Various - Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891
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Various >> Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891
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"Dressed the same!" said the detective, exchanging meaning glances with
his fellow-officer. "How do you explain that?" he inquired of Andy's
enemy.
"I don't explain it," was the cool answer. "I suppose, however, that a
great many children dress alike in these days when clothing is bought
ready-made."
The detective looked at him shrewdly and turned to his companion.
"Get a carriage, Dan--that is, if this gentleman is prepared to pay
for it."
"Certainly," was the reply. "And may I ask what the charge against
me is?"
"I should suppose you might have guessed it by this time," answered the
detective, with so much less respect in his manner that it was quite
evident that he did not believe his prisoner as innocent as he would
have it appear. "The charge against you isn't made yet, but I arrested
you on suspicion of being implicated in the kidnapping of a little boy
named Reginald Thorpe Thorne, and I shall take you to headquarters on
that suspicion."
Andy was sure he saw a slight change in the man's features at the tone
in which the words were uttered, and it was plain to him that the
coincidence of the little boy in his company being dressed exactly as
Regy had been dressed, had made an impression on the detective.
The latter turned to him.
"You will have to go with us too. What is your name?"
"Andrew Fletcher."
"You will find his father's name on the register at Sing Sing," said the
man who had, as Andy believed, done so much to put it there.
Andy flashed an indignant glance at him, but paid no other attention
to him.
"Must I go with you?" he asked of the detective.
"Yes."
"Will you leave somebody here to watch the steamer, just the same?"
questioned Andy, anxiously.
"Don't worry about that, my lad. The steamer shall be watched."
"Will I be kept long?"
"I can't tell. Depends on what the inspector says."
It seemed to Andy that all his chances of earning the reward were gone;
but there was just a glimmering of hope left, and he was determined not
to part with a certain secret he had until he was certain that Regy was
found.
The secret was a small thing, and yet it might be the key to success. It
was this: Andy had made no effort to connect the two speakers he had
overheard while he was working in the onions with any one he knew, until
as he stood there in the wharf office confronted with the man who had
tried so hard to injure him, and who seemed in some singular way
connected with the kidnapping of Regy Thorne.
Then it came to him like a flash, that his was the voice he had heard
saying to the other man the words about being at the Arizona at five in
the morning.
It was certain to him then that Henry Roberts was connected with the
kidnapping, and while it was impossible for him to comprehend the
meaning of the episode in which he was an enforced actor, he had settled
it in his mind, that if Regy was to be found, it would be through this
man.
He should have told all this--his knowledge and his suspicions--to the
police when he was taken to the inspector's office and examined; but he
did not realize the importance of doing so, and his eagerness to gain
the money for his father's sake was so great that he merely answered the
questions put to him.
As for the man, whom he had come to look upon as his enemy, and who,
indeed, seemed to have transferred to the son the hatred and ill-will he
had once borne the father, it was found impossible to fix any sort of
complicity on him.
The child was easily proven to be the son of respectable parents, who
had been promised long ago by Mr. Roberts that he should go some morning
to see an ocean steamer off. The clothes had been purchased some time
before at a clothing store.
So Mr. Roberts was dismissed; but no apology was made to him, and he
demanded none. Of course, no one thought of apologizing to Andy for a
detention of four hours at police headquarters, for Mr. Roberts had not
failed to inform the inspector that Andy's father was in Sing Sing, and
it is natural for police to judge a child by his parents.
So Andy was dismissed, with a warning not to mix himself up in matters
that did not concern him. And Andy went out of the gloomy building,
feeling that there was not much justice to be had from the law.
There was his father, innocent and in prison; and here was he,
dismissed, as if he was not much better than a criminal himself. And to
be told not to mix himself up in the matter! As for that, he would not
give up his search for Regy because they told him to.
CHAPTER X.
A Mysterious Letter.
Andy walked out into the street, feeling very ill-used and indignant,
and was for hurrying away as quickly as possible, forgetting for the
moment that he had determined on a certain course to pursue.
"I thought fer sure yer was in fer a trip to the island," said a voice
behind him.
Andy turned and there was Pete following after him.
"Oh, is that you, Pete? I had forgotten all about you. Where did you
come from?"
"Yer didn't think I'd give yer the go-by now, did yer?" asked Pete, in
an injured tone. "I was waitin' fer yer all the time. I don't go back on
a pardner like that. Why, if they'd shipped yer up to the island, I'd a'
been there to say good-by to yer, an' don't yer ferget it. Yer give me a
breakfast this morning, didn't yer? Yer licked them fellers, didn't yer?
