Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience

“Is Carl’s letter private?” asked Mrs. Crawford, after a pause.

“I—I think he would rather I didn’t show it,” returned her husband, remembering the allusion made by Carl to his stepmother.

“Oh, well, I am not curious,” said Mrs. Crawford, tossing her head.

None the less, however, she resolved to see and read the letter, if she could get hold of it without her husband’s knowledge. He was so careless that she did not doubt soon to find it laid down somewhere. In this she proved correct. Before the day was over, she found Carl’s letter in her husband’s desk. She opened and read it eagerly with a running fire of comment.

“‘Reasons which we both understand,’” she repeated, scornfully. “That is a covert attack upon me. Of course, I ought to expect that. So he had a hard time. Well, it served him right for conducting himself as he did. Ah, here is another hit at me—‘Yet I would rather do either than live in a home made unpleasant by the persistent hostility of one member.’ He is trying to set his father against me. Well, he won’t succeed. I can twist Dr. Paul Crawford round my finger, luckily, and neither his son nor anyone else can diminish my influence over him.”

She read on for some time till she reached this passage: “While my stepmother and Peter form a part of your family I can never live at home. They both dislike me, and I am afraid I return the feeling.” “Thanks for the information,” she muttered. “I knew it before. This letter doesn’t make me feel any more friendly to you, Carl Crawford. I see that you are trying to ingratiate yourself with your father, and prejudice him against me and my poor Peter, but I think I can defeat your kind intentions.”

She folded up the letter, and replaced it in her husband’s desk.

“I wonder if my husband will answer Carl’s artful epistle,” she said to herself. “He can if he pleases. He is weak as water, and I will see that he goes no farther than words.”

Dr. Crawford did answer Carl’s letter. This is his reply:

“Dear Carl:—I am glad to hear that you are comfortably situated. I regret that you were so headstrong and unreasonable. It seems to me that you might, with a little effort, have got on with your stepmother. You could hardly expect her to treat you in the same way as her own son. He seems to be a good boy, but I own that I have never been able to become attached to him.”

Carl read this part of the letter with satisfaction. He knew how mean and contemptible Peter was, and it would have gone to his heart to think that his father had transferred his affection to the boy he had so much reason to dislike.

“I am glad you are pleased with your prospects. I think I could have done better for you had your relations with your stepmother been such as to make it pleasant for you to remain at home. You are right in thinking that I am interested in your welfare. I hope, my dear Carl, you will become a happy and prosperous man. I do not forget that you are my son, and I am still your affectionate father,

“Paul Crawford.”

Carl was glad to receive this letter. It showed him that his stepmother had not yet succeeded in alienating from him his father’s affection.

But we must return to the point where we left Carl on his journey to Buffalo. He enjoyed his trip over the Central road during the hours of daylight. He determined on his return to make an all-day trip so that he might enjoy the scenery through which he now rode in the darkness.

At Buffalo he had no other business except that of Mr. Jennings, and immediately after breakfast he began to make a tour of the furniture establishments. He met with excellent success, and had the satisfaction of sending home some large orders. In the evening he took train for Niagara, wishing to see the falls in the early morning, and resume his journey in the afternoon.

He registered at the International Hotel on the American side. It was too late to do more than take an evening walk, and see the falls gleaming like silver through the darkness.

“I will go to bed early,” thought Carl, “and get up at six o’clock.”

He did go to bed early, but he was more fatigued than he supposed, and slept longer than he anticipated. It was eight o’clock before he came downstairs. Before going in to breakfast, he took a turn on the piazzas. Here he fell in with a sociable gentleman, much addicted to gossip.

“Good-morning!” he said. “Have you seen the falls yet?”

“I caught a glimpse of them last evening I am going to visit them after breakfast.”

“There are a good many people staying here just now—some quite noted persons, too.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, what do you say to an English lord?” and Carl’s new friend nodded with am important air, as if it reflected great credit on the hotel to have so important a guest.

“Does he look different from anyone else?” asked Carl, smiling.

“Well, to tell the truth, he isn’t much to look at,” said the other. “The gentleman who is with him looks more stylish. I thought he was the lord at first, but I afterwards learned that he was an American named Stuyvesant.”

Carl started at the familiar name.

