"I know that, sir."

"Yours is, I presume?"

"You can judge for yourself."

Carl recited some incidents in his experience with his stepmother. The stranger listened with evident interest.

"I am not in general in favor of boys leaving home except on extreme provocation," he said, after a pause; "but in your case, as your father seems to take part against you, I think you may be justified, especially as, at your age, you have a fair chance of making your own living."

"I am glad you think that, sir. I have begun to wonder whether I have not acted rashly."

"In undertaking to support yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"At fourteen I was obliged to undertake what you have now before you."

"To support yourself?"

"Yes; I was left an orphan at fourteen, with no money left me by my poor father, and no relatives who could help me."

"How did you make out, sir?" asked Carl, feeling very much interested.

"I sold papers for a while—in Newark, New Jersey—then I got a place at three dollars a week, out of which I had to pay for board, lodging and clothes. Well, I won't go through my history. I will only say that whatever I did I did as well as I could. I am now a man of about middle age, and I am moderately wealthy."

"I am very much encouraged by what you tell me, sir."

"Perhaps you don't understand what a hard struggle I had. More than once I have had to go to bed hungry. Sometimes I have had to sleep out, but one mustn't be afraid to rough it a little when he is young. I shouldn't like to sleep out now, or go to bed without my supper," and the little man laughed softly.

"Yes, sir; I expect to rough it, but if I could only get a situation, at no matter what income, I should feel encouraged."

"You have earned no money yet?"

"Yes, sir; I earned a dollar yesterday."

"At what kind of work?"

"Archery."

The little man looked surprised.

"Is that a business?" he asked, curiously.

"I'll explain how it was," and Carl told about the contest.

"So you hit the mark?" said the little man, significantly.

Somehow, there was something in the little man's tone that put new courage into Carl, and incited him to fresh effort.

"I wonder, sir," he said, after a pause, "that you should be walking, when you can well afford to ride."

The little man smiled.

"It is by advice of my physician," he said. "He tells me I am getting too stout, and ought to take more or less exercise in the open air. So I am trying to follow his advice."

"Are you in business near here, sir?"

"At a large town six miles distant. I may not walk all the way there, but I have a place to call at near by, and thought I would avail myself of the good chance offered to take a little exercise. I feel repaid. I have made a pleasant acquaintance."

"Thank you, sir."

"There is my card," and the little man took out a business card, reading thus:

HENRY JENNINGS, FURNITURE WAREHOUSE, MILFORD.

"I manufacture my furniture in the country," he continued, "but I ship it by special arrangements to a house in New York in which I am also interested."

"Yes, sir, I see. Do you employ many persons in your establishment?"

"About thirty."

"Do you think you could make room for me?"

"Do you think you would like the business?"

"I am prepared to like any business in which I can make a living."

"That is right. That is the way to look at it. Let me think."

For two minutes Mr. Jennings seemed to be plunged in thought. Then he turned and smiled encouragingly.

"You can come home with me," he said, "and I will consider the matter."

"Thank you, sir," said Carl, gladly.

"I have got to make a call at the next house, not on business, though. There is an old schoolmate lying there sick. I am afraid he is rather poor, too. You can walk on slowly, and I will overtake you in a few minutes."

"Thank you, sir."

"After walking half a mile, if I have not overtaken you, you may sit down under a tree and wait for me."

"All right, sir."

"Before I leave you I will tell you a secret."

"What is it, sir?"

"The two dollars you picked up, I dropped on purpose."

"On purpose?" asked Carl, in amazement.

"Yes; I wanted to try you, to see if you were honest."

"Then you had noticed me?"

"Yes. I liked your appearance, but I wanted to test you."



CHAPTER XIII.

AN UNEQUAL CONTEST.

Carl walked on slowly. He felt encouraged by the prospect of work, for he was sure that Mr. Jennings would make a place for him, if possible.

"He is evidently a kind-hearted man," Carl reflected. "Besides, he has been poor himself, and he can sympathize with me. The wages may be small, but I won't mind that, if I only support myself economically, and get on." To most boys brought up in comfort, not to say luxury, the prospect of working hard for small pay would not have seemed inviting. But Carl was essentially manly, and had sensible ideas about labor. It was no sacrifice or humiliation to him to become a working boy, for he had never considered himself superior to working boys, as many boys in his position would have done.

He walked on in a leisurely manner, and at the end of ten minutes thought he had better sit down and wait for Mr. Jennings. But he was destined to receive a shock. There, under the tree which seemed to offer the most inviting shelter, reclined a figure only too well-known.

It was the tramp who the day before had compelled him to surrender the ten-dollar bill.

The ill-looking fellow glanced up, and when his gaze rested upon Carl, his face beamed with savage joy.

"So it's you, is it?" he said, rising from his seat.

"Yes," answered Carl, doubtfully.

"Do you remember me?"

"Yes."

"I have cause to remember you, my chicken. That was a mean trick you played upon me," and he nodded his head significantly.

"I should think it was you that played the trick on me."

"How do you make that out?" growled the tramp.

"You took my money."

"So I did, and much good it did me."

Carl was silent.

"You know why, don't you?"

Carl might have denied that he knew the character of the bill which was stolen from him, but I am glad to say that it would have come from him with a very ill grace, for he was accustomed to tell the truth under all circumstances.

"You knew that the bill was counterfeit, didn't you?" demanded the tramp, fiercely.

"I was told so at the hotel where I offered it in payment for my bill."

"Yet you passed it on me!"

"I didn't pass it on you. You took it from me," retorted Carl, with spirit.

"That makes no difference."

"I think it does. I wouldn't have offered it to anyone in payment of an honest bill."

"Humph! you thought because I was poor and unfortunate you could pass it off on me!"

This seemed so grotesque that Carl found it difficult not to laugh.

"Do you know it nearly got me into trouble?" went on the tramp.

"How was that?"

"I stopped at a baker's shop to get a lunch. When I got through I offered the bill. The old Dutchman put on his spectacles, and he looked first at the bill, then at me. Then he threatened to have me arrested for passing bad money. I told him I'd go out in the back yard and settle it with him. I tell you, boy, I'd have knocked him out in one round, and he knew it, so he bade me be gone and never darken his door again. Where did you get it?"

"It was passed on me by a man I was traveling with."

"How much other money have you got?" asked the tramp.

"Very little."

"Give it to me, whatever it is."

This was a little too much for Carl's patience.

"I have no money to spare," he said, shortly.

"Say that over again!" said the tramp, menacingly.

"If you don't understand me, I will. I have no money to spare."

"You'll spare it to me, I reckon."

"Look here," said Carl, slowly backing. "You've robbed me of ten dollars. You'll have to be satisfied with that."

"It was no good. It might have sent me to prison. If I was nicely dressed I might pass it, but when a chap like me offers a ten-dollar bill it's sure to be looked at sharply. I haven't a cent, and I'll trouble you to hand over all you've got."

"Why don't you work for a living? You are a strong, able-bodied man."

"You'll find I am if you give me any more of your palaver."

Carl saw that the time of negotiation was past, and that active hostilities were about to commence. Accordingly he turned and ran, not forward, but in the reverse direction, hoping in this way to meet with Mr. Jennings.

"Ah, that's your game, is it?" growled the tramp. "You needn't expect to escape, for I'll overhaul you in two minutes."

So Carl ran, and his rough acquaintance ran after him.

It could hardly be expected that a boy of sixteen, though stout and strong, could get away from a tall, powerful man like the tramp.

Looking back over his shoulder, Carl saw that the tramp was but three feet behind, and almost able to lay his hand upon his shoulder.

He dodged dexterously, and in trying to do the same the tramp nearly fell to the ground. Naturally, this did not sweeten his temper.