Well, Pete, if he's got only one name, don't go back on yer. See? An'
that settles it."
It was not an elegant speech, and Pete was an uncommonly
disreputable-looking lad, with his grimy face and hands and his tattered
garments, but there was a ring of gratitude and earnestness in his tone
that went straight to Andy's heart, and he held out his hand with:
"You're the right sort, Pete."
"Anyhow, I don't go back on a pardner," said Pete, shaking the proffered
hand awkwardly.
Andy was in need of sympathy at just that moment, and he was really very
glad of the friendship of the little waif, who was so old in experience
if so young in years.
[Illustration:
"YER KNOW ME? I'M LYNX-EYED BILL, THE TERROR OF THE FORCE.
GIT ONTER MY LYNX EYE."]
He would not have selected Pete for a friend and confidant; but there he
was, at hand, with his sympathy ready, and Andy was moved to take him
into his confidence.
"I say, Pete," he began, and stopped.
"Say it," said Pete.
But at that moment Andy had caught sight of his man with the child, and
he exclaimed: "Do you see that man, Pete?"
"The feller that was on the wharf? I see him."
"I want to follow him."
"Nobody's hinderin' yer."
"But he knows me, and if he sees me following him, he will know what I
am after. Don't you see?"
"I'm fly. Yer want me ter do the trick. Good! Yer know me? I'm Lynx-eyed
Bill, the terror of the force. Git onter my lynx eye."
Whether he had a lynx eye or not, he certainly was a very shrewd little
scamp, for he left Andy's side and hurried nearer to the man and child;
and so, followed by Andy at a considerable distance, he kept after them.
The mother of the child and some sympathizing friends were with them,
and there was no difficulty in keeping them in sight as long as they
remained together.
Mr. Roberts went with them, however, only to the cars, where he left
them, evidently with many apologies for the trouble he had been the
cause of putting them all to, for Pete, and even Andy, from his
distance, could see him bowing many times over.
As soon as the car took them away, he looked all around with seeming
carelessness, though it was plain to the boys that he was scrutinizing
everybody anxiously.
Andy jumped out of sight at once, and when he peered around his corner
again the advantage of having Pete help him was evident.
Mr. Roberts had disappeared, but Pete was visible just as he was
hurrying around a corner, and so Andy was enabled to follow again.
If he had been asked just what he expected to gain by following the man
he could not have told. It was merely that it had entered his head that
if Mr. Roberts was concerned, as he believed, in the kidnapping of Regy,
and if Regy had not yet been taken out of the country, then Mr. Roberts
would be likely to do something or go somewhere that would betray Regy's
hiding place to him.
Mr. Roberts walked over to Broadway and down it a few blocks to a liquor
saloon, which he entered. Pete was turning it over in his sharp brains
how he could contrive to follow him in there without attracting his
attention, when he suddenly came out again and walked briskly up
Broadway.
Pete reasoned that he had not been in there long enough to get a drink,
and he was just reproaching himself for not having followed him into the
saloon, when Mr. Roberts drew a letter out of the side pocket of his
sack coat, and with a preliminary glance around, read it, and then
thrust it back into his pocket and showed relief in every movement.
He was no longer in a hurry, but sauntered along in leisurely fashion,
and was no further concerned, apparently, as to whether or not he was
followed.
Pete turned this over in his mind and came to a conclusion. The letter
was the thing that had had the sudden soothing effect on the man; then
the letter was probably about the child Andy was hunting for. If so, it
was only necessary to get the letter and give it to Andy and the matter
would be ended.
Andy would have despaired of getting the letter, if he had been near
enough to observe all that had taken place, and so would most other
persons; but Pete had had a training which, fortunately, most persons
have not had, and it was a comparatively small matter to him to obtain
the letter.
He turned his sleeve up, so that his hand and wrist were clear and free,
and then quickened his pace and drew nearer to where Mr. Roberts was
sauntering along. He kept close behind him for a block or more, walking
as if he had not a thing on his mind.
Presently there was one of those sudden gatherings of people on the
sidewalk, such as are of common occurrence in every large city.
Then Pete pressed close to the side of Mr. Roberts, taking care to be on
the side where the pocket containing the letter was. Mr. Roberts did not
know it--you would not have seen it had you been there--but the grimy
hand of Pete went in and out of that side pocket like a flash of
lightning, and it held the letter when it came out.
What would Andy say to that way of obtaining the letter? That was the
very question Pete put to himself after the missive was safe in his
pocket.