“Is he tall and slender, with side whiskers, and does he wear eyeglasses?” he asked, eagerly.

“Yes; you know him then?” said the other, in surprise.

“Yes,” answered Carl, with a smile, “I am slightly acquainted with him. I am very anxious to meet him again.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

CARL MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF AN ENGLISH LORD

“There they are now,” said the stranger, suddenly pointing out two persons walking slowly along the piazza. “The small man, in the rough suit, and mutton-chop whiskers, is Lord Bedford.”

Carl eyed the British nobleman with some curiosity. Evidently Lord Bedford was no dude. His suit was of rough cloth and ill-fitting. He was barely five feet six inches in height, with features decidedly plain, but with an absence of pretension that was creditable to him, considering that he was really what he purported to be. Stuyvesant walked by his side, nearly a head taller, and of more distinguished bearing, though of plebeian extraction. His manner was exceedingly deferential, and he was praising England and everything English in a fulsome manner.

“Yes, my lord,” Carl overheard him say, “I have often thought that society in England is far superior to our American society.”

“Thanks, you are very kind,” drawled the nobleman, “but really I find things very decent in America, upon my word. I had been reading Dickens’s ‘Notes’ before I came over and I expected to find you very uncivilized, and—almost aboriginal; but I assure you I have met some very gentlemanly persons in America, some almost up to our English standard.”

“Really, my lord, such a tribute from a man in your position is most gratifying. May I state this on your authority?”

“Yes, I don’t mind, but I would rather not get into the papers, don’t you know. You are not a—reporter, I hope.”

“I hope not,” said Mr. Stuyvesant, in a lofty tone. “I am a scion of one of the oldest families in New York. Of course I know that social position is a very different thing here from what it is in England. It must be a gratifying thing to reflect that you are a lord.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I never thought much about it.”

“I should like so much to be a lord. I care little for money.”

“Then, by Jove, you are a remarkable man.”

“In comparison with rank, I mean. I would rather be a lord with a thousand pounds a year than a rich merchant with ten times as much.”

“You’ll find it very inconvenient being a lord on a thousand; you might as well be a beggar.”

“I suppose, of course, high rank requires a large rent roll. In fact, a New York gentleman requires more than a trifle to support him. I can’t dress on less than two hundred pounds a year.”

“Your American tailors are high-priced, then?”

“Those that I employ; we have cheap tailors, of course, but I generally go to Bell.”

Mr. Stuyvesant was posing as a gentleman of fashion. Carl, who followed at a little distance behind the pair, was much amused by his remarks, knowing what he did about him.

“I think a little of going to England in a few months,” continued Stuyvesant.

“Indeed! You must look me up,” said Bedford, carelessly.

“I should, indeed, be delighted,” said Stuyvesant, effusively.

“That is, if I am in England. I may be on the Continent, but you can inquire for me at my club—the Piccadilly.”

“I shall esteem it a great honor, my lord. I have a penchant for good society. The lower orders are not attractive to me.”

“They are sometimes more interesting,” said the Englishman; “but do you know, I am surprised to hear an American speak in this way. I thought you were all on a level here in a republic.”

“Oh, my lord!” expostulated Stuyvesant, deprecatingly. “You don’t think I would associate with shopkeepers and common tradesmen?”

“I don’t know. A cousin of mine is interested in a wine business in London. He is a younger son with a small fortune, and draws a very tidy income from his city business.”

“But his name doesn’t appear on the sign, I infer.”

“No, I think not. Then you are not in business, Mr. Stuyvesant?”

“No; I inherited an income from my father. It isn’t as large as I could wish, and I have abstained from marrying because I could not maintain the mode of living to which I have been accustomed.”

“You should marry a rich girl.”

“True! I may do so, since your lordship recommends it. In fact, I have in view a young lady whose father was once lord mayor (I beg pardon, mayor) of New York. Her father is worth a million.”

“Pounds?”

“Well, no, dollars. I should have said two hundred thousand pounds.”

“If the girl is willing, it may be a good plan.”

“Thank you, my lord. Your advice is very kind.”

“The young man seems on very good terms with Lord Bedford,” said Carl’s companion, whose name was Atwood, with a shade of envy in his voice.

“Yes,” said Carl.

“I wish he would introduce me,” went on Mr. Atwood.

