which thus far had proved so profitable.

The professor did not take this into consideration, but dashed down the back stairs, and opened the back door into the yard.

“Do you want anything, sir?” asked a maidservant, eyeing the professor suspiciously.

“Nothing at all, my good girl,” returned the professor.

“You seem to be in a hurry,” she continued, with renewed suspicion.

“So I am. I am in a great hurry to meet an engagement.”

“Why didn’t you go out the front door?” asked the girl.

“Oh, bother! What business is it of yours?” demanded the professor impatiently.

And, not stopping for further inquiries, he vaulted over a fence and took his way across the fields to the station.

“Here, Sam,” called the girl, her suspicions confirmed that something was wrong, “go after that man as fast as you can!”

This was addressed to a boy who was employed at the hotel to go on errands and do odd jobs.

“What’s he done?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know; but he’s either run off without paying his bill, or he’s stolen something.”

“What good’ll it do me to chase him?” asked Sam.

“If he’s cheated master, he’ll pay you for catching the man.”

“That’s so,” thought Sam. “Besides, I’ll be a detective, just like that boy I read about in the paper. I’m off!”

Fired by youthful ambition, Sam also vaulted the fence, and ran along the foot-path in pursuit of the professor.

Lorenzo Riccabocca did not know he was pursued. He felt himself so safe from this, on account of the secrecy of his departure, that he never took the trouble to look behind him. He knew the way well enough, for the fields he was crossing were level, and half a mile away, perhaps a little more, he could see the roof of the brown-painted depot, which was his destination. Once there, he would buy a ticket, get on the train, and get started away from Knoxville before the troublesome acquaintances who were waiting for him to come down-stairs had any idea where he was gone.

The professor ran at a steady, even pace, looking straight before him. His eyes were fixed on the haven of his hopes, and he did not notice a stone, of considerable size, which lay in his path. The result was that he stumbled over it, and fell forward with considerable force. He rose, jarred and sore, but there was no time to take account of his physical damages. He must wait till he got on the train.

The force with which he was thrown forward was such that the wallet was thrown from his pocket, and fell in the grass beside the path. The professor went on his way, quite unconscious of his loss, but there were other eyes that did not overlook it.

Sam, who was thirty rods behind, noticed Professor Riccabocca’s fall, and he likewise noticed the wallet when he reached the spot of the catastrophe.

“My eyes!” he exclaimed, opening those organs wide in delight; “here’s luck! The old gentleman has dropped his pocketbook. Most likely it’s stolen. I’ll carry it back and give it to Mr. Perry.”

Sam very sensibly decided that it wasn’t worth while to continue the pursuit, now that the thief, as he supposed Riccabocca to be, had dropped his booty.

Sam was led by curiosity to open the wallet. When he saw the thick roll of bills, he was filled with amazement and delight.

“Oh, what a rascal he was!” ejaculated the boy. “I guess he’s been robbing a safe. I wonder how much is here?”

He was tempted to sit down on the grass and count the bills, but he was prevented by the thought that the professor might discover his loss, and returning upon his track, question him as to whether he had found it. Sam determined that he wouldn’t give it up, at any rate.

“I guess I could wrastle with him,” he thought. “He looks rather spindlin’, but then he’s bigger than I am, and he might lick me, after all.”

I desire to say emphatically that Sam was strictly honest, and never for a moment thought of appropriating any of the money to his own use. He felt that as a detective he had been successful, and this made him feel proud and happy.

“I may as well go home,” he said. “If he’s stolen this money from Mr. Perry, I’ll come in for a reward.”

Sam did not hurry, however. He was not now in pursuit of any one, and could afford to loiter and recover his breath.

Meanwhile, Professor Riccabocca, in happy unconsciousness of his loss, continued his run to the station. He arrived there breathless, and hurried to the ticket-office.

“Give me a ticket to Chambersburg,” he said.

“All right, sir. Ninety cents.”