He had had an example of Andy's notions of honesty, and it spoke volumes
for Andy's influence on him that he did not propose to let his "pardner"
know how he had obtained the letter.
"I'll bet a quarter," said Pete to himself, as he fell back to where he
knew Andy would be, "that he'd be jest fool ernough ter give the chump
the letter back ag'in."
When he was where he could beckon Andy he did so, and the latter
hastened up to him.
"Here's a letter," explained Pete. "He dropped it. Mebbe it has
somethin' in ter tell yer what yer want ter know."
"Dropped it?" said Andy, taking the letter doubtfully, but not
suspecting the way in which it had been obtained.
"Ya-as, an' I picked it up," replied Pete, unblushingly. "Go on an' read
it, why don't yer?"
It seemed to Andy that it would be no more than fair to read it under
the circumstances, and he opened it and did so. It was without
signature, and read as follows:
"Gone with Uncle Mike! Watch the Mirror."
Andy's disappointment at the contents of the letter was plainly shown on
his face.
"What's the matter?" asked Pete, curiously.
"I can't understand it," answered Andy.
"Can't yer read writin'?" was Pete's surprised inquiry.
"Of course I can," replied Andy; "but I can't make anything out of
this."
"What does it say?" asked Pete.
They were walking along as they talked, and Pete constantly kept his eye
on Mr. Roberts.
Andy read the letter to him.
"Lay low!" exclaimed Pete, suddenly, pulling Andy around a corner. "He's
missed the letter. He'll be back ter hunt fer it."
"I'll stay here," said Andy. "You keep your eye on him."
Pete went out to Broadway again, and Andy saw him disappear hastily
around the corner.
He knew by that that his man could not be approaching, so he peered
around the corner and saw Pete on the edge of the sidewalk looking every
way. Mr. Roberts was nowhere in sight.
Pete hunted and Andy hunted, but neither could obtain a glimpse of him,
and Andy was in the depths of despair.
"It's no use," said Andy, at last; "he's gone, and my chance has gone
with him."
Pete looked sympathetic and downcast.
"I s'pose it's my fault," he said, dismally.
"No, it's my fault," said Andy. "I should have kept my eye on him all
the time."
"Yer've got the letter," reminded Pete, by way of consolation.
"What's the use of the letter when I can't understand it?" replied Andy.
"What don't yer understand?" asked Pete.
"Any of it 'What does 'Gone with Uncle Mike' mean? What does 'Watch the
Mirror' mean?"
"Huh!" said Pete. "I can tell yer that much."
"You can."
"Yer bet I can. Come on, an' I'll show yer."
Andy looked suspicious and doubtful. How could Pete be so knowing as
that? If he could not understand the letter, how could Pete?
Pete, however, led him without a word, but with a wonderfully knowing
air, along several blocks, and finally stopped at a news stand and
looked it over.
"That the last Mirror, boss?" he asked, of the man in charge.
"Yep."
"Give it ter me?"
And Pete handed over his quarter, received his change and a paper and
then led Andy up a side street and gave the paper to him.
Andy saw that its name was the Mirror, and that it was devoted to
theatrical news. That was enough to give him confidence in Pete's
intelligence, but he was in the dark yet.
"I see so much," he said; "but I don't understand about Uncle Mike."
"Andy," said Pete, with a compassionate air, "yer a dandy with yer
dukes, an' yer square as a brick; but yer ain't cut yer eye-teeth yet.
Gimme the paper an' let me show yer."
Andy gave him the paper and the knowing Pete took it and turned to the
back pages.
"There!" said he, pointing to a column beaded "Dates Ahead." "Look at
that an' see if Uncle Mike ain't mentioned."
Andy, with a glimmering of Pete's idea, looked along the column until
he came to "U," and there he saw, at the head of the list, "Uncle Mike
Co.; Philadelphia, July 8--week."
He read it aloud to Pete, and Pete nodded his head, as if to say, "Of
course, I knew you'd find it."
"Does it mean that Uncle Mike is a theatrical company?" asked Andy,
eagerly.
"That's what it means, sonny, an' it means that Uncle Mike is goin' ter
play Philadelf fer the week wot begins on the eighth. So all yer've got
ter do is ter add that up an' there yer air. What! ain't we on ter his
nibs? Oh, no, I guess not!"
And Pete dashed his old hat down over his eyes and strutted around.
"You think my man is going on there to join the company?" asked Andy.
"Naw. The man with the kid is in Philadelf. That's the way I lay it
out."