"I'll half murder you when I get hold of you," he growled, in a tone that bodied ill for Carl.

The latter began to pant, and felt that he could not hold out much longer. Should he surrender at discretion?

"If some one would only come along," was his inward aspiration. "This man will take my money and beat me, too."

As if in reply to his fervent prayer the small figure of Mr. Jennings appeared suddenly, rounding a curve in the road.

"Save me, save me, Mr. Jennings!" cried Carl, running up to the little man for protection.

"What is the matter? Who is this fellow?" asked Mr. Jennings, in a deep voice for so small a man.

"That tramp wants to rob me."

"Don't trouble yourself! He won't do it," said Jennings, calmly.



CHAPTER XIV.

CARL ARRIVES IN MILFORD.

The tramp stopped short, and eyed Carl's small defender, first with curious surprise, and then with derision.

"Out of my way, you midget!" he cried, "or 'll hurt you."

"Try it!" said the little man, showing no sign of fear.

"Why, you're no bigger than a kid. I can upset you with one finger."

He advanced contemptuously, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the dwarf. In an instant Jennings had swung his flail-like arms, and before the tramp understood what was happening he was lying flat on his back, as much to Carl's amazement as his own.

He leaped to his feet with an execration, and advanced again to the attack. To be upset by such a pigmy was the height of mortification.

"I'm going to crush you, you mannikin!" he threatened.

Jennings put himself on guard. Like many small men, he was very powerful, as his broad shoulders and sinewy arms would have made evident to a teacher of gymnastics. He clearly understood that this opponent was in deadly earnest, and he put out all the strength which he possessed. The result was that his large-framed antagonist went down once more, striking his head with a force that nearly stunned him.

It so happened that at this juncture reinforcements arrived. A sheriff and his deputy drove up in an open buggy, and, on witnessing the encounter, halted their carriage and sprang to the ground.

"What is the matter, Mr. Jennings?" asked the sheriff, respectfully, for the little man was a person of importance in that vicinity.

"That gentleman is trying to extort a forced loan, Mr. Cunningham."

"Ha! a footpad?"

"Yes."

The sheriff sprang to the side of the tramp, who was trying to rise, and in a trice his wrists were confined by handcuffs.

"I think I know you, Mike Frost," he said. "You are up to your old tricks. When did you come out of Sing Sing?"

"Three weeks since," answered the tramp, sullenly.

"They want you back there. Come along with me!"

He was assisted into the buggy, and spent that night in the lockup.

"Did he take anything from you, Carl?" asked Mr. Jennings.

"No, sir; but I was in considerable danger. How strong you are!" he added, admiringly.

"Strength isn't always according to size!" said the little man, quietly. "Nature gave me a powerful, though small, frame, and I have increased my strength by gymnastic exercise."

Mr. Jennings did not show the least excitement after his desperate contest. He had attended to it as a matter of business, and when over he suffered it to pass out of his mind. He took out his watch and noted the time.

"It is later than I thought," he said. "I think I shall have to give up my plan of walking the rest of the way."

"Then I shall be left alone," thought Carl regretfully.

Just then a man overtook them in a carriage.

He greeted Mr. Jennings respectfully.

"Are you out for a long walk?" he said.

"Yes, but I find time is passing too rapidly with me. Are you going to Milford?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you take two passengers?"

"You and the boy?"

"Yes; of course I will see that you don't lose by it."

"I ought not to charge you anything, Mr. Jennings. Several times you have done me favors."

"And I hope to again, but this is business. If a dollar will pay you, the boy and I will ride with you."

"It will be so much gain, as I don't go out of my way."

"You can take the back seat, Carl," said Mr. Jennings. "I will sit with Mr. Leach."

They were soon seated and on their way.

"Relative of yours, Mr. Jennings?" asked Leach, with a backward glance at Carl.

Like most country folks, he was curious about people. Those who live in cities meet too many of their kind to feel an interest in strangers.

"No; a young friend," answered Jennings, briefly.

"Goin' to visit you?"

"Yes, I think he will stay with me for a time."

Then the conversation touched upon Milford matters in which at present Carl was not interested.

After his fatiguing walk our hero enjoyed the sensation of riding. The road was a pleasant one, the day was bright with sunshine and the air vocal with the songs of birds. For a time houses were met at rare intervals, but after a while it became evident that they were approaching a town of considerable size.

"Is this Milford, Mr. Jennings?" asked Carl.

"Yes," answered the little man, turning with a pleasant smile.

"How large is it?"

"I think there are twelve thousand inhabitants. It is what Western people call a 'right smart place.' It has been my home for twenty years, and I am much attached to it."

"And it to you, Mr. Jennings," put in the driver.

"That is pleasant to hear," said Jennings, with a smile.

"It is true. There are few people here whom you have not befriended."

"That is what we are here for, is it not?"

"I wish all were of your opinion. Why, Mr. Jennings, when we get a city charter I think I know who will be the first mayor."

"Not I, Mr. Leach. My own business is all I can well attend to. Thank you for your compliment, though. Carl, do you see yonder building?"

He pointed to a three-story structure, a frame building, occupying a prominent position.

"Yes, sir."

"That is my manufactory. What do you think of it?"

"I shouldn't think a town of this size would require so large an establishment," answered Carl.

Mr. Jennings laughed.

"You are right," he said. "If I depended on Milford trade, a very small building would be sufficient. My trade is outside. I supply many dealers in New York City and at the West. My retail trade is small. If any of my neighbors want furniture they naturally come to me, and I favor them as to price out of friendly feeling, but I am a manufacturer and wholesale dealer."

"I see, sir."

"Shall I take you to your house, Mr. Jennings?" asked Leach.

"Yes, if you please."

Leach drove on till he reached a two-story building of Quaker-like simplicity but with a large, pleasant yard in front, with here and there a bed of flowers. Here he stopped his horse.

"We have reached our destination, Carl," said Mr. Jennings. "You are active. Jump out and I will follow."

Carl needed no second invitation. He sprang from the carriage and went forward to help Mr. Jennings out.

"No, thank you, Carl," said the little man. "I am more active than you think. Here we are!"

He descended nimbly to the ground, and, drawing a one-dollar bill from his pocket, handed it to the driver.

"I don't like to take it, Mr. Jennings," said Mr. Leach.

"Why not? The laborer is worthy of his hire. Now, Carl, let us go into the house."



CHAPTER XV.

Mr. JENNINGS AT HOME.

Mr. Jennings did not need to open the door. He had scarcely set foot on the front step when it was opened from inside, and Carl found a fresh surprise in store for him. A woman, apparently six feet in height, stood on the threshold. Her figure was spare and ungainly, and her face singularly homely, but the absence of beauty was partially made up by a kindly expression. She looked with some surprise at Carl.

"This is a young friend of mine, Hannah," said her master. "Welcome him for my sake."

"I am glad to see you," said Hannah, in a voice that was another amazement. It was deeper than that of most men.

As she spoke, she held out a large masculine hand, which Carl took, as seemed to be expected.

"Thank you," said Carl.

"What am I to call you?" asked Hannah.

"Carl Crawford."

"That's a strange name."

"It is not common, I believe."

"You two will get acquainted by and by," said Mr. Jennings. "The most interesting question at present is, when will dinner be ready?"

"In ten minutes," answered Hannah, promptly.

"Carl and I are both famished. We have had considerable exercise," here he nodded at Carl with a comical look, and Carl understood that he referred in part to his contest with the tramp.

Hannah disappeared into the kitchen, and Mr. Jennings said: "Come upstairs, Carl. I will show you your room."

Up an old-fashioned stairway Carl followed his host, and the latter opened the door of a side room on the first landing. It was not large, but was neat and comfortable. There was a cottage bedstead, a washstand, a small bureau and a couple of chairs.