If Riccabocca had been compelled to take out his wallet, he would at once have discovered his loss, and the ticket would not have been bought. But he had a two-dollar bill in his vest, and it was out of this that he paid for the ticket to Chambersburg. Armed with the ticket, he waited anxiously for the train. He had five minutes to wait—five anxious moments in which his flight might be discovered. He paced the platform, looking out anxiously for the train.

At length he heard the welcome sound of the approaching locomotive. The train came to a stop, and among the first to enter it was the eminent elocutionist. He took a seat beside the window looking out toward the village. What did he see that brought such an anxious look in his face?

A buggy was approaching the depot at breakneck speed. It contained Mr. Gates, the landlord, and the young musician. Mr. Gates was lashing the horse, and evidently was exceedingly anxious to arrive at the depot before the train started.

Beads of perspiration stood on the anxious brow of the professor. His heart was filled with panic terror.

“The girl must have told them of my flight,” he said to himself. “Oh, why didn’t I think to give her a quarter to keep her lips closed? Why doesn’t the train start?”

The buggy was only about ten rods away. It looked as if Philip and his companion would be able to intercept the fugitive.

Just then the scream of the locomotive was heard. The train began to move. Professor Riccabocca gave a sigh of relief.

“I shall escape them after all,” he said triumphantly, to himself.

He opened the window, and, with laughing face, nodded to his pursuers.

“We’ve lost him!” said Philip, in a tone of disappointment. “What can we do?”

“Find out where he is going, and telegraph to have him stopped,” said Mr. Gates. “That will put a spoke in his wheel.”

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LOST WALLET

Mr. Gates was acquainted with the depot-master, and lost no time in seeking him.

“Too late for the train?” asked the latter, who observed in the landlord evidences of haste.

“Not for the train, but for one of the passengers by the train,” responded the landlord. “Did you take notice of a man dressed in a shabby suit of black, wearing a soft hat and having very long black hair?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he going?” asked Mr. Gates eagerly.

“He bought a ticket for Chambersburg.”

“Ha! Well, I want you to telegraph for me to Chambersburg.”

The station-master was also the telegraph-operator, as it chanced.

“Certainly. Just write out your message and I will send it at once.”

Mr. Gates telegraphed to a deputy sheriff at Chambersburg to be at the depot on arrival of the train, and to arrest and detain the professor till he could communicate further with him.

“Now,” said he, turning to Philip, “I think we shall be able to stop the flight of your friend.”

“Don’t call him my friend,” said Philip. “He is anything but a friend.”

“You are right there. Well, I will amend and call him your partner. Now, Mr. de Gray—”

“My name is Gray—not de Gray. The professor put in the ‘de’ because he thought it would sound foreign.”

“I presume you have as much right to the name as he has to the title of professor,” said Gates.

“I don’t doubt it,” returned Philip, smiling.

“Well, as I was about to say, we may as well go back to the hotel, and await the course of events. I think there is some chance of your getting your money back.”

When they reached the hotel, they found a surprise in store for them.

Sam had carried the professor’s wallet to Mr. Perry, and been told by them to wait and hand it in person to Philip and his friend, Mr. Gates, who were then at the depot.

When they arrived, Sam was waiting on the stoop, wallet in hand.

“What have you got there, Sam?” asked Mr. Gates, who often came to Knoxville, and knew the boy. “It’s the wallet of that man you were after,” said Sam.

“How did you get it?” asked Philip eagerly.

“I chased him ‘cross lots,” said Sam.

“You didn’t knock him over and take the wallet from him, did you, Sam?” asked Mr. Gates.

“Not so bad as that,” answered Sam, grinning. “You see, he tripped over a big rock, and came down on his hands and knees. The wallet jumped out of his pocket, but he didn’t see it. I picked it up and brought it home.”

“Didn’t he know you were chasing him?”

“I guess not. He never looked back.”

“What made you think of running after him?”

“One of the girls told me to. The way he ran out of the back door made her think there was something wrong.”

“Suppose he had turned round?”

“I guess I could have wrastled with him,” said Sam, to the amusement of those who heard him.

“It is well you were not obliged to.”

“Who shall I give the wallet to?” asked Sam.

“Mr. Gray, here, is the professor’s partner, and half the money belongs to him. You can give it to him.”