“I should prefer the introduction of a different man,” said Carl.

“Why? He seems to move in good society.”

“Without belonging to it.”

“Then you know him?”

“Better than I wish I did.”

Atwood looked curious.

“I will explain later,” said Carl; “now I must go in to breakfast.”

“I will go with you.”

Though Stuyvesant had glanced at Carl, he did not appear to recognize him, partly, no doubt, because he had no expectation of meeting the boy he had robbed, at Niagara. Besides, his time and attention were so much taken up by his aristocratic acquaintance that he had little notice for anyone else. Carl observed with mingled amusement and vexation that Mr. Stuyvesant wore a new necktie, which he had bought for himself in New York, and which had been in the stolen gripsack.

“If I can find Lord Bedford alone I will put him on his guard,” thought Carl. “I shall spoil Mr. Stuyvesant’s plans.”

After breakfast Carl prepared to go down to the falls.

On the way he overtook Lord Bedford walking in the same direction, and, as it happened, without a companion. Carl quickened his pace, and as he caught up with him, he raised his hat, and said: “Lord Bedford, I believe.”

“Yes,” answered the Englishman, inquiringly.

“I must apologize for addressing a stranger, but I want to put you on your guard against a young man whom I saw walking with you on the piazza.”

“Is he—what do you know of him?” asked Lord Bedford, laying aside his air of indifference.

“I know that he is an adventurer and a thief. I made his acquaintance on a Hudson River steamer, and he walked off with my valise and a small sum of money.”

“Is this true?” asked the Englishman, in amazement.

“Quite true. He is wearing one of my neckties at this moment.”

“The confounded cad!” ejaculated the Englishman, angrily. “I suppose he intended to rob me.”

“I have no doubt of it. That is why I ventured to put you on your guard.”

“I am a thousand times obliged to you. Why, the fellow told me he belonged to one of the best families in New York.”

“If he does, he doesn’t do much credit to the family.”

“Quite true! Why, he was praising everything English. He evidently wanted to gain my confidence.”

“May I ask where you met him?” asked Carl.

“On the train. He offered me a light. Before I knew it, he was chatting familiarly with me. But his game is spoiled. I will let him know that I see through him and his designs.” “Then my object is accomplished,” said Carl. “Please excuse my want of ceremony.” He turned to leave, but Bedford called him back.

“If you are going to the falls, remain with me,” he said. “We shall enjoy it better in company.”

“With pleasure. Let me introduce myself as Carl Crawford. I am traveling on business and don’t belong to one of the first families.”

“I see you will suit me,” said the Englishman, smiling.

Just then up came Stuyvesant, panting and breathless. “My lord,” he said, “I lost sight of you. If you will allow me I will join you.

“Sir!” said the Englishman, in a freezing voice, “I have not the honor of knowing you.”

Stuyvesant was overwhelmed.

“I—I hope I have not offended you, my lord,” he said.

“Sir, I have learned your character from this young man.”

This called the attention of Stuyvesant to Carl. He flushed as he recognized him.

“Mr. Stuyvesant,” said Carl, “I must trouble you to return the valise you took from my stateroom, and the pocketbook which you borrowed. My name is Carl Crawford, and my room is 71.”

Stuyvesant turned away abruptly. He left the valise at the desk, but Carl never recovered his money.

CHAPTER XXXV

WHAT CARL LEARNED IN CHICAGO

As Carl walked back from the falls he met Mr. Atwood, who was surprised to find his young acquaintance on such intimate terms with Lord Bedford. He was about to pass with a bow, when Carl, who was good-natured, said: “Won’t you join us, Mr. Atwood? If Lord Bedford will permit, I should like to introduce you.”

“Glad to know any friend of yours, Mr. Crawford,” said the Englishman, affably.

“I feel honored by the introduction,” said Atwood, bowing profoundly.

“I hope you are not a friend of Mr.—ah, Mr. Stuyvesant,” said the nobleman, “the person I was talking with this morning. Mr. Crawford tells me he is a—what do you call it?—a confidence man.”

“I have no acquaintance with him, my lord. I saw him just now leaving the hotel.”

“I am afraid he has gone away with my valise and money,” said Carl.

“If you should be inconvenienced, Mr. Crawford,” said the nobleman, “my purse is at your disposal.”

