"Yes, a little practical joke. We're going to call on some friends and see if they know us."

"You'd do for the theatre," said the landlady, admiringly.

"I flatter myself I might have done something on the stage, if my attention had been turned that way. But, my dear, we must be moving, or we shan't get through our calls."

"I wonder what mischief they are up to now," thought Mrs. Flagg, as she followed them to the door. "I know better than to think they'd take the trouble to dress up that way just to take in their friends. No, they're up to some game. Not that I care, as long as they get money enough to pay my bill."

So the worldly-wise landlady dismissed them from her thoughts, and went about her work.

Mr. Barnes and his wife walked up toward Broadway at a slow, decorous pace, suited to the character they had assumed. More than one who met them turned back to look at what they considered a perfect type of the country minister and his wife. They would have been not a little surprised to learn that under this quiet garb walked two of the most accomplished swindlers in a city abounding in adventurers of all kinds.

Mr. Barnes paused a moment to reprove a couple of urchins who were pitching pennies on the sidewalk.

"Don't you know that it's wrong to pitch pennies?" he said gravely.

"None of your chaff, mister," retorted one of the street boys, irreverently. "When did you come from the country, old Goggles?"

"My son, you should address me with more respect."

"Just get out of the way, mister! I don't want to hear no preachin'."

"I am afraid you have been badly brought up, my son."

"I ain't your son, and I wouldn't be for a shillin'. Just you go along, and let me alone!"

"A sad case of depravity, my dear," remarked Mr. Barnes to his wife. "I fear we must leave these boys to their evil ways."

"You'd better," said one of the boys.

"They're smart little rascals!" said Mr. Montgomery, when they were out of hearing of the boys. "I took them in, though. They thought I was the genuine article."

"We'd better not waste any more time," said his wife. "That boy might get out, you know, and give us trouble."

"I don't believe he will get out in a hurry. I locked the door and he'd have to pound some time before he could make any one hear, I declare, I should like to see how he looked when he recovered from his stupor, and realized that his ring was gone."

"What sort of boy was he, Tony?"

"Better not call me by that name, my dear. It might be heard, you know, and might not be considered in character. As to your question, he was by no means a stupid boy. Rather sharpish, I should say."

"Then how came he to let you take him in?"

"As to that, I claim to be rather sharp myself, and quite a match even for a smart boy. I haven't knocked about the world forty-four years for nothing."

They were now in Broadway. Turning the corner of Amity street, they walked a short distance downtown, and paused before the handsome jewelry store of Ball & Black.

"I think we had better go in here," said Felix Montgomery—(I hesitate a little by which of his numerous names to call him).

"Why not go to Tiffany's?"

"I gather from what the boy told me that the ring has already been offered there. It would be very likely to be recognized and that would be awkward, you know."

"Are you sure the ring has not been offered here? asked his wife.

"Quite sure. The boy would have mentioned it, had such been the case."

"Very well. Let us go in then."

The Rev. Mr. Barnes and his wife, of Hayfield Centre; entered the elegant store, and ten minutes later Paul Hoffman entered also, and took his station at the counters wholly unconscious of the near proximity of the man who had so artfully swindled him.



CHAPTER XXI

PAUL IS CHECKMATED

On entering the large jewelry store Mr. Montgomery and his wife walked to the rear of the store, and advanced to the counter, behind which stood a clerk unengaged.

"What shall I show you?" he inquired

"I didn't come to purchase," said Mr. Montgomery, with suavity, "but to sell. I suppose you purchase jewelry at times?"

"Sometimes," said the clerk. "Let me see what you have."

"First," said the adventurer, "let me introduce myself. I am the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre, Connecticut. You perhaps know the place?"

"I don't think I remember it," said the clerk, respectfully.

"It is a small place," said Mr. Montgomery, modestly, "but my tastes are plain and unobtrusive, and I do not aspire to a more conspicuous post. However, that is not to the purpose. A lady parishioner, desiring to donate a portion of her wealth to the poor, has placed in my hand a diamond ring, the proceeds to be devoted to charitable objects. I desire to sell it, and, knowing the high reputation of your firm feel safe in offering it to you. I know very little of the value of such things, since they are not in my line, but I am sure of fair treatment at your hands."

"You may depend upon that," said the clerk, favorably impressed with the appearance and manners of his customer. "Allow me to see the ring."

The brilliant was handed over the counter.

"It is quite valuable," said he, scrutinizing it closely.

"So I supposed, as the lady is possessed of wealth. You may rely upon its being genuine."

"I am not authorized to purchase," said the clerk, "but I will show it to one of the firm."

Just at that moment, Mr. Montgomery, chancing to look toward the door, was startled by seeing the entrance of Paul Hoffman. He saw that it would be dangerous to carry the negotiation any farther and he quickly gave a secret signal to his wife.

The hint was instantly understood and acted upon.

Mrs. Montgomery uttered a slight cry, and clung to her husband's arm.

"My dear," she said, "I feel one of my attacks coming on. Take me out quickly.

"My wife is suddenly taken sick," said Mr. Montgomery, hurriedly.

"She is subject to fits. If you will give me the ring, I will return to-morrow and negotiate for its sale."

"I am very sorry," said the clerk, with sympathy, handing back the ring. "Can I get anything for the lady?"

"No, thank you. The best thing to do is to get her into the open air. Thank you for your kindness."

"Let me help you," said the clerk, and coming from behind the counter he took one arm of Mrs. Montgomery, who, leaning heavily on her husband and the clerk, walked, or rather was carried, to the street door.

Of course, the attention of all within the store was drawn to the party.

"What was the matter?" inquired a fellow-clerk, as the salesman returned.

"It was a clergyman from Connecticut, who wished to sell a diamond ring, given to him for charitable purposes. His wife was taken suddenly sick. He will bring it back to-morrow."

"Was the ring a valuable one?"

"It must be worth in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars."