“Have I a right to take it?” asked Philip, who did not wish to do anything unlawful.

He was assured that, as the business partner of the professor, he had as much right as Riccabocca to the custody of the common fund.

“But half of it belongs to the professor.”

“He’ll come back for it, in the custody of the sheriff. I didn’t think I was doing the man a good turn when I telegraphed to have him stopped.”

The first thing Philip did was to take from his own funds a five-dollar bill, which he tendered to Sam.

“Is it all for me?” asked the boy, his eyes sparkling his joy.

“Yes; but for you I should probably have lost a good deal more. Thank you, besides.”

And Philip offered his hand to Sam, who grasped it fervently.

“I say, you’re a tip-top chap,” said Sam. “You ain’t like a man that lost a pocketbook last summer, with a hundred dollars in it, and gave me five cents for finding it.”

“No; I hope I’m not as mean as that,” said Philip, smiling.

He opened the wallet and found a memorandum containing an exact statement of the proceeds of the concert. This was of great service to him, as it enabled him to calculate his own share of the profits.

The aggregate receipts were one hundred and fifty dollars and fifty cents. Deducting bills paid, viz.:

Rent of hall........................ $5.00

Printing, etc........................ 5.00

Bill-poster......................... 1.00

Total...........................$11.00

there was a balance of $138.50, of which Philip was entitled to one-half, namely, $69.25. This he took, together with the eleven dollars which he had himself paid to the creditors of the combination, and handed the wallet, with the remainder of the money, to Mr. Perry, landlord of the Knoxville Hotel, with a request that he would keep it till called for by Professor Riccabocca.

“You may hand me three dollars and a half, Mr. Perry,” said Mr. Gates. “That is the amount the professor owes me for a day and three-quarters at my hotel. If he makes a fuss, you can tell him he is quite at liberty to go to law about it.”

Meanwhile, where was the professor, and when did he discover his loss?

After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt in his pocket for the wallet, meaning to regale himself with a sight of its contents—now, as he considered, all his own.

Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met—vacancy.

Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending it to all his other pockets. But the treasure had disappeared!

Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could hardly suppress a groan.

A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor that he was ill, leaned over and asked, in a tone of sympathy:

“Are you took sick?”

“No, ma’am,” answered the professor sharply.

“You look as if you was goin’ to have a fit,” continued the sympathizing woman. “Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance you get. It’s the sovereignest thing I know of—”

“Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?” demanded the professor sharply.

“Oh, Lor’! you don’t say you lost your money?”

“Yes, I do!” said Riccabocca, glaring at her.

“Oh, dear! do you think there’s pickpockets in the car?” asked the old lady nervously.

“Very likely,” answered the professor tragically.

The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the rest of the way, eyeing all her fellow passengers sharply.

But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost his wallet when he stumbled in the field. He was in a fever of impatience to return and hunt for it. Instead of going on to Chambersburg, he got out at the next station—five miles from Knoxville—and walked back on the railroad-track. So it happened that the telegram did no good.

The professor walked back to the hotel across the fields, hunting diligently, but saw nothing of the lost wallet. He entered the hotel, footsore, weary, and despondent. The first person he saw was Philip, sitting tranquilly in the office.

“Did you just come down from your room?” asked our hero coolly.

“I am a most unfortunate man!” sighed Riccabocca, sinking into a seat.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve lost all our money.”

“I am glad you say ‘our money.’ I began to think you considered it all yours. Didn’t I see you on the train?”

“I had a bad headache,” stammered the professor, “and I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Does riding in the cars benefit your head?”

Professor Riccabocca looked confused.

“The wallet was found,” said Philip, not wishing to keep him any longer in suspense.

“Where is it?” asked the professor eagerly.

“Mr. Perry will give it to you. I have taken out my share of the money, and Mr. Gates has received the amount of his bill. It would have been better for you to attend to these matters yourself like an honest man.”

Professor Riccabocca was so overjoyed to have back his own money that he made no fuss about Philip’s proceedings. Indeed, his own intended dishonesty was so apparent that it would have required even more assurance than he possessed to make a protest.