“Thank you very much, Lord Bedford,” said Carl, gratefully. “I am glad to say I am still fairly well provided with money.”

“I was about to make you the same offer, Mr. Crawford,” said Atwood.

“Thank you! I appreciate your kindness, even if I’m not obliged to avail myself of it.”

Returning to the hotel, Lord Bedford ordered a carriage, and invited Atwood and Carl to accompany him on a drive. Mr. Atwood was in an ecstasy, and anticipated with proud satisfaction telling his family of his intimate friend, Lord Bedford, of England. The peer, though rather an ordinary-looking man, seemed to him a model of aristocratic beauty. It was a weakness on the part of Mr. Atwood, but an amiable one, and is shared by many who live under republican institutions.

After dinner Carl felt obliged to resume his journey. He had found his visit to Niagara very agreeable, but his was a business and not a pleasure trip, and loyalty to his employer required him to cut it short. Lord Bedford shook his hand heartily at parting.

“I hope we shall meet again, Mr. Crawford,” he said. “I expect, myself, to reach Chicago on Saturday, and shall be glad to have you call on me at the Palmer House.”

“Thank you, my lord; I will certainly inquire for you there.”

“He is a very good fellow, even if he is a lord,” thought Carl.

Our young hero was a thorough American, and was disposed to think with Robert Burns, that

“The rank is but the guinea, stamp;The man’s the gold for a’ that!”

No incident worth recording befell Carl on his trip to Chicago. As a salesman he met with excellent success, and surprised Mr. Jennings by the size of his orders. He was led, on reaching Chicago, to register at the Sherman House, on Clark Street, one of the most reliable among the many houses for travelers offered by the great Western metropolis.

On the second day he made it a point to find out the store of John French, hoping to acquire the information desired by Miss Norris.

It was a store of good size, and apparently well stocked. Feeling the need of new footgear, Carl entered and asked to be shown some shoes. He was waited upon by a young clerk named Gray, with whom he struck up a pleasant acquaintance.

“Do you live in Chicago?” asked Gray? sociably.

“No; I am from New York State. I am here on business.”

“Staying at a hotel?”

“Yes, at the Sherman. If you are at leisure this evening I shall be glad to have you call on me. I am a stranger here, and likely to find the time hang heavy on my hands.”

“I shall be free at six o’clock.”

“Then come to supper with me.”

“Thank you, I shall be glad to do so,” answered Gray, with alacrity. Living as he did at a cheap boarding house, the prospect of a supper at a first-class hotel was very attractive. He was a pleasant-faced young man of twenty, who had drifted to Chicago from his country home in Indiana, and found it hard to make both ends meet on a salary of nine dollars a week. His habits were good, his manner was attractive and won him popularity with customer’s, and with patience he was likely to succeed in the end.

“I wish I could live like this every day,” he said, as he rose from a luxurious supper. “At present my finances won’t allow me to board at the Sherman.”

“Nor would mine,” said Carl; “but I am allowed to spend money more freely when I am traveling.”

“Are you acquainted in New York?” asked Gray.

“I have little or no acquaintance in the city,” answered Carl.

“I should be glad to get a position there.”

“Are you not satisfied with your present place?”

“I am afraid I shall not long keep it.”

“Why not? Do you think you are in any danger of being discharged?”

“It is not that. I am afraid Mr. French will be obliged to give up business.”

“Why?” asked Carl, with keen interest.

“I have reason to think he is embarrassed. I know that he has a good many bills out, some of which have been running a long time. If any pressure is brought to bear upon him, he may have to suspend.”

Carl felt that he was obtaining important information. If Mr. French were in such a condition Miss Norris would be pretty sure to lose her money if she advanced it.

“To what do you attribute Mr. French’s embarrassment?” he asked.

“He lives expensively in a handsome house near Lincoln Park, and draws heavily upon the business for his living expenses. I think that explains it. I only wonder that he has been able to hold out so long.”

“Perhaps if he were assisted he would be able to keep his head above water.”

“He would need a good deal of assistance. You see that my place isn’t very secure, and I shall soon need to be looking up another.”

“I don’t think I shall need to inquire any farther,” thought Carl. “It seems to me Miss Norris had better keep her money.”

Before he retired he indited the following letter to his Albany employer:

Miss Rachel Norris.