Paul listened to this explanation, and a sudden light flashed upon him, as he heard the estimated value of the ring. There had been something familiar in the appearance of the adventurer, though, on account of his successful disguise and his being accompanied by a lady, he had not before felt any suspicion as to his identity with the man who had swindled him. Now he felt convinced that it was Mr. Felix Montgomery, and that it was his own appearance which had led to the sudden sickness and the precipitate departure.

"That trick won't work, Mr. Montgomery," he said to himself. "I've got on your track sooner than I anticipated, and I mean to follow you up."

Reaching the sidewalk, he caught sight of Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery just turning the corner of a side street. The pair supposed they were safe, not thinking that our hero had recognized them, and the lady no longer exhibited illness, and was walking briskly at her husband's side. Paul hurried up and tapped the adventurer on the shoulder. Mr. Montgomery, turning, was annoyed on finding that he had not yet escaped. He determined, however, to stick to his false character, and deny all knowledge of the morning's transaction.

"Well, my young friend," he said, "do you want me? I believe I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"You are mistaken there, Mr. Felix Montgomery," said Paul, significantly.

"By what name did you address me?" said the swindler, assuming a tone of surprise.

"I addressed you as Mr. Felix Montgomery."

"You have made a mistake, my good friend. I am an humble clergyman from Connecticut. I am called the Rev. Mr. Barnes. Should you ever visit Hayfield Centre, I shall be glad to receive a call from you."

"When I last met you, you were a jeweler from Syracuse," said Paul, bluntly.

Mr. Montgomery laughed heartily.

"My dear," he said, turning to his wife, "is not this an excellent joke? My young friend here thinks he recognizes in me a jeweler from Syracuse."

"Indeed, you are quite mistaken," said the lady. "My husband is a country minister. We came up to the city this morning on a little business."

"I understand on what business," said Paul. "You wanted to dispose of a diamond ring."

Mr. Montgomery was disposed to deny the charge, but a moment's reflection convinced him that it would be useless, as Paul had doubtless been informed in Ball & Black's of his business there. He decided to put on a bold front and admit it.

"I suppose you were in Ball & Black's just now," he said.

"I was."

"And so learned my business there? But I am at a loss to understand why you should be interested in the matter."

"That ring is mine," said Paul. "You swindled me out of it this morning."

"My young friend, you must certainly be insane," said Mr. Montgomery, shrugging his shoulders. "My dear, did you hear that?"

"He is an impudent boy," said the lady. "I am surprised that you should be willing to talk to him."

"If you leave here I will put a policeman on your track," said Paul.

He looked so determined that Mr. Montgomery found that he must parley.

"You are under a strange hallucination, my young friend," he said. "If you will walk along with me, I think I can convince you of your mistake."

"There is no mistake about the matter," said Paul, walking on with them. "The ring is mine, and I must have it."

"My dear, will you explain about the ring? He may credit your testimony."

"I don't see that any explanation is necessary," said the lady. "However, since you wish it, I will say that the ring was handed you by Mrs. Benton, a wealthy lady of your parish, with instructions to sell it, and devote the proceeds to charitable purposes."

"Is that explanation satisfactory?" asked Mr. Montgomery.

"No, it is not," said Paul, resolutely. "I don't believe one word of it. I recognize you in spite of your dress. You gave me chloroform this morning in a room in Lovejoy's Hotel, and when I was unconscious you made off with the ring which I expected to sell you. You had better return it, or I will call a policeman."

"I am not the person you take me for," said Felix Montgomery.

"You are the jeweler from Syracuse who swindled me out of my ring."

"I never was a jeweler, and never lived in Syracuse," said the adventurer, with entire truth.

"You may be right, but that is what you told me this morning."

"I wish you would go away, and cease to annoy us," said the lady, impatiently.

"I want my ring."

"We have no ring of yours."

"Show me the ring, and if it is not mine I will go away."

"You are a very impudent fellow, upon my word," said Mrs. Montgomery, sharply, "to accuse a gentleman like my husband of taking your ring. I don't believe you ever had one."

"My dear," interposed her husband, mildly, "I dare say my young friend here really thinks we have his ring. Of course it is a great mistake. Imagine what our friends in Hayfield Centre would think of such a charge! But you must remember that he is unacquainted with my standing in the community. In order to satisfy his mind, I am willing to let him see the ring."

"To let him see the ring?" repeated the lady, in surprise.

"Yes. Here, my lad," taking the ring from his pocket, "this is the ring. You will see at once that it is not yours."

"I see that it is mine," said Paul, taking the proffered ring, and preparing to go, astonished at his own good fortune in so easily recovering it.

"Not so fast!" exclaimed Mr. Montgomery, seizing him by the shoulder. "Help! Police!"

An officer had turned the corner just before, and it was this that had suggested the trap. He came up quickly, and, looking keenly from one to the other, inquired what was the matter.

"This boy has just purloined a ring from my wife," said Mr. Montgomery. "Fortunately I caught him in the act."

"Give up the ring, you young scoundrel!" said the officer, imposed upon by the clerical appearance of the adventurer.

"It is mine," said Paul.

"None of your gammon! Give up the ring, and come with me."

The ring was restored to Mr. Montgomery, who overwhelmed the officer with a profusion of thanks.

"It is not a diamond, only an imitation," he said, "but my wife values it as the gift of a friend. Don't be too hard on the boy. He may not be so bad as he seems."

"I'll attend to him," said the policeman, emphatically. "I'll learn him to rob ladies of rings in the street. Come along, sir!"

Paul tried to explain matters, but no attention was paid to his protestations. To his anger and mortification he saw the swindler make off triumphantly with the ring, while he, the wronged owner, was arrested as a thief.

But at the station-house he had his revenge. He was able to prove to his captor that he had lodged information against Mr. Montgomery, and the policeman in turn was mortified to think how readily he had been imposed upon. Of course Paul was set free, but the officer's blundering interference seemed to render the recovery of the ring more doubtful than ever.



CHAPTER XXII

A MAN OF RESOURCES

"Well, that was a narrow escape," said Mr. Montgomery, with a sigh of relief. "I think I managed rather cleverly, eh?"

