Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience

Leonard’s fancy was captivated by the brilliant prospect of such a prize.

“Price of tickets—only one dollar!” he read. “Think of getting a thousand dollars for one! Oh, if I could only be the lucky one!”

He took out his purse, though he knew beforehand that his stock of cash consisted only of two dimes and a nickel.

“I wonder if I could borrow a dollar of that boy Carl!” he deliberated. “I’ll speak to him about it.”

This happened more than a week after Carl went to work in the factory. He had already received one week’s pay, and it remained untouched in his pocket.

Leonard joined him in the street early in the evening, and accosted him graciously.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Nowhere in particular. I am out for a walk.”

“So am I. Shall we walk together?”

“If you like.”

After talking on indifferent matters, Leonard said suddenly: “Oh, by the way, will you do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Lend me a dollar till next week.”

In former days Carl would probably have granted the favor, but he realized the value of money now that he had to earn it by steady work.

“I am afraid it won’t be convenient,” he answered.

“Does that mean that you haven’t got it?” asked Leonard.

“No, I have it, but I am expecting to use it.”

“I wouldn’t mind paying you interest for it—say twenty-five cents,” continued Leonard, who had set his heart on buying a ticket in the gift enterprise.

“I would be ashamed to take such interest as that.”

“But I have a chance of making a good deal more out of it myself.”

“In what way?”

“That is my secret.”

“Why don’t you borrow it of your uncle?”

“He would ask too many questions. However, I see that you’re a miser, and I won’t trouble you.”

He left Carl in a huff and walked hastily away. He turned into a lane little traveled, and, after walking a few rods, came suddenly upon the prostrate body of a man, whose deep, breathing showed that he was stupefied by liquor. Leonard was not likely to feel any special interest in him, but one object did attract his attention. It was a wallet which had dropped out of the man’s pocket and was lying on the grass beside him.

CHAPTER XVIII

LEONARD’S TEMPTATION

Leonard was not a thief, but the sight of the wallet tempted him, under the circumstances. He had set his heart on buying a ticket in the gift enterprise, and knew of no way of obtaining the requisite sum—except this. It was, indeed, a little shock to him to think of appropriating money not his own; yet who would know it? The owner of the wallet was drunk, and would be quite unconscious of his loss. Besides, if he didn’t take the wallet, some one else probably would, and appropriate the entire contents. It was an insidious suggestion, and Leonard somehow persuaded himself that since the money was sure to be taken, he might as well have the benefit of it as anyone else.

So, after turning over the matter in his mind rapidly, he stooped down and picked up the wallet.

The man did not move.

Emboldened by his insensibility, Leonard cautiously opened the pocketbook, and his eyes glistened when he saw tucked away in one side, quite a thick roll of bills.

“He won’t miss one bill,” thought Leonard. “Anyone else might take the whole wallet, but I wouldn’t do that. I wonder how much money there is in the roll.”

He darted another glance at the prostrate form, but there seemed no danger of interruption. He took the roll in his hand, therefore, and a hasty scrutiny showed him that the bills ran from ones to tens. There must have been nearly a hundred dollars in all.

“Suppose I take a five,” thought Leonard, whose cupidity increased with the sight of the money. “He won’t miss it, and it will be better in my hands than if spent for whiskey.”

How specious are the arguments of those who seek an excuse for a wrong act that will put money in the purse!

“Yes, I think I may venture to take a five, and, as I might not be able to change it right away, I will take a one to send for a ticket. Then I will put the wallet back in the man’s pocket.”

So far, all went smoothly, and Leonard was proceeding to carry out his intention when, taking a precautionary look at the man on the ground, he was dumfounded by seeing his eyes wide open and fixed upon him.

Leonard flushed painfully, like a criminal detected in a crime, and returned the look of inquiry by one of dismay.

“What—you—doing?” inquired the victim of inebriety.

“I—is this your wallet, sir?” stammered Leonard.

“Course it is. What you got it for?”

“I—I saw it on the ground, and was afraid some one would find it, and rob you,” said Leonard, fluently.

“Somebody did find it,” rejoined the man, whose senses seemed coming back to him. “How much did you take?”

“I? You don’t think I would take any of your money?” said Leonard, in virtuous surprise.

“Looked like it! Can’t tell who to trust.”