"That's it," cried Andy. "I see! He wanted to get away on the steamer,
and Mr. Roberts was afraid there would be detectives on the watch; so he
dressed the little boy up just like Regy to make the trial first. Then,
when he found that the steamer would be watched, the man with Regy went
to Philadelphia."
"That sounds like it," said Pete, approvingly.
"Yes," continued Andy; "but I don't understand what Uncle Mike has to do
with it."
"No more do I," answered Pete. "But I tell yer what yer can do. Yer can
go on an' find out."
"Go to Philadelphia?" exclaimed Andy.
"Why not?"
"It'll take too much money."
"Huh! won't take a cent."
"Why not?"
"How fur is it?"
"I don't know. About a hundred miles, I think."
"Well, yer can walk, can't yer? Terday's the fifth, ain't it? That gives
yer till the eighth, an' a week more. It won't take us that long;"
"Us?"
"Yes. I'll go along ter take care o' yer."
Andy considered a moment.
"See here, Pete," he said, presently, "how do you come to know so much
about what the letter meant?"
"Been there," answered Pete.
"Been where?"
"In the show business. Greatest knock-about juvee-nile all-around dance
artist in the world! That's me. Too much knock-about fer me, an' I
skipped. Tra-la-la!"
And Pete made a comical show of skipping away.
It seemed to account for Pete's extreme shrewdness, and Andy had no
difficulty in believing him. He weighed the reasons for and against
going to Philadelphia after Regy on the strength of the letter.
It was only a chance that Regy would be found there; but it was a
chance, and he could not bear to throw it away. And why should he? There
was only the thought of his mother to deter him, and he was certain that
she would be easy about him if he wrote to her.
"Let's go, Pete. I'll write to mother and then we'll start."
"Have yer got a mother?" asked Pete, with a sort of eagerness.
"Yes," said Andy, "and a father, too. I'll tell you about them and what
I'm after soon as I get a chance. Come on while I buy a sheet of paper."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[_This Story began in No. 49._]
Mind Before Muscle;
or,
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS.
by J.W. DAVIDSON,
Author of "Spud," "Hardy & Co.," "Rob
Archer's Trials," "Limpy Joe," "Harry
Irving's Pluck," etc., etc., etc.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Some Plain Talk.
The evening after Tony's return with the money was a very joyful one for
Job Loring. He was continually praising his second son, much to the
disgust of the first, and really seemed to have recovered all of his
habitual cheerfulness.
He never once mentioned Tony's prospects; his own were assured, that was
enough for him.
As the evening wore away he gravitated toward Aaron. There was really
much in common between the man, whose one idea of power was mere
physical strength, and his rawboned son, so closely allied to him by
disposition.
Job Loring was not a cruel man, nor yet did he mean to be an unjust one.
In his rude way his family was dear to him. Of course, the larger the
object, the more love could be bestowed upon it.
To Tony, with his fine, sensitive nature, inherited from his mother's
side of the family, these grosser qualities were far from being
attractive, and his companionship with Morrison had opened his eyes to a
new creation.
So it was with a feeling of relief that he saw his father turn to his
elder brother, and the cloud lifted from the sullen face of the latter.
Long before nine o'clock the next morning Tony was on his way to
Ashville. He found Morrison in the store, and the latter exclaimed, as
soon as his eyes fell upon the pale face of the little fellow:
"Why, Tony, what ails you? You look as though you hadn't a friend in the
world."
Tony made an effort to look happy, but did not wholly succeed. He
glanced into the office, near which they were standing, and saw a stout
man talking with Mr. Smart.
"That's my father," said Morrison, as he noticed the direction of Tony's
glance. "He arrived this morning. I'll introduce you when he comes out.
He was quite interested in you. Here he is now."
As he said this, Morrison turned to the gentleman who had just emerged
from the office.
"Father, this is the boy I was telling you of--Tony Loring. Tony, let me
make you acquainted with my father, Mr. Morrison."
Tony nearly sank to the floor as he felt his hand grasped by that of the
stout man, while a pair of dark eyes scanned him keenly.
"I had some curiosity to meet you," said Mr. Morrison, after his
scrutiny, "as my son has a habit of picking up some rather peculiar
friends. In this instance, I think he has shown much wisdom, considering
his usual lack of judgment."
Both father and son laughed at this, and then the senior Morrison looked
at his watch.
"It is about nine o'clock," he remarked. "Have you seen anything this
morning of the stranger from Scaly Brook? I think you said he was to be
on hand at that time."