"I wanted to box the boys ears," said Mrs. Montgomery, sharply.

"It wouldn't have been in character, my dear. Ha, ha!" he laughed, softly, "we imposed upon the officer neatly. Our young friend got rather the worst of it."

"Why don't you call things by their right names? He isn't much of a friend."

"Names are of no consequence, my dear."

"Well, what are you going to do next?" asked the lady, abruptly.

"About the ring?"

"Of course."

"I hardly know," said Mr. Montgomery, reflectively. "If it were not for appearing too anxious, I would go back to Ball & Black's now that our young friend is otherwise engaged, and can't interrupt us."

"Suppose we go?"

"Well, you see, it might be considered rather soon for you to recover from your fit. Besides, I don't know what stories this boy may have thought fit to tell about us."

"He didn't have time to say anything."

"Perhaps you are right."

"We want to dispose of the ring as soon as possible, and leave the city."

"That is true. Well, if you say so, we will go back."

"It seems to me now is the best time. The boy will tell his story to the officer and we may be inquired for."

"Then, my dear, I will follow your advice."

Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery turned, and directed their steps again toward Broadway. The distance was short, and fifteen minutes had scarcely elapsed since they left the store before they again entered it. They made their way to the lower end of the store and accosted the same clerk with whom they had before spoken.

"Is your wife better?" he asked.

"Much better, thank you. A turn in the air always relieves her, and she is quite herself again. I have returned because it is necessary for me to leave the city by the evening train, and my time is, therefore, short. Will you be kind enough to show the ring to your employer, and ask him if he will purchase?"

The clerk returned, and said that the firm would pay two hundred and fifty dollars, but must be assured of his right to dispose of it.

"Did you mention my name?" asked the adventurer.

"I mentioned that you were a clergyman. I could not remember the name."

"The Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre, Connecticut. I have been preaching there for—is it six or seven years, my dear?"

"Seven," said his wife.

"I should think that would be sufficient. You may mention that to Mr. Ball or Mr. Black, if you please. I presume after that he will not be afraid to purchase."

Mr. Montgomery said this with an air of conscious respectability and high standing, which might readily impose upon strangers. But, by bad luck, what he had said was heard by a person able to confute him.

"Did you say you were from Hayfield Centre?" asked a gentleman, standing a few feet distant.

"Yes," said Mr. Montgomery.

"I think you said your name was Barnes?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that you have been preaching there for the last seven years?"

"Yes, sir," answered Mr. Montgomery, but there was rather less confidence in his tone. In fact he was beginning to feel uneasy.

"It is very strange," said the other. "I have a sister living in Hayfield Centre, and frequently visit the place myself, and so of course know something of it. Yet I have never heard of any clergyman named Barnes preaching there."

Mr. Montgomery saw that things looked critical.

"You are strangely mistaken, sir," he said. "However, I will not press the sale. If you will return the ring (to the clerk) I will dispose of it elsewhere."

But the clerk's suspicions had been aroused by what had been said.

"I will first speak to Mr. Ball," he said.

"There is no occasion to speak to him. I shall not sell the ring to-day. To-morrow, I will come with witnesses whose testimony will outweigh that of this gentleman, who I suspect never was in Hayfield Centre in his life. I will trouble you for the ring."

"I hope you don't intend to give it to him," said the gentleman. "The presumption is that, as he is masquerading, he has not come by it honestly."

"I shall not deign to notice your insinuations," said Mr. Montgomery, who concealed beneath a consequential tone his real uneasiness. "The ring, if you please."

"Don't give it to him."

As the clerk seemed disinclined to surrender the ring, Mr. Montgomery said: "Young man, you will find it to be a serious matter to withhold my property."

"Perhaps I had better give it to him," said the clerk, imposed upon by the adventurer's manner.

"Require him to prove property. If it is really his, he can readily do this."

"My dear," said the Rev. Mr. Barnes, "we will leave the store."

"What, and leave the ring?"

"For the present. I will invoke the aid of the police to save me from being robbed in this extraordinary manner."

He walked to the street door, accompanied by his wife. He was deeply disappointed at the failure of the sale, and would gladly have wreaked vengeance upon the stranger who had prevented it. But he saw that his safety required an immediate retreat. In addition to his own disappointment, he had to bear his wife's censure.

"If you had the spirit of a man, Mr. Montgomery," she commenced, "you wouldn't have given up that ring so easily. He had no business to keep it."

"I would have called in a policeman if I dared, but you know I am not on the best of terms with these gentlemen."

"Are we to lose the ring, then?"

"I am afraid so, unless I can make them believe in the store that I am really what I pretend to be."

"Can't you do it?"

"Not very easily, unless stay, I have an idea. Do you see that young man?"

He directed his wife's attention to a young man, evidently fresh from the country, who was approaching, staring open-eyed at the unwonted sights of the city. He was dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, while his pantaloons, of a check pattern, terminated rather higher up than was in accordance with the fashion.

"Yes, I see him," said Mrs. Montgomery. "What of him?"

"I am going to recover the ring through his help."

"I don't see how."

"You will see."

"How do you do?" said the adventurer, cordially, advancing to the young man, and seizing his hand.

"Pretty smart," said the countryman, looking surprised.

"Are your parents quite well?"

"They're so's to be around."

"When did you come to the city?"

"This mornin'."

"Do you stay any length of time?"

"I'm goin' back this afternoon."

"You didn't expect to meet me now, did you?" asked Mr. Montgomery.

"I s'pose I'd orter know you," said the perplexed youth, "but I can't think what your name is."

"What! Not know Mr. Barnes, the minister of Hayfield Centre? Don't you remember hearing me preach for your minister?"

"Seems to me I do," answered the young man, persuading himself that he ought to remember.

"Of course you do. Now, my young friend, I am very glad to have met you."

"So am I," said the other, awkwardly.

"You can do me a favor, if you will."

"Of course, I will," said Jonathan, "if it's anything I can do."