"I hope you will come to feel at home here," said Mr. Jennings, kindly.

"Thank you, sir. I am sure I shall," Carl responded, gratefully.

"There are some nails to hang your clothing on," went on Mr. Jennings, and then he stopped short, for it was clear that Carl's small gripsack could not contain an extra suit, and he felt delicate at calling up in the boy's mind the thought of his poverty.

"Thank you, sir," said Carl. "I left my trunk at the house of a friend, and if you should succeed in finding me a place, I will send for it."

"That is well!" returned Mr. Jennings, looking relieved. "Now I will leave you for a few moments. You will find water and towels, in case you wish to wash before dinner."

Carl was glad of the opportunity. He was particular about his personal appearance, and he felt hot and dusty. He bathed his face and hands, carefully dusted his suit, brushed his hair, and was ready to descend when he heard the tinkling of a small bell at the foot of the front stairs.

He readily found his way into the neat dining-room at the rear of the parlor. Mr. Jennings sat at the head of the table, a little giant, diminutive in stature, but with broad shoulders, a large head, and a powerful frame. Opposite him sat Hannah, tall, stiff and upright as a grenadier. She formed a strange contrast to her employer.

"I wonder what made him hire such a tall woman?" thought Carl. "Being so small himself, her size makes him look smaller."

There was a chair at one side, placed for Carl.

"Sit down there, Carl," said Mr. Jennings. "I won't keep you waiting any longer than I can help. What have you given us to-day, Hannah?"

"Roast beef," answered Hannah in her deep tones.

"There is nothing better."

The host cut off a liberal slice for Carl, and passed the plate to Hannah, who supplied potatoes, peas and squash. Carl's mouth fairly watered as he watched the hospitable preparations for his refreshment.

"I never trouble myself about what we are to have on the table," said Mr. Jennings. "Hannah always sees to that. She's knows just what I want. She is a capital cook, too, Hannah is."

Hannah looked pleased at this compliment.

"You are easily pleased, master," she said.

"I should be hard to suit if I were not pleased with your cooking. You don't know so well Carl's taste, but if there is anything he likes particularly he can tell you."

"You are very kind, sir," said Carl.

"There are not many men who would treat a poor boy so considerately," he thought. "He makes me an honored guest."

When dinner was over, Mr. Jennings invited Carl to accompany him on a walk. They passed along the principal street, nearly every person they met giving the little man a cordial greeting.

"He seems to be very popular," thought Carl.

At length they reached the manufactory. Mr. Jennings went into the office, followed by Carl.

A slender, dark-complexioned man, about thirty-five years of age, sat on a stool at a high desk. He was evidently the bookkeeper.

"Any letters, Mr. Gibbon?" asked Mr. Jennings.

"Yes, sir; here are four."

"Where are they from?"

"From New York, Chicago, Pittsburg and New Haven."

"What do they relate to?"

"Orders. I have handed them to Mr. Potter."

Potter, as Carl afterwards learned, was superintendent of the manufactory, and had full charge of practical details.

"Is there anything requiring my personal attention?"

"No, sir; I don't think so."

"By the way, Mr. Gibbon, let me introduce you to a young friend of mine—Carl Crawford."

The bookkeeper rapidly scanned Carl's face and figure. It seemed to Carl that the scrutiny was not a friendly one.

"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Gibbon, coldly.

"Thank you, sir."

"By the way, Mr. Jennings," said the bookkeeper, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Go on, Mr. Gibbon," rejoined his employer, in a cordial tone.

"Two months since you gave my nephew, Leonard Craig, a place in the factory."

"Yes; I remember."

"I don't think the work agrees with him."

"He seemed a strong, healthy boy."

"He has never been used to confinement, and it affects him unpleasantly."

"Does he wish to resign his place?"

"I have been wondering whether you would not be willing to transfer him to the office. I could send him on errands, to the post office, and make him useful in various ways."

"I had not supposed an office boy was needed. Still, if you desire it, I will try your nephew in the place."

"Thank you, sir."

"I am bound to tell you, however, that his present place is a better one. He is learning a good trade, which, if he masters it, will always give him a livelihood. I learned a trade, and owe all I have to that."

"True, Mr. Jennings, but there are other ways of earning a living."

"Certainly."

"And I thought of giving Leonard evening instruction in bookkeeping."

"That alters the case. Good bookkeepers are always in demand. I have no objection to your trying the experiment."

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you mentioned the matter to your nephew?"

"I just suggested that I would ask you, but could not say what answer you would give."

"It would have been better not to mention the matter at all till you could tell him definitely that he could change his place."

"I don't know but you are right, sir. However, it is all right now."

"Now, Carl," said Mr. Jennings, "I will take you into the workroom."



CHAPTER XVI.

CARL GETS A PLACE.

"I suppose that is the bookkeeper," said Carl.

"Yes. He has been with me three years. He understands his business well. You heard what he said about his nephew?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is his sister's son—a boy of about your own age. I think he is making a mistake in leaving the factory, and going into the office. He will have little to do, and that not of a character to give him knowledge of business."

"Still, if he takes lessons in bookkeeping——"

Mr. Jennings smiled.

"The boy will never make a bookkeeper," he said. "His reason for desiring the change is because he is indolent. The world has no room for lazy people."

"I wonder, sir, that you have had a chance to find him out."

"Little things betray a boy's nature, or a man's, for that matter. When I have visited the workroom I have noticed Leonard, and formed my conclusions. He is not a boy whom I would select for my service, but I have taken him as a favor to his uncle. I presume he is without means, and it is desirable that he should pay his uncle something in return for the home which he gives him."

"How much do you pay him, sir, if it is not a secret?"

"Oh, no; he receives five dollars a week to begin with. I will pay him the same in the office. And that reminds me; how would you like to have a situation in the factory? Would you like to take Leonard's place?"

"Yes, sir, if you think I would do."

"I feel quite sure of it. Have you ever done any manual labor?"

"No, sir."

"I suppose you have always been to school."

"Yes, sir."

"You are a gentleman's son," proceeded Mr. Jennings, eying Carl attentively. "How will it suit you to become a working boy?"

"I shall like it," answered Carl, promptly.

"Don't be too sure! You can tell better after a week in the factory. Those in my employ work ten hours a day. Leonard Craig doesn't like it."

"All I ask, Mr. Jennings, is that you give me a trial."

"That is fair," responded the little man, looking pleased. "I will tell you now that, not knowing of any vacancy in the factory, I had intended to give you the place in the office which Mr. Gibbon has asked for his nephew. It would have been a good deal easier work."

"I shall be quite satisfied to take my place in the factory."

"Come in, then, and see your future scene of employment."

They entered a large room, occupying nearly an entire floor of the building. Part of the space was filled by machinery. The number employed Carl estimated roughly at twenty-five.

Quite near the door was a boy, who bore some personal resemblance to the bookkeeper. Carl concluded that it must be Leonard Craig. The boy looked round as Mr. Jennings entered, and eyed Carl sharply.

"How are you getting on, Leonard?" Mr. Jennings asked.

"Pretty well, sir; but the machinery makes my head ache."

"Your uncle tells me that your employment does not agree with you."

"No, sir; I don't think it does."

"He would like to have you in the office with him. Would you like it, also?"

"Yes, sir," answered Leonard, eagerly.

"Very well. You may report for duty at the office to-morrow morning. This boy will take your place here."

Leonard eyed Carl curiously, not cordially.

"I hope you'll like it," he said.

"I think I shall."

"You two boys must get acquainted," said Mr. Jennings. "Leonard, this is Carl Crawford."

"Glad to know you," said Leonard, coldly.

"I don't think I shall like that boy," thought Carl, as he followed Mr. Jennings to another part of the room.