“I assure you, I had only just picked it up, and was going to put it back in your pocket, sir.”

The man, drunk as he was, winked knowingly.

“Smart boy!” he said. “You do it well, ol’ fella!”

“But, sir, it is quite true, I assure you. I will count over the money before you. Do you know how much you had?”

“Nev’ mind. Help me up!”

Leonard stooped over and helped the drunkard to a sitting position.

“Where am I? Where is hotel?”

Leonard answered him.

“Take me to hotel, and I’ll give you a dollar.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Leonard, briskly. He was to get his dollar after all, and would not have to steal it. I am afraid he is not to be praised for his honesty, as it seemed to be a matter of necessity.

“I wish he’d give me five dollars,” thought Leonard, but didn’t see his way clear to make the suggestion.

He placed the man on his feet, and guided his steps to the road. As he walked along, the inebriate, whose gait was at first unsteady, recovered his equilibrium and required less help.

“How long had you been lying there?” asked Leonard.

“Don’t know. I was taken sick,” and the inebriate nodded knowingly at Leonard, who felt at liberty to laugh, too.

“Do you ever get sick?”

“Not that way,” answered Leonard.

“Smart boy! Better off!”

They reached the hotel, and Leonard engaged a room for his companion.

“Has he got money?” asked the landlord, in a low voice.

“Yes,” answered Leonard, “he has nearly a hundred dollars. I counted it myself.”

“That’s all right, then,” said the landlord. “Here, James, show the gentleman up to No. 15.”

“Come, too,” said the stranger to Leonard.

The latter followed the more readily because he had not yet been paid his dollar.

The door of No. 15 was opened, and the two entered.

“I will stay with the gentleman a short time,” said Leonard to the boy. “If we want anything we will ring.”

“All right, sir.”

“What’s your name?” asked the inebriate, as he sank into a large armchair near the window.

“Leonard Craig.”

“Never heard the name before.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“What you want to know for?” asked the other, cunningly.

“The landlord will want to put it on his book.”

“My name? Phil Stark.”

“Philip Stark?”

“Yes; who told you?”

It will be seen that Mr. Stark was not yet quite himself.

“You told me yourself.”

“So I did—‘scuse me.”

“Certainly, sir. By the way, you told me you would pay me a dollar for bringing you to the hotel.”

“So I did. Take it,” and Philip Stark passed the wallet to Leonard.

Leonard felt tempted to take a two-dollar bill instead of a one, as Mr. Stark would hardly notice the mistake. Still, he might ask to look at the bill, and that would be awkward. So the boy contented himself with the sum promised.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, as he slipped the bill into his vest pocket. “Do you want some supper?”

“No, I want to sleep.”

“Then you had better lie down on the bed. Will you undress?”

“No; too much trouble.”

Mr. Stark rose from the armchair, and, lurching round to the bed, flung himself on it.

“I suppose you don’t want me any longer,” said Leonard.

“No. Come round to-morrer.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leonard opened the door and left the room. He resolved to keep the appointment, and come round the next day. Who knew but some more of Mr. Stark’s money might come into his hands? Grown man as he was, he seemed to need a guardian, and Leonard was willing to act as such—for a consideration.

“It’s been a queer adventure!” thought Leonard, as he slowly bent his steps towards his uncle’s house. “I’ve made a dollar out of it, anyway, and if he hadn’t happened to wake up just as he did I might have done better. However, it may turn out as well in the end.”

“You are rather late, Leonard,” said his uncle, in a tone that betrayed some irritation. “I wanted to send you on an errand, and you are always out of the way at such a time.”

“I’ll go now,” said Leonard, with unusual amiability. “I’ve had a little adventure.”

“An adventure! What is it?” Mr. Gibbon asked, with curiosity.

Leonard proceeded to give an account of his finding the inebriate in the meadow, and his guiding him to the hotel. It may readily be supposed that he said nothing of his attempt to appropriate a part of the contents of the wallet.

“What was his name?” asked Gibbon, with languid curiosity.

“Phil Stark, he calls himself.”

A strange change came over the face of the bookkeeper. There was a frightened look in his eyes, and his color faded.

“Phil Stark!” he repeated, in a startled tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“What brings him here?” Gibbon asked himself nervously, but no words passed his lips.