"Yes, you will have no trouble about it. You see, I went into a jeweler's near by to sell a valuable ring, and they wanted to make sure I was really a minister, and not intending to cheat them. If you will go in with me, and say that you have often heard me preach, and that I am the Rev. Mr. Barnes, of Hayfield Centre, I won't mind paying you five dollars for your trouble."

"All right; I'll do it," said the rustic, considering that it would be an unusually easy way of earning few dollars.

"You'll remember the name, won't you?"

"Yes—Parson Barnes, of Hayfield Centre."

"That is right. The store is near by. Walk along with us, and we will be there in five minutes."



CHAPTER XXIII

A NEW EXPEDIENT

"I believe your name is Peck?" said Mr. Montgomery, hazarding a guess.

"No, it's Young, Ephraim Young."

"Of course it is. I remember now, but I am apt to forget names. You said your parents were quite well?"

"Yes, they're pretty smart."

"I am glad to hear it; I have the pleasantest recollections of your excellent father. Let me see, didn't you call there with me once, Mrs. Barnes?"

"Not that I remember."

"You must go with me the next time. I want you to know the parents of our young friend. They are excellent people. Do you go back this afternoon, Mr. Young?"

"Yes, I guess so. You don't know of any sitooation I could get in a store round here, do you?"

"Not at present, but I have some influential friends to whom I will mention your name. Suppose, now, I could obtain a situation for you, how shall I direct the letter letting you know?"

"Just put on the letter 'Ephraim Young.' Everybody in Plainfield knows me."

"So he lives in Plainfield," said Mr. Montgomery to himself. "It's as well to know that." Then aloud: "I won't forget, Mr. Young. What sort of business would you prefer?"

"Any kind that'll pay," said the gratified youth, firmly convinced of his companion's ability to fulfill his promise. "I've got tired of stayin' round home, and I'd like to try York a little while. Folks say it's easy to make money here."

"You are right. If I were a business man, I would come to New York at once. For a smart young man like you it offers a much better opening than a country village."

"That's what I've told dad often," said the rustic, "but he's afraid I wouldn't get nothing to do and he says it's dreadful expensive livin' here."

"So it is expensive, but then you will be better paid than in the country. However, here we are. You won't forget what I told you?"

"No—I'll remember," said the young man.

The reappearance of Mr. Barnes and wife so soon excited some surprise in the store, for it had got around, as such things will, that he was an impostor, and it was supposed that he would not venture to show his face there again. The appearance of his rustic companion likewise attracted attention. Certainly, Mr. Montgomery (it makes little difference what we call him) did not exhibit the slightest appearance of apprehension, but his manner was quite cool and self-possessed. He made his way to that part of the counter attended by the clerk with whom he had before spoken. He observed with pleasure and relief that the man who had questioned his identity with any of the ministers of Hayfield Centre was no longer in the store. This would make the recovery of the ring considerably easier.

"Well, sir," he said, addressing the clerk, "I suppose you did not expect to see me again so soon?"

"No, sir."

"Nor did I expect to be able to return for the ring before to-morrow, not supposing that I could bring witnesses to prove that I was what I represented. But fortunately I met just now a young friend, who can testify to my identity, as he has heard me preach frequently in Plainfield, where he resides. Mr. Young, will you be kind enough to tell this gentleman who I am?"

"Parson Barnes, of Hayfield Centre," said the youth, confidently.

"You have heard me preach, have you not, in Plainfield?"

"Yes," said the young man, fully believing that he was telling the truth.

"And I have called on your parents?"

"Yes."

"I think," said the adventurer, "that will be sufficient to convince you that I am what I appear."

It was hard to doubt, in the face of such evidence. Ephraim Young was so unmistakably from the rural districts that it would have been absurd to suspect him of being an artful city rogue. Besides, Mr. Barnes himself was got up so naturally that all the clerk's doubts vanished at once. He concluded that the customer who had questioned his genuineness must be very much mistaken.

"I ought to apologize to you, sir," he said, "for doubting your word. But in a city like this you know one has to be very careful."

"Of course," said the adventurer, blandly, "I do not blame you in the least. You only did your duty, though it might have cost me some trouble and inconvenience."

"I am sorry, sir."

"No apologies, I beg. It has all turned out right, and your mistake was a natural one. If you will kindly return me the ring, I will defer selling it, I think, till another day."

The clerk brought the ring, which he handed back to Mr. Montgomery. The latter received it with so much the more satisfaction, as he had made up his mind at one time that it was gone irrevocably, and put it away in his waistcoat pocket.

"I had intended to buy some silver spoons," he said, "but it will be necessary to wait until I have disposed of the ring. However, I may as well look at some, eh, Mrs. Barnes?"

"If you like," assented the lady.

So the pair examined some spoons, and fixed upon a dozen, which they said they would return and buy on the next day, and then, with a polite good-by, went out of the store, leaving behind, on the whole, a favorable impression.

Ephraim Young accompanied them out, and walked along beside them in the street. He, too, was in good spirits, for had not his companion promised him five dollars for his services, which he had faithfully rendered? Five dollars to the young man from the rural districts was a very considerable sum of money—quite a nugget, in fact—and he already enjoyed in advance the pleasure which he anticipated of telling his friends at home how easily he had earned such a sum in "York." He walked along beside the adventurer, expecting that he would say something about paying him, but no allusion was made by the adventurer to his promise. Indeed, five dollars was considerably more than he had in his possession. When they reached Amity street, for they were now proceeding up Broadway, he sought to shake off the young man, whose company he no longer desired.

"This is our way," he said. "I suppose you are going further. I am very glad to have met you, Mr. Young. I hope you will give our regards to your excellent parents;" and he held out his hand in token of farewell.

"Ain't you goin' to pay me that money?" said Ephraim, bluntly, becoming alarmed at the prospect of losing the nugget he had counted on with so much confidence.

"Bless me, I came near forgetting it! I hope you will excuse me," and to Ephraim's delight he drew out his pocketbook. But the prospect of payment was not so bright as the young man supposed.