“Dear Madam:—I have attended to your commission, and have to report that Mr. French appears to be involved in business embarrassments, and in great danger to bankruptcy. The loan he asks of you would no doubt be of service, but probably would not long delay the crash. If you wish to assist him, it would be better to allow him to fail, and then advance him the money to put him on his feet. I am told that his troubles come from living beyond his means.

“Yours respectfully,

“Carl Crawford.”

By return mail Carl received the following note:

“My Dear Young Friend:—Your report confirms the confidence I reposed in you. It is just the information I desired. I shall take your advice and refuse the loan. What other action I may take hereafter I cannot tell. When you return, should you stop in Albany, please call on me. If unable to do this, write me from Milford.

“Your friend,

“Rachel Norris.”

Carl was detained for several days in Chicago. He chanced to meet his English friend, Lord Bedford, upon his arrival, and the nobleman, on learning where he was staying, also registered at the Sherman House. In his company Carl took a drive over the magnificent boulevard which is the pride of Chicago, and rose several degrees in the opinion of those guests who noticed his intimacy with the English guest.

Carl had just completed his Chicago business when, on entering the hotel, he was surprised to see a neighbor of his father’s—Cyrus Robinson—a prominent business man of Edgewood Center. Carl was delighted, for he had not been home, or seen any home friends for over a year.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Robinson,” he said, offering his hand.

“What! Carl Crawford!” exclaimed Robinson, in amazement. “How came you in Chicago? Your father did not tell me you were here.”

“He does not know it. I am only here on a business visit. Tell me, Mr. Robinson, how is my father?”

“I think, Carl, that he is not at all well. I am quite sure he misses you, and I don’t believe your stepmother’s influence over him is beneficial. Just before I came away I heard a rumor that troubled me. It is believed in Edgewood that she is trying to induce your father to make a will leaving all, or nearly all his property to her and her son.”

“I don’t care so much for that, Mr. Robinson, as for my father’s health.”

“Carl,” said Robinson, significantly, “if such a will is made I don’t believe your father will live long after it.”

“You don’t mean that?” said Carl, horror-struck.

“I think Mrs. Crawford, by artful means will worry your father to death. He is of a nervous temperament, and an unscrupulous woman can shorten his life without laying herself open to the law.”

Carl’s face grew stern.

“I will save my father,” he said, “and defeat my stepmother’s wicked schemes.”

“I pray Heaven you can. There is no time to be lost.”

“I shall lose no time, you may be sure. I shall be at Edgewood within a week.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

MAKING A WILL

In Edgewood Center events moved slowly. In Carl Crawford’s home dullness reigned supreme. He had been the life of the house, and his absence, though welcome to his stepmother, was seriously felt by his father, who day by day became thinner and weaker, while his step grew listless and his face seldom brightened with a smile. He was anxious to have Carl at home again, and the desire became so strong that he finally broached the subject.

“My dear,” he said one day at the breakfast table, “I have been thinking of Carl considerably of late.”

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Crawford, coldly.

“I think I should like to have him at home once more.”

Mrs. Crawford smiled ominously.

“He is better off where he is,” she said, softly.

“But he is my only son, and I never see him,” pleaded her husband.

“You know very well, Dr. Crawford,” rejoined his wife, “that your son only made trouble in the house while he was here.”

“Yet it seems hard that he should be driven from his father’s home, and forced to take refuge among strangers.”

“I don’t know what you mean by his being driven from home,” said Mrs. Crawford, tossing her head. “He made himself disagreeable, and, not being able to have his own way, he took French leave.”

“The house seems very lonely without him,” went on Dr. Crawford, who was too wise to get into an argument with his wife.

“It certainly is more quiet. As for company, Peter is still here, and would at any time stay with you.”

Peter did not relish this suggestion, and did not indorse it.

“I should not care to confine him to the house,” said Dr. Crawford, as his glance rested on the plain and by no means agreeable face of his stepson.

“I suppose I need not speak of myself. You know that you can always call upon me.”

If Dr. Crawford had been warmly attached to his second wife, this proposal would have cheered him, but the time had gone by when he found any pleasure in her society. There was a feeling of almost repulsion which he tried to conceal, and he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that the presence of his wife gave him rather uneasiness than comfort.