“Do you know the name?” asked Leonard, wonderingly.

“I—have heard it before, but—no, I don’t think it is the same man.”

CHAPTER XIX

AN ARTFUL SCHEME

“Does this Mr. Stark intend to remain long in the village!” inquired the bookkeeper, in a tone of assumed indifference.

“He didn’t say anything on that point,” answered Leonard.

“He did not say what business brought him here, I presume?”

“No, he was hardly in condition to say much; he was pretty full,” said Leonard, with a laugh. “However, he wants me to call upon him to-morrow, and may tell me then.”

“He wants you to call upon him?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Are you going?”

“Yes; why shouldn’t I?”

“I see no reason,” said Gibbon, hesitating. Then, after a pause he added: “If you see the way clear, find out what brings him to Milford.”

“Yes, uncle, I will.”

“Uncle Julius seems a good deal interested in this man, considering that he is a stranger,” thought the boy.

The bookkeeper was biting his nails, a habit he had when he was annoyed. “And, Leonard,” he added slowly, “don’t mention my name while you are speaking to Stark.”

“No, sir, I won’t, if you don’t want me to,” answered Leonard, his face betraying unmistakable curiosity. His uncle noted this, and explained hurriedly: “It is possible that he may be a man whom I once met under disagreeable circumstances, and I would prefer not to meet him again. Should he learn that I was living here, he would be sure to want to renew the acquaintance.”

“Yes, sir, I see. I don’t think he would want to borrow money, for he seems to be pretty well provided. I made a dollar out of him to-day, and that is one reason why I am willing to call on him again. I may strike him for another bill.”

“There is no objection to that, provided you don’t talk to him too freely. I don’t think he will want to stay long in Milford.”

“I wouldn’t if I had as much money as he probably has.”

“Do you often meet the new boy?”

“Carl Crawford?”

“Yes; I see him on the street quite often.”

“He lives with Mr. Jennings, I hear.”

“So he tells me.”

“It is rather strange. I didn’t suppose that Jennings would care to receive a boy in his house, or that tall grenadier of a housekeeper, either. I expect she rules the household.”

“She could tuck him under her arm and walk off with him,” said Leonard, laughing.

“The boy must be artful to have wormed his way into the favor of the strange pair. He seems to be a favorite.”

“Yes, uncle, I think he is. However, I like my position better than his.”

“He will learn his business from the beginning. I don’t know but it was a mistake for you to leave the factory.”

“I am not at all sorry for it, uncle.”

“Your position doesn’t amount to much.”

“I am paid just as well as I was when I was in the factory.”

“But you are learning nothing.”

“You are going to teach me bookkeeping.”

“Even that is not altogether a desirable business. A good bookkeeper can never expect to be in business for himself. He must be content with a salary all his life.”

“You have done pretty well, uncle.”

“But there is no chance of my becoming a rich man. I have to work hard for my money. And I haven’t been able to lay up much money yet. That reminds me? Leonard, I must impress upon you the fact that you have your own way to make. I have procured you a place, and I provide you a home–”

“You take my wages,” said Leonard, bluntly.

“A part of them, but on the whole, you are not self-supporting. You must look ahead, Leonard, and consider the future. When you are a young man you will want to earn an adequate income.”

“Of course, I shall, uncle, but there is one other course.”

“What is that?”

“I may marry an heiress,” suggested Leonard, smiling.

The bookkeeper winced.

“I thought I was marrying an heiress when I married your aunt,” he said, “but within six months of our wedding day, her father made a bad failure, and actually had the assurance to ask me to give him a home under my roof.”

“Did you do it?”

“No; I told him it would not be convenient.”

“What became of him?”

“He got a small clerkship at ten dollars a week in the counting room of a mercantile friend, and filled it till one day last October, when he dropped dead of apoplexy. I made a great mistake when I married in not asking him to settle a definite sum on his daughter. It would have been so much saved from the wreck.”

“Did aunt want him to come and live here?”

“Yes, women are always unreasonable. She would have had me support the old man in idleness, but I am not one of that kind. Every tub should stand on its own bottom.”

“I say so, too, uncle. Do you know whether this boy, Carl Crawford, has any father or mother?”