"I don't think I have a five-dollar bill," said Mr. Montgomery, after an examination of the pocketbook. "Mrs. Montgomery, do you happen to have a five with you?"

"No, I haven't," said the lady, promptly. "I spent all my money shopping this morning."

"That is unfortunate. Our young friend has rendered us such a service I don't like to make him wait for his money."

Ephraim Young looked rather blank at this suggestion.

"Let me see, I have a hundred-dollar bill here," said Mr. Montgomery. "I will go into the next store, and see if I can't get it changed. Mr. Young, will you be kind enough to remain with my wife?"

"Certain," said Ephraim, brightening up.

Mr. Montgomery went into a shop near by, but made no request to have a hundred-dollar bill changed. He was rather afraid that they might comply with his request, which would have subjected him to some embarrassment. He merely inquired if he could use a pen for a moment; request which was readily granted. In less than five minutes he emerged into the street again. Ephraim Young looked toward him eagerly.

"I am sorry to say, my young friend," he remarked, "that I was unable to get my bill changed. I might get it changed at a bank, but the banks are all closed at this hour."

The countryman looked disturbed.

"I am afraid," continued Mr. Montgomery, "I must wait and send you the money in a letter from Hayfield Centre."

"I'd rather have it now," said Ephraim.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," said the adventurer smoothly; "but after all you will only have a day or two to wait. To make up to you for the delay I have decided to send you ten dollars instead of five. Finding I could not change my bill, I wrote a note for the amount, which I will hand you."

Ephraim received the paper, which the other handed him, and read as follows:

NEW YORK, Sept 15, 18—.

Three days from date I promise to pay Mr. Ephraim Young ten dollars.

JOTHAM BARNES, of Hayfield Centre.

"How will that do?" asked the adventurer. "By waiting three days you double your money."

"You'll be sure to send it," said Ephraim, doubtfully.

"My young friend, I hope you do not doubt me," said the Rev. Mr. Barnes, impressively.

"I guess it's all right," said Ephraim, "only I thought I might like to spend the money in the city."

"Much better save it up," said the other. "By and by it may come in useful."

Ephraim carefully folded up the note, and deposited it in an immense wallet, the gift of his father. He would have preferred the money which it represented: but three days would soon pass, and the ten dollars would be forwarded to him. He took leave of his new acquaintances, Mr. Montgomery shaking his hand with affectionate warmth, and requesting him to give his best respects to his parents. When Ephraim was out of sight he returned to his wife, with a humorous twinkle in his eye, and said:

"Wasn't that cleverly done, old lady?"

"Good enough!" remarked the lady. "Now you've got the ring back again, what are you going to do with it?"

"That, my dear, is a subject which requires the maturest consideration. I shall endeavor to convert it as soon as possible into the largest possible sum in greenbacks. Otherwise I am afraid our board bill, and the note I have just given to my rural friend, will remain unpaid."



CHAPTER XXIV

MR. MONTGOMERY'S ARREST

Having shaken off his country acquaintance, of whom he had no further need, Mr. Montgomery started to return to his lodgings. On the whole, he was in good spirits, though he had not effected the sale of the ring. But it was still in his possession, and it had a tangible value.

"I am sorry you did not sell the ring," said Mrs. Montgomery.

"So am I," said her husband. "We may have to sell it in some other city."

"We can't leave the city without money."

"That's true," returned her husband, rather taken aback by what was undeniably true.

"We must sell the ring, or raise money on it, in New York."

"I don't know but you are right. The trouble is, there are not many places where they will buy so expensive an article. Besides, they will be apt to ask impertinent questions."

"You might go to a pawnbroker's."

"And get fleeced. If I got a quarter of the value from a pawnbroker, I should be lucky."

"We must do something with it," said Mrs. Montgomery, decidedly.

"Right, my dear. We must get the sinews of war somewhere. Richard will never be himself again till his pocketbook is lined with greenbacks. At present, who steals my purse steals trash."

"Suppose you try Tiffany's?"

"The ring has already been offered there. They might remember it."

"If they do, say that he is your son."

"A good thought," answered the husband. "I will act upon it. But, on the whole, I'll doff this disguise, and assume my ordinary garments. This time, my dear, I shall not need your assistance."

"Well, the sooner it's done the better. That's all I have to say."

"As soon as possible."

Mr. Montgomery returned to his lodgings in Amity street, and, taking off his clerical garb, appeared in the garb in which we first made his acquaintance. The change was very speedily effected.

"Wish me good luck, Mrs. M.," he said, as he opened the door. "I am going to make another attempt."

"Good luck to you, Tony! Come back soon."

"As soon as my business is completed. If I get the money, we will leave for Philadelphia this evening. You may as well be packing up."

"I am afraid the landlady won't let us carry away our baggage unless we pay our bill."

"Never mind! Pack it up, and we'll run our chance."

Felix Montgomery left the house with the ring carefully deposited in his vest pocket. To judge from his air of easy indifference, he might readily have been taken for a substantial citizen in excellent circumstances; but then appearances are oftentimes deceitful, and they were especially so in the present instance.

He made his way quickly to Broadway, and thence to Tiffany's, at that time not so far uptown as at present. He entered the store with a nonchalant air, and, advancing to the counter, accosted the same clerk to whom Paul had shown the ring earlier in the day.

"I have a valuable ring which I would like to sell," he said. "Will you tell me its value?"

The clerk no sooner took it in his hand than he recognized it.

"I have seen that ring before," he said, looking at Mr. Montgomery keenly.

"Yes," said the latter, composedly; "this morning, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"My boy brought it in here. I ought not to have sent him, for he came very near losing it on the way home. I thought it best to come with it myself."

This was said so quietly that it was hard to doubt the statement, or would have been if information had not been brought to the store that the ring had been stolen.

"Yes, boys are careless," assented the clerk, not caring to arouse Mr. Montgomery's suspicions. "You wish to sell the ring, I suppose."

"Yes," answered the other; "I don't like to carry a ring of so great value. Several times I have come near having it stolen. Will you buy it?"