CHAPTER XVII.

CARL ENTERS THE FACTORY.

When they left the factory Mr. Jennings said, with a smile:

"Now you are one of us, Carl. To-morrow you begin work."

"I am glad of it, sir."

"You don't ask what salary you are to get."

"I am willing to leave that to you."

"Suppose we say two dollars a week and board—to begin with."

"That is better than I expected. But where am I to board?"

"At my house, for the present, if that will suit you."

"I shall like it very much, if it won't inconvenience you."

"Hannah is the one to be inconvenienced, if anyone. I had a little conversation with her while you were getting ready for dinner. She seems to have taken a liking for you, though she doesn't like boys generally. As for me, it will make the home brighter to have a young person in it. Hannah and I are old-fashioned and quiet, and the neighbors don't have much reason to complain of noise."

"No, sir; I should think not," said Carl, with a smile.

"There is one thing you must be prepared for, Carl," said Mr. Jennings, after a pause.

"What is that, sir?"

"Your living in my house—I being your employer—may excite jealousy in some. I think I know of one who will be jealous."

"Leonard Craig?"

"And his uncle. However, don't borrow any trouble on that score. I hope you won't take advantage of your position, and, thinking yourself a favorite, neglect your duties."

"I will not, sir."

"Business and friendship ought to be kept apart."

"That is right, sir."

"I am going back to the house, but you may like to take a walk about the village. You will feel interested in it, as it is to be your future home. By the way, it may be well for you to write for your trunk. You can order it sent to my house."

"All right, sir; I will do so."

He went to the post office, and, buying a postal card, wrote to his friend, Gilbert Vance, as follows:

"Dear Gilbert:—Please send my trunk by express to me at Milford, care of Henry Jennings, Esq. He is my employer, and I live at his house. He is proprietor of a furniture factory. Will write further particulars soon.

"Carl Crawford."

This postal carried welcome intelligence to Gilbert, who felt a brotherly interest in Carl. He responded by a letter of hearty congratulation, and forwarded the trunk as requested.

Carl reported for duty the next morning, and, though a novice, soon showed that he was not without mechanical skill.

At twelve o'clock all the factory hands had an hour off for dinner. As Carl passed into the street he found himself walking beside the boy whom he had succeeded—Leonard Craig.

"Good-morning, Leonard," said Carl, pleasantly.

"Good-morning. Have you taken my place in the factory?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you shall like it?"

"I think I shall, though, of course, it is rather early to form an opinion."

"I didn't like it."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to grow up a workman. I think I am fit for something better."

"Mr. Jennings began as a factory hand."

"I suppose he had a taste for it. I haven't."

"Then you like your present position better?"

"Oh, yes; it's more genteel. How much does Jennings pay you?"

"Two dollars a week and board."

"How is that? Where do you board?"

"With him."

"Oh!" said Leonard, his countenance changing. "So you are a favorite with the boss, are you?"

"I don't know. He gave me warning that he should be just as strict with me as if we were strangers."

"How long have you known him?"

Carl smiled.

"I met him for the first time yesterday," he answered.

"That's very queer."

"Well, perhaps it is a little singular."

"Are you a poor boy?"

"I have to earn my own living."

"I see. You will grow up a common workman."

"I shall try to rise above it. I am not ashamed of the position, but I am ambitious to rise."

"I am going to be a bookkeeper," said Leonard. "My uncle is going to teach me. I would rather be a bookkeeper than a factory hand."

"Then you are right in preparing yourself for such a post."

Here the two boys separated, as they were to dine in different places.

Leonard was pleased with his new position. He really had very little to do. Twice a day he went to the post office, once or twice to the bank, and there was an occasional errand besides. To Carl the idleness would have been insupportable, but Leonard was naturally indolent. He sat down in a chair by the window, and watched the people go by.

The first afternoon he was in luck, for there was a dog fight in the street outside. He seized his hat, went out, and watched the canine warfare with the deepest interest.

"I think I will buy you a system of bookkeeping," said his uncle, "and you can study it in the office."

"Put it off till next week, Uncle Julius. I want to get rested from the factory work."

"It seems to me, Leonard, you were born lazy," said his uncle, sharply.

"I don't care to work with my hands."

"Do you care to work at all?"

"I should like to be a bookkeeper."

"Do you know that my work is harder and more exhausting than that of a workman in the factory?"

"You don't want to exchange with him, do you?" asked Leonard.

"No."

"That's where I agree with you."

Mr. Jennings took several weekly papers. Leonard was looking over the columns of one of them one day, when he saw the advertisement of a gift enterprise of a most attractive character. The first prize was a house and grounds valued at ten thousand dollars. Following were minor prizes, among them one thousand dollars in gold.

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.

"You bet we would," returned Leonard; and he was quite sincere in his boast, as we know from his conversation with Carl.

"By the way," said Stark, on this particular evening, "I never asked you about your family, Leonard. I suppose you live with your parents."

"No, sir. They are dead."

"Then whom do you live with?"

"With my uncle," answered Leonard, guardedly.

"Is his name Craig?"

"No."

"What then?"

"I've got to tell him," thought Leonard. "Well, I don't suppose there will be much harm in it. My uncle is bookkeeper for Mr. Jennings," he said, "and his name is Julius Gibbon."

Philip Stark wheeled round, and eyed Leonard in blank astonishment.

"Your uncle is Julius Gibbon!" he exclaimed.

"Yes."

"Well, I'll be blowed."

"Do you—know my uncle?" asked Leonard, hesitating.

"I rather think I do. Take me round to the house. I want to see him."



CHAPTER XXI.

AN UNWELCOME GUEST.

When Julius Gibbon saw the door open and Philip Stark enter the room where he was smoking his noon cigar, his heart quickened its pulsations and he turned pale.

"How are you, old friend?" said Stark, boisterously. "Funny, isn't it, that I should run across your nephew?"

"Very strange!" ejaculated Gibbon, looking the reverse of joyous.

"It's a happy meeting, isn't it? We used to see a good deal of each other," and he laughed in a way that Gibbon was far from enjoying. "Now, I've come over to have a good, long chat with you. Leonard, I think we won't keep you, as you wouldn't be interested in our talk about old times."

"Yes, Leonard, you may leave us," added his uncle.

Leonard's curiosity was excited, and he would have been glad to remain, but as there was no help for it, he went out.

When they were alone, Stark drew up his chair close, and laid his hand familiarly on the bookkeeper's knee.

"I say, Gibbon, do you remember where we last met?"

Gibbon shuddered slightly.

"Yes," he answered, feebly.

"It was at Joliet—Joliet Penitentiary. Your time expired before mine. I envied you the six months' advantage you had of me. When I came out I searched for you everywhere, but heard nothing."

"How did you know I was here?" asked the bookkeeper.

"I didn't know. I had no suspicion of it. Nor did I dream that Leonard, who was able to do me a little service, was your nephew. I say, he's a chip of the old block, Gibbon," and Stark laughed as if he enjoyed it.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I was lying in a field, overcome by liquor, an old weakness of mine, you know, and my wallet had slipped out of my pocket. I chanced to open my eyes, when I saw it in the hands of your promising nephew, ha! ha!"

"He told me that."

"But he didn't tell you that he was on the point of appropriating a part of the contents? I warrant you he didn't tell you that."

"Did he acknowledge it? Perhaps you misjudged him."

"He didn't acknowledge it in so many words, but I knew it by his change of color and confusion. Oh, I didn't lay it up against him. We are very good friends. He comes honestly by it."

Gibbon looked very much annoyed, but there were reasons why he did not care to express his chagrin.

"On my honor, it was an immense surprise to me," proceeded Stark, "when I learned that my old friend Gibbon was a resident of Milford."