“From a word Jennings let fall I infer that he has relatives, but is not on good terms with them. I have been a little afraid he might stand in your light.”

“How so, uncle?”

“Should there be any good opening for one of your age, I am afraid he would get it rather than you.”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Leonard, jealously.

“Living as he does with Mr. Jennings, he will naturally try to ingratiate himself with him, and stand first in his esteem.”

“That is true. Is Mr. Jennings a rich man, do you think?”

“Yes, I think he is. The factory and stock are worth considerable money, but I know he has other investments also. As one item he has over a thousand dollars in the Carterville Savings Bank. He has been very prudent, has met with no losses, and has put aside a great share of his profits every year.”

“I wonder he don’t marry.”

“Marriage doesn’t seem to be in his thoughts. Hannah makes him so comfortable that he will probably remain a bachelor to the end of his days.”

“Perhaps he will leave his money to her.”

“He is likely to live as long as she.”

“She is a good deal longer than he,” said Leonard, with a laugh.

The bookkeeper condescended to smile at this joke, though it was not very brilliant.

“Before this boy Carl came,” he resumed thoughtfully, “I hoped he might take a fancy to you. He must die some time, and, having no near blood relative, I thought he might select as heir some boy like yourself, who might grow into his favor and get on his blind side.”

“Is it too late now?” asked Leonard, eagerly.

“Perhaps not, but the appearance of this new boy on the scene makes your chance a good deal smaller.”

“I wish we could get rid of him,” said Leonard, frowning.

“The only way is to injure him in the estimation of Mr. Jennings.”

“I think I know of a way.”

“Mention it.”

“Here is an advertisement of a lottery,” said Leonard, whose plans, in view of what his uncle had said, had experienced a change.

“Well?”

“I will write to the manager in Carl’s name, inquiring about tickets, and, of course, he will answer to him, to the care of Mr. Jennings. This will lead to the suspicion that Carl is interested in such matters.”

“It is a good idea. It will open the way to a loss of confidence on the part of Mr. Jennings.”

“I will sit down at your desk and write at once.”

Three days later Mr. Jennings handed a letter to Carl after they reached home in the evening.

“A letter for you to my care,” he explained.

Carl opened it in surprise, and read as follows:

“Office Of Gift Enterprise.

“Mr. Carl Crawford:—Your letter of inquiry is received. In reply we would say that we will send you six tickets for five dollars. By disposing of them among your friends at one dollar each, you will save the cost of your own. You had better remit at once.

“Yours respectfully, Pitkins & Gamp,

“Agents.”

Carl looked the picture of astonishment when he read this letter.

CHAPTER XX

REVEALS A MYSTERY

“Please read this letter, Mr. Jennings,” said Carl.

His employer took the letter from his hand, and ran his eye over it.

“Do you wish to ask my advice about the investment?” he said, quietly.

“No, sir. I wanted to know how such a letter came to be written to me.”

“Didn’t you send a letter of inquiry there?”

“No, sir, and I can’t understand how these men could have got hold of my name.”

Mr. Jennings looked thoughtful.

“Some one has probably written in your name,” he said, after a pause.

“But who could have done so?”

“If you will leave the letter in my hands, I may be able to obtain some information on that point.”

“I shall be glad if you can, Mr. Jennings.”

“Don’t mention to anyone having received such a letter, and if anyone broaches the subject, let me know who it is.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Mr. Jennings quietly put on his hat, and walked over to the post office. The postmaster, who also kept a general variety store, chanced to be alone.

“Good-evening, Mr. Jennings,” he said, pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”

“I want a little information, Mr. Sweetland, though it is doubtful if you can give it.”

Mr. Sweetland assumed the attitude of attention.

“Do you know if any letter has been posted from this office within a few days, addressed to Pitkins & Gamp, Syracuse, New York?”

“Yes; two letters have been handed in bearing this address.”

Mr. Jennings was surprised, for he had never thought of two letters.

“Can you tell me who handed them in?” he asked.

“Both were handed in by the same party.”

“And that was–”

“A boy in your employ.”

Mr. Jennings looked grave. Was it possible that Carl was deceiving him?

“The boy who lives at my house?” he asked, anxiously.

“No; the boy who usually calls for the factory mail. The nephew of your bookkeeper I think his name is Leonard Craig.”