"I am not authorized to make the purchase," said the clerk. "I will refer the matter to Mr. Tiffany."

"Very well," said Mr. Montgomery. "I am willing to accept whatever he may pronounce a fair price."

"No doubt," thought the clerk.

He carried the ring to his employer, and quickly explained the circumstances.

"The man is doubtless a thief. He must be arrested," said the jeweler.

"If I go for an officer, he will take alarm."

"Invite him to come into the back part of the shop, and I will protract the negotiation while you summon a policeman."

The clerk returned, and at his invitation Mr. Montgomery walked to the lower end of the store, where he was introduced to the head of the establishment. Sharp though he was, he suspected no plot.

"You are the owner of this ring?" asked Mr. Tiffany.

"Yes, sir," said the adventurer. "It has been in our family for a long time."

"But you wish to sell it now?"

"Yes; I have come near losing it several times, and prefer to dispose of it. What is its value?"

"That requires some consideration. I will examine it closely."

Mr. Montgomery stood with his back to the entrance, waiting patiently, while the jeweler appeared to be engaged in a close examination of the ring. He congratulated himself that no questions had been asked which it might have been difficult for him to answer. He made up his mind that after due examination Mr. Tiffany would make an offer, which he determined in advance to accept, whatever it might be, since he would consider himself fortunate to dispose of it at even two-thirds of its value.

Meanwhile the clerk quietly slipped out of the store, and at a short distance encountered a policeman, upon whom he called for assistance. At the same moment Paul and Mr. Preston came up. Our hero, on being released from arrest, had sought Mr. Preston, and the latter obligingly agreed to go with him to Tiffany's, and certify to his honesty, that, if the ring should be brought there, it might be retained for him. Paul did not recognize the clerk, but the latter at once remembered him.

"Are you not the boy that brought a diamond ring into our store this morning?" he asked.

"Into Tiffany's?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen anything of it?" asked our hero, eagerly. "I am the one who brought it in."

"A man just brought it into the store," said the clerk.

"Is he there now?"

"He is talking with Mr. Tiffany. I came out for a policeman. He will be arrested at once."

"Good!" ejaculated Paul; "I am in luck. I thought I should never see the ring again. What sort of a man is he?"

From the description, Paul judged that it was Felix Montgomery himself, and, remembering what a trick the adventurer had played upon him at Lovejoy's Hotel, he felt no little satisfaction in the thought that the trapper was himself trapped at last.

"I'll go along with you," he said. "I want to see that man arrested."

"You had better stay outside just at first, until we have secured him."

Meanwhile Mr. Tiffany, after a prolonged examination, said: "The ring is worth two hundred and fifty dollars."

"That will be satisfactory," said Mr. Montgomery, promptly.

"Shall I give you a check for the amount?" asked the jeweler.

"I should prefer the money, as I am a stranger in the city, and not known at the banks."

"I can make the check payable to bearer, and then you will have no difficulty in getting it cashed."

While this conversation was going on, the clerk entered the store with the policeman, but Mr. Montgomery's back was turned, and he was not aware of the fact till the officer tapped him on the shoulder, saying: "You are my prisoner."

"What does this mean? There is some mistake," said the adventurer, wheeling round with a start.

"No mistake at all. You must come with me."

"What have I done? You take me for some one else."

"You have stolen a diamond ring."

"Who says so?" demanded the adventurer, boldly. "It is true I brought one here to sell, but it has belonged to me for years."

"You are mistaken, Mr. Montgomery," said Paul, who had come up unperceived. "You stole that ring from me this morning, after dosing me with chloroform at Lovejoy's Hotel."

"It is a lie," said the adventurer, boldly. "That boy is my son. He is in league with his mother to rob me. She sent him here this morning unknown to me. Finding it out, I took the ring from him, and brought it here myself."

Paul was certainly surprised at being claimed as a son by the man who had swindled him, and answered: "I never saw you before this morning. I have no father living."

"I will guarantee this boy's truth and honesty," said Mr. Preston, speaking for the first time. "I believe you know me, Mr. Tiffany."

"I need no other assurance," said the jeweler, bowing. "Officer, you may remove your prisoner."

"The game is up," said the adventurer, finding no further chance for deception. "I played for high stakes, and I have lost the game. I have one favor to ask. Will some one let my wife know where I am?"

"Give me her address," said Paul, "and I will let her know."

"No. —— Amity street. Ask her to come to the station-house to see me."

"I will go at once."

"Thank you," said Mr. Montgomery; "as I am not to have the ring, I don't know that I am sorry it has fallen into your hands. One piece of advice I will venture to offer you, my lad," he added, smiling. "Beware of any jewelers hailing from Syracuse. They will cheat you, if you give them a chance."

"I will be on my guard," said Paul. "Can I do anything more for you?"

"Nothing, thank you. I have a fast friend at my side, who will look after me."

The officer smiled grimly at the jest, and the two left the store arm in arm.

"Do you still wish to sell this ring?" asked Mr. Tiffany, addressing Paul.

"Yes, sir."

"I renew my offer of this morning. I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars."

"I shall be glad to accept it."

The sale was quickly effected, and Paul left the store with what seemed to him a fortune in his pocket.

"Be careful not to lose your money," said Mr Preston.

"I should like to place a hundred and fifty dollars in your hands," said Paul, turning to Mr. Preston.

"I will willingly take care of it for you, and allow you interest upon it."

The transfer was made, and, carefully depositing the balance of the money in his pocketbook, our hero took leave of his friend and sought the house in Amity street.



CHAPTER XXV

PAUL'S FINAL SUCCESS

Mrs. Montgomery impatiently awaited the return of her husband. Meanwhile she commenced packing the single trunk which answered both for her husband and herself. She was getting tired of New York, and anxious to leave for Philadelphia, being fearful lest certain little transactions in which she and her husband had taken part should become known to the police.

She had nearly completed her packing when Paul rang the doorbell.

The summons was answered by the landlady in person.