"I wish you had never found it out," thought Gibbon, biting his lip.

"No sooner did I hear it than I posted off at once to call on you."

"So I see."

Stark elevated his eyebrows, and looked amused. He saw that he was not a welcome visitor, but for that he cared little.

"Haven't you got on, though? Here I find you the trusted bookkeeper of an important business firm. Did you bring recommendations from your last place?" and he burst into a loud guffaw.

"I wish you wouldn't make such references," snapped Gibbon. "They can do no good, and might do harm."

"Don't be angry, my dear boy. I rejoice at your good fortune. Wish I was equally well fixed. You don't ask how I am getting on."

"I hope you are prosperous," said Gibbon, coldly.

"I might be more so. Is there a place vacant in your office?"

"No."

"And if there were, you might not recommend me, eh?"

"There is no need to speak of that. There is no vacancy."

"Upon my word, I wish there were, as I am getting to the end of my tether. I may have money enough to last me four weeks longer, but no more."

"I don't see how I can help you," said Gibbon.

"How much salary does Mr. Jennings pay you?"

"A hundred dollars a month," answered the bookkeeper, reluctantly.

"Not bad, in a cheap place like this."

"It takes all I make to pay expenses."

"I remember—you have a wife. I have no such incumbrance."

"There is one question I would like to ask you," said the bookkeeper.

"Fire away, dear boy. Have you an extra cigar?"

"Here is one."

"Thanks. Now I shall be comfortable. Go ahead with your question."

"What brought you to Milford? You didn't know of my being here, you say."

"Neither did I. I came on my old business."

"What?"

"I heard there was a rich manufacturer here—I allude to your respected employer. I thought I might manage to open his safe some dark night."

"No, no," protested Gibbon in alarm. "Don't think of it."

"Why not?" asked Stark, coolly.

"Because," answered Gibbon, in some agitation, "I might be suspected."

"Well, perhaps you might; but I have got to look out for number one. How do you expect me to live?"

"Go somewhere else. There are plenty of other men as rich, and richer, where you would not be compromising an old friend."

"It's because I have an old friend in the office that I have thought this would be my best opening."

"Surely, man, you don't expect me to betray my employer, and join with you in robbing him?"

"That's just what I do expect. Don't tell me you have grown virtuous, Gibbon. The tiger doesn't lose his spots or the leopard his stripes. I tell you there's a fine chance for us both. I'll divide with you, if you'll help me."

"But I've gone out of the business," protested Gibbon.

"I haven't. Come, old boy, I can't let any sentimental scruples interfere with so good a stroke of business."

"I won't help you!" said Gibbon, angrily. "You only want to get me into trouble."

"You won't help me?" said Stark, with slow deliberation.

"No, I can't honorably. Can't you let me alone?"

"Sorry to say, I can't. If I was rich, I might; but as it is, it is quite necessary for me to raise some money somewhere. By all accounts, Jennings is rich, and can spare a small part of his accumulations for a good fellow that's out of luck."

"You'd better give up the idea. It's quite impossible."

"Is it?" asked Stark, with a wicked look. "Then do you know what I will do?"

"What will you do?" asked Gibbon, nervously.

"I will call on your employer, and tell him what I know of you."

"You wouldn't do that?" said the bookkeeper, much agitated.

"Why not? You turn your back upon an old friend. You bask in prosperity, and turn from him in his poverty. It's the way of the world, no doubt; but Phil Stark generally gets even with those who don't treat him well."

"Tell me what you want me to do," said Gibbon, desperately.

"Tell me first whether your safe contains much of value."

"We keep a line of deposit with the Milford Bank."

"Do you mean to say that nothing of value is left in the safe overnight?" asked Stark, disappointed.

"There is a box of government bonds usually kept there," the bookkeeper admitted, reluctantly.

"Ah, that's good!" returned Stark, rubbing his hands. "Do you know how much they amount to?"

"I think there are about four thousand dollars."

"Good! We must have those bonds, Gibbon."



CHAPTER XXII.

MR. STARK IS RECOGNIZED.

Phil Stark was resolved not to release his hold upon his old acquaintance. During the day he spent his time in lounging about the town, but in the evening he invariably fetched up at the bookkeeper's modest home. His attentions were evidently not welcome to Mr. Gibbon, who daily grew more and more nervous and irritable, and had the appearance of a man whom something disquieted.

Leonard watched the growing intimacy with curiosity. He was a sharp boy, and he felt convinced that there was something between his uncle and the stranger. There was no chance for him to overhear any conversation, for he was always sent out of the way when the two were closeted together. He still met Mr. Stark outside, and played billiards with him frequently. Once he tried to extract some information from Stark.

"You've known my uncle a good while," he said, in a tone of assumed indifference.

"Yes, a good many years," answered Stark, as he made a carom.

"Were you in business together?"

"Not exactly, but we may be some time," returned Stark, with a significant smile.

"Here?"

"Well, that isn't decided."

"Where did you first meet Uncle Julius?"

"The kid's growing curious," said Stark to himself. "Does he think he can pull wool over the eyes of Phil Stark? If he does, he thinks a good deal too highly of himself. I will answer his questions to suit myself."

"Why don't you ask your uncle that?"

"I did," said Leonard, "but he snapped me up, and told me to mind my own business. He is getting terribly cross lately."

"It's his stomach, I presume," said Stark, urbanely. "He is a confirmed dyspeptic—that's what's the matter with him. Now; I've got the digestion of an ox. Nothing ever troubles me, and the result is that I am as calm and good-natured as a May morning."

"Don't you ever get riled, Mr. Stark?" asked Leonard, laughing.

"Well, hardly ever. Sometimes when I am asked fool questions by one who seems to be prying into what is none of his business, I get wrathy, and when I'm roused look out!"

He glanced meaningly at Leonard, and the boy understood that the words conveyed a warning and a menace.

"Is anything the matter with you, Mr. Gibbon? Are you as well as usual?" asked Mr. Jennings one morning. The little man was always considerate, and he had noticed the flurried and nervous manner of his bookkeeper.

"No, sir; what makes you ask?" said Gibbon, apologetically.

"Perhaps you need a vacation," suggested Mr. Jennings.

"Oh, no, I think not. Besides, I couldn't be spared."

"I would keep the books myself for a week to favor you."

"You are very kind, but I won't trouble you just yet. A little later on, if I feel more uncomfortable, I will avail myself of your kindness."

"Do so. I know that bookkeeping is a strain upon the mind, more so than physical labor."

There were special reasons why Mr. Gibbon did not dare to accept the vacation tendered him by his employer. He knew that Phil Stark would be furious, for it would interfere with his designs. He could not afford to offend this man, who held in his possession a secret affecting his reputation and good name.

The presence of a stranger in a small town always attracts public attention, and many were curious about the rakish-looking man who had now for some time occupied a room at the hotel.

Among others, Carl had several times seen him walking with Leonard Craig

"Leonard," he asked one day, "who is the gentleman I see you so often walking with?"

"It's a man that's boarding at the hotel. I play billiards with him sometimes."

"He seems to like Milford."

"I don't know. He's over at our house every evening."

"Is he?" asked Carl, surprised.

"Yes; he's an old acquaintance of Uncle Julius. I don't know where they met each other, for he won't tell. He said he and uncle might go into business together some time. Between you and me, I think uncle would like to get rid of him. I know he doesn't like him."

This set Carl to thinking, but something occurred soon afterwards that impressed him still more.

Occasionally a customer of the house visited Milford, wishing to give a special order for some particular line of goods. About this time a Mr. Thorndike, from Chicago, came to Milford on this errand, and put up at the hotel. He had called at the factory during the day, and had some conversation with Mr. Jennings. After supper a doubt entered the mind of the manufacturer in regard to one point, and he said to Carl: "Carl, are you engaged this evening?"