“Ah, I see,” said Mr. Jennings, looking very much relieved. “And you say he deposited both letters?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you happen to remember if any other letter like this was received at the office?”

Here he displayed the envelope of Carl’s letter.

“Yes; one was received, addressed to the name of the one who deposited the first letters—Leonard Craig.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sweetland. Your information has cleared up a mystery. Be kind enough not to mention the matter.”

“I will bear your request in mind.”

Mr. Jennings bought a supply of stamps, and then left the office.

“Well, Carl,” he said, when he re-entered the house, “I have discovered who wrote in your name to Pitkins & Gamp.”

“Who, sir?” asked Carl, with curiosity.

“Leonard Craig.”

“But what could induce him to do it?” said Carl, perplexed.

“He thought that I would see the letter, and would be prejudiced against you if I discovered that you were investing in what is a species of lottery.”

“Would you, sir?”

“I should have thought you unwise, and I should have been reminded of a fellow workman who became so infatuated with lotteries that he stole money from his employer to enable him to continue his purchases of tickets. But for this unhappy passion he would have remained honest.”

“Leonard must dislike me,” said Carl, thoughtfully.

“He is jealous of you; I warned you he or some one else might become so. But the most curious circumstance is, he wrote a second letter in his own name. I suspect he has bought a ticket. I advise you to say nothing about the matter unless questioned.”

“I won’t, sir.”

The next day Carl met Leonard in the street.

“By the way,” said Leonard, “you got a letter yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I brought it to the factory with the rest of the mail.”

“Thank you.”

Leonard looked at him curiously.

“He seems to be close-mouthed,” Leonard said to himself. “He has sent for a ticket, I’ll bet a hat, and don’t want me to find out. I wish I could draw the capital prize—I would not mind old Jennings finding out then.”

“Do you ever hear from your—friends?” he asked a minute later.

“Not often.”

“I thought that letter might be from your home.”

“No; it was a letter from Syracuse.”

“I remember now, it was postmarked Syracuse. Have you friends there?”

“None that I am aware of.”

“Yet you receive letters from there?”

“That was a business letter.”

Carl was quietly amused at Leonard’s skillful questions, but was determined not to give him any light on the subject.

Leonard tried another avenue of attack.

“Oh, dear!” he sighed, “I wish I was rich.”

“I shouldn’t mind being rich myself,” said Carl, with a smile.

“I suppose old Jennings must have a lot of money.”

“Mr. Jennings, I presume, is very well off,” responded Carl, emphasizing the title “Mr.”

“If I had his money I wouldn’t live in such Quaker style.”

“Would you have him give fashionable parties?” asked Carl, smiling.

“Well, I don’t know that he would enjoy that; but I’ll tell you what I would do. I would buy a fast horse—a two-forty mare—and a bangup buggy, and I’d show the old farmers round here what fast driving is. Then I’d have a stylish house, and–”

“I don’t believe you’d be content to live in Milford, Leonard.”

“I don’t think I would, either, unless my business were here. I’d go to New York every few weeks and see life.”

“You may be rich some time, so that you can carry out your wishes.”

“Do you know any easy way of getting money?” asked Leonard, pointedly.

“The easy ways are not generally the true ways. A man sometimes makes money by speculation, but he has to have some to begin with.”

“I can’t get anything out of him,” thought Leonard. “Well, good-evening.”

He crossed the street, and joined the man who has already been referred to as boarding at the hotel.

Mr. Stark had now been several days in Milford. What brought him there, or what object he had in staying, Leonard had not yet ascertained. He generally spent part of his evenings with the stranger, and had once or twice received from him a small sum of money. Usually, however, he had met Mr. Stark in the billiard room, and played a game or two of billiards with him. Mr. Stark always paid for the use of the table, and that was naturally satisfactory to Leonard, who enjoyed amusement at the expense of others.

Leonard, bearing in mind his uncle’s request, had not mentioned his name to Mr. Stark, and Stark, though he had walked about the village more or less, had not chanced to meet Mr. Gibbon.

He had questioned Leonard, however, about Mr. Jennings, and whether he was supposed to be rich.

Leonard had answered freely that everyone considered him so.

“But he doesn’t know how to enjoy his money,” he added.

“We should,” said Stark, jocularly.