"Is Mrs. Montgomery at home?" asked Paul.

"No such lady lives here," was the answer.

It occurred to Paul as very possible that Mr. Montgomery might pass under a variety of names. He accordingly said, "Perhaps I have got the name wrong. The lady I mean is tall. I come with a message from her husband, who is a stout man with black hair and whiskers. He gave me this number."

"Perhaps you mean Mr. Grimsby. He and his wife live here."

"Probably that is the name," said Paul.

"I will give Mrs. Grimsby your message," returned the landlady, whose curiosity was excited to learn something further about her boarders.

"Thank you," said Paul; "but it is necessary for me to see the lady myself."

"Well, you can follow me, then," said the landlady, rather ungraciously.

She led the way upstairs, and knocked at the door of Mrs. Grimsby, or as we will still call her, Mrs. Montgomery, since that name is more familiar to the reader, and she was as much entitled to the one as the other.

Mrs. Montgomery opened the door, and regarded our hero suspiciously, for her mode of life had taught her suspicion of strangers.

"Here's a boy that wants to see you," said the landlady.

"I come with a message from your husband," said Paul.

Mrs. Montgomery remembered Paul as the boy who was the real owner of the diamond ring, and she eyed him with increased suspicion.

"Did my husband send you? When did you see him."

"Just now, at Tiffany's," answered Paul, significantly.

"What is his message?" asked Mrs. Montgomery, beginning to feel uneasy.

Paul glanced at the landlady, who, in the hope of gratifying her curiosity, maintained her stand by his side.

"The message is private," he said.

"I suppose that means that I am in the way," remarked the landlady, sharply. "I don't want to pry into anybody's secrets. Thank Heaven, I haven't got any secrets of my own."

"Walk in, young man," said Mrs. Montgomery.

Paul entered the room, and she closed the door behind him. Meanwhile the landlady, who had gone part way downstairs, retraced her steps, softly, and put her ear to the keyhole. Her curiosity, naturally strong, had been stimulated by Paul's intimation that there was a secret.

"Now," said Mrs. Montgomery, impatiently, "out with it! Why does my husband send a message by you, instead of coming himself?"

"He can't come himself."

"Why can't he?"

"I am sorry to say that I am the bearer of bad news," said Paul, gravely. "Your husband has been arrested for robbing me of a diamond ring."

"Where is he?" demanded Mrs. Montgomery, not so much excited or overcome as she would have been had this been the first time her husband had fallen into the clutches of the law.

"At the street station-house. He wants you to come and see him."

"Have you got the ring back?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Montgomery was sorry to hear it. She hoped her husband might be able to secrete it, in which case he would pass it over to her to dispose of. Now she was rather awkwardly situated, being without money, or the means of making any.

"I will go," she said.

Paul, who was sitting next to the door, opened it suddenly, with unexpected effort, for the landlady, whose ear was fast to the keyhole, staggered into the room involuntarily.

"So you were listening, ma'am, were you?" demanded Mrs. Montgomery, scornfully.

"Yes, I was," said the landlady, rather red in the face.

"You were in good business."

"It's a better business than stealing diamond rings," retorted the landlady, recovering herself. "I've long suspected there was something wrong about you and your husband, ma'am, and now I know it. I don't want no thieves nor jail birds in my house, and the sooner you pay your bill and leave, the better I'll like it."

"I'll leave as soon as you like, but I can't pay your bill."

"I dare say," retorted the landlady. "You're a nice character to cheat an honest woman out of four weeks' board."



"Well, Paul, what news?" asked Barry.

"I am ready to buy your stand," said Paul.

"Can you pay me all the money down?"

"On the spot."

"Then it is all settled," said Barry, with satisfaction. "I am glad of it, for now I shall be able to go on to Philadelphia to-morrow."

Paul drew a roll of bills from his pocket, and proceeded to count out thirty-five dollars. Barry noticed with surprise that he had a considerable amount left.

"You are getting rich, Paul," he said.

"I am not rich yet," answered Paul, "but I mean to be some time if I can accomplish it by industry and attention to business."

"You'll be sure to succeed," said George Barry. "You're just the right sort. Good-by, old fellow. When you come on to Philadelphia come and see me."

"I may establish a branch stand in Philadelphia before long," said Paul, jocosely.



CHAPTER XXVI

CONCLUSION

When Paul was left in charge of the stand, and realized that it was his own, he felt a degree of satisfaction which can be imagined. He had been a newsboy, a baggage-smasher, and in fact had pretty much gone the round of the street trades, but now he felt that he had advanced one step higher. Some of my readers may not appreciate the difference, but to Paul it was a great one. He was not a merchant prince, to be sure, but he had a fixed place of business, and with his experience he felt confident he could make it pay.

"I am sure I can make from ten to fifteen dollars a week," he said to himself. "I averaged over a dollar a day when I worked for George Barry, and then I only got half-profits. Now I shall have the whole."

This consideration was a very agreeable one. He would be able to maintain his mother and little Jimmy in greater comfort than before, and this he cared more for than for any extra indulgences for himself. In fact, he could relieve his mother entirely from the necessity of working, and yet live better than at present. When Paul thought of this, it gave him a thrill of satisfaction, and made him feel almost like a man.

He set to work soliciting custom, and soon had sold three neckties at twenty-five cents each.

"All that money is mine," he thought, proudly. "I haven't got to hand any of it over to George Barry. That's a comfort."

As this thought occurred to him he recognized an old acquaintance strolling along the sidewalk in his direction. It was no other than Jim Parker, the friend and crony of Mike Donovan, who will be remembered as figuring in not a very creditable way in the earlier chapters of this story. It so happened that he and Paul had not met for some time, and Jim was quite ignorant of Paul's rise in life.

As for Jim himself, no great change had taken place in his appearance or prospects. His suit was rather more ragged and dirty than when we first made his acquaintance, having been worn night and day in the streets, by night stretched out in some dirty alley or out-of-the-way corner, where Jim found cheap lodgings. He strolled along with his hands in his pockets, not much concerned at the deficiencies in his costume.