"No, sir."

"Will you carry a note for me to the hotel?"

"Certainly, sir; I shall be glad to do so."

"Mr. Thorndike leaves in the morning, and I am not quite clear as to one of the specifications he gave me with his order. You noticed the gentleman who went through the factory with me?"

"Yes, sir."

"He is Mr. Thorndike. Please hand him this note, and if he wishes you to remain with him for company, you had better do so."

"I will, sir."

"Hannah," said Mr. Jennings, as his messenger left with the note, "Carl is a pleasant addition to our little household?"

"Yes, indeed he is," responded Hannah, emphatically.

"If he was twice the trouble I'd be glad to have him here."

"He is easy to get along with."

"Surely."

"Yet his stepmother drove him from his father's house."

"She's a wicked trollop, then!" said Hannah, in a deep, stern voice. "I'd like to get hold of her, I would."

"What would you do to her?" asked Mr. Jennings, smiling.

"I'd give her a good shaking," answered Hannah.

"I believe you would, Hannah," said Mr. Jennings, amused. "On the whole, I think she had better keep out of your clutches. Still, but for her we would never have met with Carl. What is his father's loss is our gain."

"What a poor, weak man his father must be," said Hannah, contemptuously, "to let a woman like her turn him against his own flesh and blood!"

"I agree with you, Hannah. I hope some time he may see his mistake."

Carl kept on his way to the hotel. It was summer and Mr. Thorndike was sitting on the piazza smoking a cigar. To him Carl delivered the note.

"It's all right!" he said, rapidly glancing it over. "You may tell Mr. Jennings," and here he gave an answer to the question asked in the letter.

"Yes, sir, I will remember."

"Won't you sit down and keep me company a little while?" asked Thorndike, who was sociably inclined.

"Thank you, sir," and Carl sat down in a chair beside him.

"Will you have a cigar?"

"No, thank you, sir. I don't smoke."

"That is where you are sensible. I began to smoke at fourteen, and now I find it hard to break off. My doctor tells me it is hurting me, but the chains of habit are strong."

"All the more reason for forming good habits, sir."

"Spoken like a philosopher. Are you in the employ of my friend, Mr. Jennings?"

"Yes, sir."

"Learning the business?"

"That is my present intention."

"If you ever come out to Chicago, call on me, and if you are out of a place, I will give you one."

"Are you not a little rash, Mr. Thorndike, to offer me a place when you know so little of me?"

"I trust a good deal to looks. I care more for them than for recommendations."

At that moment Phil Stark came out of the hotel, and passing them, stepped off the piazza into the street.

Mr. Thorndike half rose from his seat, and looked after him.

"Who is that?" he asked, in an exciting whisper.

"A man named Stark, who is boarding at the hotel. Do you know him?"

"Do I know him?" repeated Thorndike. "He is one of the most successful burglars in the West."



CHAPTER XXIII.

PREPARING FOR THE BURGLAR.

Carl stared at Mr. Thorndike in surprise and dismay.

"A burglar!" he ejaculated.

"Yes; I was present in the courtroom when he was convicted of robbing the Springfield bank. I sat there for three hours, and his face was impressed upon my memory. I saw him later on in the Joliet Penitentiary. I was visiting the institution and saw the prisoners file out into the yard. I recognized this man instantly. Do you know how long he has been here?"

"For two weeks I should think."

"He has some dishonest scheme in his head, I have no doubt. Have you a bank in Milford?"

"Yes."

"He may have some design upon that."

"He is very intimate with our bookkeeper, so his nephew tells me."

Mr. Thorndike looked startled.

"Ha! I scent danger to my friend, Mr. Jennings. He ought to be apprised."

"He shall be, sir," said Carl, firmly.

"Will you see him to-night?"

"Yes, sir; I am not only in his employ, but I live at his house."

"That is well."

"Perhaps I ought to go home at once."

"No attempt will be made to rob the office till late. It is scarcely eight o'clock. I don't know, however, but I will walk around to the house with you, and tell your employer what I know. By the way, what sort of a man is the bookkeeper?"

"I don't know him very well, sir. He has a nephew in the office, who was transferred from the factory. I have taken his place."

"Do you think the bookkeeper would join in a plot to rob his employer?"

"I don't like him. To me he is always disagreeable, but I would not like to say that."

"How long has he been in the employ of Mr. Jennings?"

"As long as two years, I should think."

"You say that this man is intimate with him?"

"Leonard Craig—he is the nephew—says that Mr. Philip Stark is at his uncle's house every evening."

"So he calls himself Philip Stark, does he?"

"Isn't that his name?"

"I suppose it is one of his names. He was convicted under that name, and retains it here on account of its being so far from the place of his conviction. Whether it is his real name or not, I do not know. What is the name of your bookkeeper?"

"Julius Gibbon."

"I don't remember ever having heard it. Evidently there has been some past acquaintance between the two men, and that, I should say, is hardly a recommendation for Mr. Gibbon. Of course that alone is not enough to condemn him, but the intimacy is certainly a suspicious circumstance."

The two soon reached the house of Mr. Jennings, for the distance was only a quarter of a mile.

Mr. Jennings seemed a little surprised, but gave a kindly welcome to his unexpected guest. It occurred to him that he might have come to give some extra order for goods.

"You are surprised to see me," said Thorndike. "I came on a very important matter."

A look of inquiry came over the face of Mr. Jennings.

"There's a thief in the village—a guest at the hotel—whom I recognize as one of the most expert burglars in the country."

"I think I know whom you mean, a man of moderate height, rather thick set, with small, black eyes and a slouch hat."

"Exactly."

"What can you tell me about him?"

Mr. Thorndike repeated the statement he had already made to Carl.

"Do you think our bank is in danger?" asked the manufacturer.

"Perhaps so, but the chief danger threatens you."

Mr. Jennings looked surprised.

"What makes you think so?"

"Because this man appears to be very intimate with your bookkeeper."

"How do you know that?" asked the little man, quickly.

"I refer you to Carl."

"Leonard Craig told me to-night that this man Stark spent every evening at his uncle's house."

Mr. Jennings looked troubled.

"I am sorry to hear this," he said. "I dislike to lose confidence in any man whom I have trusted."

"Have you noticed anything unusual in the demeanor of your bookkeeper of late?" asked Thorndike.

"Yes; he has appeared out of spirits and nervous."

"That would seem to indicate he is conspiring to rob you."

"This very day, noticing the change in him, I offered him a week's vacation. He promptly declined to take it."

"Of course. It would conflict with the plans of his confederate. I don't know the man, but I do know human nature, and I venture to predict that your safe will be opened within a week. Do you keep anything of value in it?"

"There are my books, which are of great value to me."

"But not to a thief. Anything else?"

"Yes; I have a tin box containing four thousand dollars in government bonds."

"Coupon or registered?"

"Coupon."

"Nothing could be better—for a burglar. What on earth could induce you to keep the bonds in your own safe?"

"To tell the truth, I considered them quite as safe there as in the bank. Banks are more likely to be robbed than private individuals."

"Circumstances alter cases. Does anyone know that you have the bonds in your safe?"

"My bookkeeper is aware of it."

"Then, my friend, I caution you to remove the bonds from so unsafe a depository as soon as possible. Unless I am greatly mistaken, this man, Stark, has bought over your bookkeeper, and will have his aid in robbing you."

"What is your advice?"

"To remove the bonds this very evening," said Thorndike.

"Do you think the danger so pressing?"

"Of course I don't know that an attempt will be made to-night, but it is quite possible. Should it be so, you would have an opportunity to realize that delays are dangerous."

"Should Mr. Gibbon find, on opening the safe to-morrow morning, that the box is gone, it may lead to an attack upon my house."

"I wish you to leave the box in the safe."

"But I understand that you advised me to remove it."

"Not the box, but the bonds. Listen to my plan. Cut out some newspaper slips of about the same bulk as the bonds, put them in place of the bonds in the box, and quietly transfer the bonds in your pocket to your own house. To-morrow you can place them in the bank. Should no burglary be attempted, let the box remain in the safe, just as if its contents were valuable."

"Your advice is good, and I will adopt it," said Jennings, "and thank you for your valuable and friendly instruction."

"If agreeable to you I will accompany you to the office at once. The bonds cannot be removed too soon. Then if anyone sees us entering, it will be thought that you are showing me the factory. It will divert suspicion, even if we are seen by Stark or your bookkeeper."

"May I go, too?" asked Carl, eagerly.

"Certainly," said the manufacturer. "I know, Carl, that you are devoted to my interests. It is a comfort to know this, now that I have cause to suspect my bookkeeper."

It was only a little after nine. The night was moderately dark, and Carl was intrusted with a wax candle, which he put in his pocket for use in the office. They reached the factory without attracting attention, and entered by the office door.

Mr. Jennings opened the safe—he and the bookkeeper alone knew the combination—and with some anxiety took out the tin box. It was possible that the contents had already been removed. But no! on opening it, the bonds were found intact. According to Mr. Thorndike's advice, he transferred them to his pocket, and substituted folded paper. Then, replacing everything, the safe was once more locked, and the three left the office.

Mr. Thorndike returned to the hotel, and Mr. Jennings to his house, but Carl asked permission to remain out a while longer.

"It is on my mind that an attempt will be made to-night to rob the safe," he said. "I want to watch near the factory to see if my suspicion is correct."

"Very well, Carl, but don't stay out too long!" said his employer.

"Suppose I see them entering the office, sir?"

"Don't interrupt them! They will find themselves badly fooled. Notice only if Mr. Gibbon is of the party. I must know whether my bookkeeper is to be trusted."



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE BURGLARY.

Carl seated himself behind a stone wall on the opposite side of the street from the factory. The building was on the outskirts of the village, though not more than half a mile from the post office, and there was very little travel in that direction during the evening. This made it more favorable for thieves, though up to the present time no burglarious attempt had been made on it. Indeed, Milford had been exceptionally fortunate in that respect. Neighboring towns had been visited, some of them several times, but Milford had escaped.

The night was quite dark, but not what is called pitchy dark. As the eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, they were able to see a considerable distance. So it was with Carl. From his place of concealment he occasionally raised his head and looked across the way to the factory. An hour passed, and he grew tired. It didn't look as if the attempt were to be made that night. Eleven o'clock pealed out from the spire of the Baptist Church, a quarter of a mile away. Carl counted the strokes, and when the last died into silence, he said to himself:

"I will stay here about ten minutes longer. Then, if no one comes, I will give it up for tonight."

The time was nearly up when his quick ear caught a low murmur of voices. Instantly he was on the alert. Waiting till the sound came nearer, he ventured to raise his head for an instant above the top of the wall.

His heart beat with excitement when he saw two figures approaching. Though it was so dark, he recognized them by their size and outlines. They were Julius Gibbon, the bookkeeper, and Phil Stark, the stranger staying at the hotel.

Carl watched closely, raising his head for a few seconds at a time above the wall, ready to lower it should either glance in his direction. But neither of the men did so. Ignorant that they were suspected, it was the farthest possible from their thoughts that anyone would be on the watch.

Presently they came so near that Carl could hear their voices.

"I wish it was over," murmured Gibbon, nervously.

"Don't worry," said his companion. "There is no occasion for haste. Everybody in Milford is in bed and asleep, and we have several hours at our disposal."

"You must remember that my reputation is at stake. This night's work may undo me."

"My friend, you can afford to take the chances. Haven't I agreed to give you half the bonds?"

"I shall be suspected, and shall be obliged to stand my ground, while you will disappear from the scene."

"Two thousand dollars will pay you for some inconvenience. I don't see why you should be suspected. You will be supposed to be fast asleep on your virtuous couch, while some bad burglar is robbing your worthy employer. Of course you will be thunderstruck when in the morning the appalling discovery is made. I'll tell you what will be a good dodge for you."

"Well?"

"Offer a reward of a hundred dollars from your own purse for the discovery of the villain who has robbed the safe and abstracted the bonds."

Phil Stark burst out into a loud guffaw as he uttered these words.

"Hush!" said Gibbon, timidly. "I thought I heard some one moving."

"What a timid fool you are!" muttered Stark, contemptuously. "If I had no more pluck, I'd hire myself out to herd cows."

"It's a better business," said Gibbon, bitterly.

"Well, well, each to his taste! If you lose your place as bookkeeper, you might offer your services to some farmer. As for me, the danger, though there isn't much, is just enough to make it exciting."

"I don't care for any such excitement," said Gibbon, dispiritedly. "Why couldn't you have kept away and let me earn an honest living?"

"Because I must live as well as you, my dear friend. When this little affair is over, you will thank me for helping you to a good thing."

Of course all this conversation did not take place within Carl's hearing. While it was going on, the men had opened the office door and entered. Then, as Carl watched the window closely he saw a narrow gleam of light from a dark lantern illuminating the interior.

"Now they are at the safe," thought Carl.

We, who are privileged, will enter the office and watch the proceedings.

Gibbon had no difficulty in opening the safe, for he was acquainted with the combination. Stark thrust in his hand eagerly and drew out the box.

"This is what we want," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. "Have you a key that will open it?"

"No."

"Then I shall have to take box and all."

"Let us get through as soon as possible," said Gibbon, uneasily.

"You can close the safe, if you want to. There is nothing else worth taking?"

"No."

"Then we will evacuate the premises. Is there an old newspaper I can use to wrap up the box in? It might look suspicious if anyone should see it in our possession."

"Yes, here is one."

He handed a copy of a weekly paper to Phil Stark, who skillfully wrapped up the box, and placing it under his arm, went out of the office, leaving Gibbon to follow.

"Where will you carry it?" asked Gibbon.

"Somewhere out of sight where I can safely open it. I should have preferred to take the bonds, and leave the box in the safe. Then the bonds might not have been missed for a week or more."

"That would have been better."

That was the last that Carl heard. The two disappeared in the darkness, and Carl, raising himself from his place of concealment, stretched his cramped limbs and made the best of his way home. He thought no one would be up, but Mr. Jennings came out from the sitting-room, where he had flung himself on a lounge, and met Carl in the hall.

"Well?" he said.

"The safe has been robbed."

"Who did it?" asked the manufacturer, quickly.

"The two we suspected."

"Did you see Mr. Gibbon, then?"

"Yes; he was accompanied by Mr. Stark."

"You saw them enter the factory?"

"Yes, sir; I was crouching behind the stone wall on the other side of the road."

"How long were they inside?"

"Not over fifteen minutes—perhaps only ten."

"Mr. Gibbon knew the combination," said Jennings, quietly. "There was no occasion to lose time in breaking open the safe. There is some advantage in having a friend inside. Did you see them go out?"

"Yes, sir."

"Carrying the tin box with them?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Stark wrapped it in a newspaper after they got outside."

"But you saw the tin box?"

"Yes."

"Then, if necessary, you can testify to it. I thought it possible that Mr. Gibbon might have a key to open it."

"I overheard Stark regretting that he could not open it so as to abstract the bonds and leave the box in the safe. In that case, he said, it might be some time before the robbery was discovered."

"He will himself make an unpleasant discovery when he opens the box. I don't think there is any call to pity him, do you, Carl?"

"No, sir. I should like to be within sight when he opens it."

The manufacturer laughed quietly.