"Hallo!" said he, stopping opposite Paul's stand. "What are you up to?"

"You can see for yourself," answered Paul. "I am selling neckties."

"How long you've been at it?"

"Just begun."

"Who's your boss?"

"I haven't any."

"You ain't runnin' the stand yourself, be you?" asked Jim, in surprise.

"Yes."

"Where'd you borrow the stamps?"

"Of my mother," said Paul. "Can't I sell you a necktie this morning?"

"Not much," said Jim, laughing at the joke. "I've got my trunks stuffed full of 'em at home, but I don't wear 'em only Sundays. Do you make much money?"

"I expect to do pretty well."

"What made you give up sellin' prize packages?" asked Jim slyly.

"Customers like you," answered Paul.

Jim laughed.

"You didn't catch me that time you lost your basket," he said.

"That was a mean trick," said Paul, indignantly.

"You don't want to hire me to sell for you, do you?"

"That's where you're right. I don't."

"I'd like to go into the business."

"You'd better open a second-hand clothing store," suggested Paul, glancing at his companion's ragged attire.

"Maybe I will," said Jim with a grin, "if you'll buy of me."

"I don't like the style," said Paul. "Who's your tailor?"

"He lives round in Chatham street. Say, can't you lend a fellow a couple of shillin' to buy some breakfast?"

"Have you done any work to-day?"

"No."

"Then you can't expect to eat if you don't work."

"I didn't have no money to start with."

"Suppose you had a quarter, what would you do?"

"I'd buy a ten-cent plate of meat, and buy some evenin' papers with the rest."

"If you'll do that, I'll give you what you ask for."

"You'll give me two shillin'?" repeated Jim, incredulously, for he remembered how he had wronged Paul.

"Yes," said Paul. "Here's the money;" and he drew a twenty-five-cent piece from his vest pocket, and handed it to Jim.

"You give me that after the mean trick I played you?" said Jim.

"Yes; I am sorry for you and want to help you along."

"You're a brick!" exclaimed Jim, emphatically. "If any feller tries to play a trick on you, you just tell me, and I'll lam him."

"All right, Jim!" said Paul, kindly; "I'll remember it."

"There ain't anybody you want licked, is there?" asked Jim, earnestly.

"Not at present, thank you," said Paul, smiling.

"When you do, I'm on hand," said Jim. "Now I'll go and get some grub."

He shuffled along toward Ann street, where there was a cheap eating-house, in which ten cents would pay for a plate of meat. He was decidedly hungry, and did justice to the restaurant, whose style of cookery, though not very choice, suited him so well that he could readily have eaten three plates of meat instead of one, but for the prudent thought that compelled him to reserve enough to embark in business afterwards. Jim was certainly a hard ticket; but Paul's unexpected kindness had won him, and produced a more profound impression than a dozen floggings could have done. I may add that Jim proved luck in his business investment, and by the close of the afternoon had enough money to provide himself with supper and lodging, besides a small fund to start with the next day.

Paul sold three more neckties, and then, though it yet lacked an hour of the time when he generally proposed to close, he prepared to go home. He wanted to communicate the good news to his mother and little Jimmy.

Mrs. Hoffman raised her eyes from her sewing as he entered.

"Well, Paul," she said, "have you heard anything of the ring?"

"Yes, mother, it's sold."

"Is it? Well, we must do without it, then," said his mother in a tone of disappointment.

"There won't be any trouble about that, mother, as long as we have got the money for it. I would rather have that than the ring."

"Did you recover it, then?" asked his mother, eagerly.

"Yes, mother—listen and I will tell you all about it."

He sat down and told the story to two very attentive listeners.

"What did you do with the money, Paul?" asked Jimmy.

"Mr. Preston is keeping a hundred and fifty dollars for me. He will allow seven per cent. interest. But I must not forget that the money belongs to you, mother, and not to me. Perhaps you would prefer to deposit it in a savings bank."

"I am quite satisfied with your disposal of it, Paul," said Mrs. Hoffman. "I little thought, when I found the ring, that it would be of such service to us."

"It has set me up in business," said Paul, "and I am sure to make money. But I am getting out of stock. I must go round and buy some more neckties to-morrow."

"How much do you pay for your ties, Paul?" asked his mother.

"One shilling; I sell them for two. That gives me a good profit."

"I wonder whether I couldn't make them?" said Mrs. Hoffman. "I find there is no sewing at present to be got, and, besides," she added, "I think I would rather work for you than for a stranger."

"There is no need of your working, mother. I can earn enough to support the family."

"While I have health I would prefer to work, Paul."

"Then I will bring round some of the ties to-morrow. I have two or three kinds. There is nothing very hard about any of them. I think they would be easy to make."

"That will suit me much better than making shirts."

"Suppose I admit you to the firm, mother? I can get a large signboard, and have painted on it:

PAUL HOFFMAN AND MOTHER, DEALERS IN NECKTIES.

How would that sound?"

"I think I would leave the business part in your hands, Paul."

"I begin to feel like a wholesale merchant already," said Paul. "Who knows but I may be one some day?"

"Many successful men have begun as low down," said his mother; "with energy and industry much may be accomplished."

"Do you think I'll ever be a wholesale painter?" asked Jimmy, whose small ears had drank in the conversation.

"Better try for it, Jimmy," said Paul. "I don't know exactly what a wholesale painter is, unless it's one who paints houses."

"I shouldn't like that," said the little boy.

"Then, Jimmy, you'd better be a retail painter."

"I guess I will," said Jimmy, seriously.

Note: Thus far we have accompanied Paul Hoffman in his career. He is considerably better off than when we met him peddling prize packages in front of the post office. But we have reason to believe that greater success awaits him. He will figure in the next two volumes of this series, more particularly in the second, to be called "Slow and Sure; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop." Before this appears, however, I propose to describe the adventures of a friend and protegee of Paul's—under the title of PHIL THE FIDDLER; OR, THE YOUNG STREET MUSICIAN.

THE END