"Yes," he said; "if I could see it I should feel repaid for the loss of the box. Let it be a lesson for you, my boy. Those who seek to enrich themselves by unlawful means are likely in the end to meet with disappointment."

"Do you think I need the lesson?" asked Carl, smiling.

"No, my lad. I am sure you don't. But you do need a good night's rest. Let us go to bed at once, and get what sleep we may. I won't allow the burglary to keep me awake."

He laughed in high good humor, and Carl went up to his comfortable room, where he soon lost all remembrance of the exciting scene of which he had been a witness.

Mr. Jennings went to the factory at the usual time the next morning.

As he entered the office the bookkeeper approached him pale and excited.

"Mr. Jennings," he said, hurriedly, "I have bad news for you."

"What is it, Mr. Gibbon?"

"When I opened the safe this morning, I discovered that the tin box had been stolen."

Mr. Jennings took the news quietly.

"Have you any suspicion who took it?" he asked.

"No, sir. I—I hope the loss is not a heavy one."

"I do not care to make the extent of the loss public. Were there any marks of violence? Was the safe broken open?"

"No, sir."

"Singular; is it not?"

"If you will allow me I will join in offering a reward for the discovery of the thief. I feel in a measure responsible."

"I will think of your offer, Mr. Gibbon."

"He suspects nothing," thought Gibbon, with a sigh of relief.



CHAPTER XXV.

STARK'S DISAPPOINTMENT.

Philip Stark went back to the hotel with the tin box under his arm. He would like to have entered the hotel without notice, but this was impossible, for the landlord's nephew was just closing up. Though not late for the city, it was very late for the country, and he looked surprised when Stark came in.

"I am out late," said Stark, with a smile.

"Yes."

"That is, late for Milford. In the city I never go to bed before midnight."

"Have you been out walking?"

"Yes."

"You found it rather dark, did you not?"

"It is dark as a pocket."

"You couldn't have found the walk a very pleasant one."

"You are right, my friend; but I didn't walk for pleasure. The fact is, I am rather worried about a business matter. I have learned that I am threatened with a heavy loss—an unwise investment in the West—and I wanted time to think it over and decide how to act."

"I see," answered the clerk, respectfully, for Stark's words led him to think that his guest was a man of wealth.

"I wish I was rich enough to be worried by such a cause," he said, jokingly.

"I wish you were. Some time I may be able to throw something in your way."

"Do you think it would pay me to go to the West?" asked the clerk, eagerly.

"I think it quite likely—if you know some one out in that section."

"But I don't know anyone."

"You know me," said Stark, significantly.

"Do you think you could help me to a place, Mr. Stark?"

"I think I could. A month from now write to me Col. Philip Stark, at Denver, Colorado, and I will see if I can find an opening for you."

"You are very kind, Mr.—I mean Col. Stark," said the clerk, gratefully.

"Oh, never mind about the title," returned Stark, smiling good-naturedly. "I only gave it to you just now, because everybody in Denver knows me as a colonel, and I am afraid a letter otherwise addressed would not reach me. By the way, I am sorry that I shall probably have to leave you to-morrow."

"So soon?"

"Yes; it's this tiresome business. I should not wonder if I might lose ten thousand dollars through the folly of my agent. I shall probably have to go out to right things."

"I couldn't afford to lose ten thousand dollars," said the young man, regarding the capitalist before him with deference.

"No, I expect not. At your age I wasn't worth ten thousand cents. Now—but that's neither here nor there. Give me a light, please, and I will go up to bed."

"He was about to say how much he is worth now," soliloquized the clerk. "I wish he had not stopped short. If I can't be rich myself, I like to talk with a rich man. There's hope for me, surely. He says that at my age he was not worth ten thousand cents. That is only a hundred dollars, and I am worth that. I must keep it to pay my expenses to Colorado, if he should send for me in a few weeks."

The young man had noticed with some curiosity the rather oddly-shaped bundle which Stark carried under his arm, but could not see his way clear to asking any questions about it. It seemed queer that Stark should have it with him while walking. Come to think of it, he remembered seeing him go out in the early evening, and he was quite confident that at that time he had no bundle with him. However, he was influenced only by a spirit of idle curiosity. He had no idea that the bundle was of any importance or value. The next day he changed his opinion on that subject.

Phil Stark went up to his chamber, and setting the lamp on the bureau, first carefully locked the door, and then removed the paper from the tin box. He eyed it lovingly, and tried one by one the keys he had in his pocket, but none exactly fitted.

As he was experimenting he thought with a smile of the night clerk from whom he had just parted.

"Stark," he soliloquized, addressing himself, "you are an old humbug. You have cleverly duped that unsophisticated young man downstairs. He looks upon you as a man of unbounded wealth, evidently, while, as a matter of fact, you are almost strapped. Let me see how much I have got left."

He took out his wallet, and counted out seven dollars and thirty-eight cents.

"That can hardly be said to constitute wealth," he reflected, "but it is all I have over and above the contents of this box. That makes all the difference. Gibbon is of opinion that there are four thousand dollars in bonds inside, and he expects me to give him half. Shall I do it? Not such a fool! I'll give him fifteen hundred and keep the balance myself. That'll pay him handsomely, and the rest will be a good nestegg for me. If Gibbon is only half shrewd he will pull the wool over the eyes of that midget of an employer, and retain his place and comfortable salary. There will be no evidence against him, and he can pose as an innocent man. Bah! what a lot of humbug there is in the world. Well, well, Stark, you have your share, no doubt. Otherwise how would you make a living? To-morrow I must clear out from Milford, and give it a wide berth in future. I suppose there will be a great hue-and-cry about the robbery of the safe. It will be just as well for me to be somewhere else. I have already given the clerk a good reason for my sudden departure. Confound it, it's a great nuisance that I can't open this box! I would like to know before I go to bed just how much boodle I have acquired. Then I can decide how much to give Gibbon. If I dared I'd keep the whole, but he might make trouble."

Phil Stark, or Col. Philip Stark, as he had given his name, had a large supply of keys, but none of them seemed to fit the tin box.

"I am afraid I shall excite suspicion if I sit up any longer," thought Stark. "I will go to bed and get up early in the morning. Then I may succeed better in opening this plaguy box."

He removed his clothing and got into bed. The evening had been rather an exciting one, but the excitement was a pleasurable one, for he had succeeded in the plan which he and the bookkeeper had so ingeniously formed and carried out, and here within reach was the rich reward after which they had striven. Mr. Stark was not troubled with a conscience—that he had got rid of years ago—and he was filled with a comfortable consciousness of having retrieved his fortunes when they were on the wane. So, in a short time he fell asleep, and slept peacefully. Toward morning, however, he had a disquieting dream. It seemed to him that he awoke suddenly from slumber and saw Gibbon leaving the room with the tin box under his arm. He awoke really with beads of perspiration upon his brow—awoke to see by the sun streaming in at his window that the morning was well advanced, and the tin box was still safe.

"Thank Heaven, it was but a dream!" he murmured. "I must get up and try once more to open the box."

The keys had all been tried, and had proved not to fit. Mr. Stark was equal to the emergency. He took from his pocket a button hook and bent it so as to make a pick, and after a little experimenting succeeded in turning the lock. He lifted the lid eagerly, and with distended eyes prepared to gloat upon the stolen bonds. But over his face there came a startling change. The ashy blue hue of disappointment succeeded the glowing, hopeful look. He snatched at one of the folded slips of paper and opened it. Alas! it was valueless, mere waste paper. He sank into a chair in a limp, hopeless posture, quite overwhelmed. Then he sprang up suddenly, and his expression changed to one of fury and menace.

"If Julius Gibbon has played this trick upon me," he said, between his set teeth, "he shall repent it—bitterly!"