"He is standing by the door now," replied Tony, a certain feeling of
strength creeping over him, which he could not account for.
"In that case, I will go with you to Mr. Furbush's," said Mr. Morrison.
The Morrisons, father and son, and Tony left the store at once, and,
accompanied by the red-bearded stranger, proceeded to Mr. Furbush's.
They found that gentleman at home. They were scarely seated when the
senior Morrison said, somewhat abruptly:
"I called, in company with my son, to have a plain talk with you. Of
course, as game-warden, you only did your duty in taking the captured
deer. The Loring boy was not to blame; my son was the responsible
party."
"You mean the guilty party," rejoined Mr. Furbush. "Any one who commits
a crime is considered guilty."
Mr. Morrison smiled.
"There may be various degrees of guilt," he said, quietly; "but I do not
see it in that light. To me, in order to place the guilt of an act upon
a person, that person must do a wrong willfully or maliciously. In this
case, my son did not know he was violating the law."
"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," answered Mr. Furbush. "I've been
deputy sheriff and game-warden for a good many years, and about every
law-breaker has an excuse."
Again Mr. Morrison smiled.
"All very true, no doubt," he replied; "and, in regard to the deer,
there was no real harm done."
"Well, no," admitted Mr. Furbush. "The fine was paid, and I set the deer
at liberty as soon as I received information from the county warden. But
seems to me this talk has all been unnecessary."
"Very likely," assented Mr. Morrison; "but now we come to the real
object of our visit. You have a son Isaac. This gentleman," pointing to
the red-bearded man, "would like to see him."
"I'll call him," said Mr. Furbush.
Isaac was summoned, and came into the room with a frightened look on his
round face.
"I was just going away," he said, glancing uneasily around the room.
"Going in to Duck Lake, I suppose?" queried the stranger.
Isaac grew very red in the face, but made no answer.
"Do you remember," continued the man, "that this boy here"-- pointing
toward Tony-- "lost a lot of gum last fall, and you said I stole it?"
The red in Isaac's face gave place to a deathly pallor, but no reply
passed his lips.
"I don't see what use all these questions are," interrupted Mr. Furbush,
testily. "My son is not a prisoner on trial."
"Well, if he isn't," replied the man, significantly, "it won't hurt him
to answer a few questions. Now, young man, speak up. Didn't you
circulate the story that I stole that gum?"
Isaac began to cry.
"And you did this notwithstanding the fact that I pulled you out of Duck
Lake, thereby saving your life," said the stranger, severely. "Now I
want to jog your memory a little and get you in the habit of telling the
truth. Shall I go on?" he added, turning to Mr. Furbush.
"Oh, I suppose so," replied that individual, wearily. "Make it as short
as possible."
"I stopped a few nights with you and this little chap you call Tony last
fall," continued the stranger. "One night this Tony had a fine lot of
gum, and he put it away careful like. I forgot my pipe one morning, and
went back to the camp for it. The door was open, and I seen you taking
Tony's gum out of where he put it, and I dodged behind the camp and
watched you and see you take it and put it in a holler tree--a far-side
of the path to the spring."
He turned to young Morrison and continued:
"Yesterday morning, when I got up at the camp, I looked in the tree and
found there was a lot of gum. So I shot at it, just to draw your
attention to it. How much gum was concealed there?"
"About fifty pounds," replied Morrison.
"If you knew my son was doing as you claim he did, why did you not tell
this other boy?" demanded Mr. Furbush.
"Because," answered the stranger, "I didn't go back to the camp again
after I see this boy a-hiding it away in the tree, and the next time I
see 'em was when I pulled 'em out of the lake."
"Is that all?" asked Mr. Furbush. "If it is, I'd like to ascertain the
object of all these accusations and questions. What proof have we that
my son did this or that you didn't do it? The boy has his property back,
and why not let the matter drop? It looks to me like a trifling matter,
anyway."
The face of Isaac brightened a little at this, but when his eye met that
of the stranger, he trembled again.
"I'll tell you what the object of this is," he said. "This boy of yours
made me out a thief; now I want to show it's him and not me. As for
proof, I'll leave it to him, and forty-five dollars worth of gum ain't
no trifling matter."
Then he turned sharply to Isaac.
"Didn't you take that gum yourself?" he asked. "Remember, this is going
to court unless I'm cleared of it."
Isaac whimpered.
"If I own up to it will that save me?" he asked.
"Yes," assured Tony; "tell the truth."
"I took it," confessed Isaac. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry he's found out," muttered the stranger. Then he said in a louder
tone, "I hope this'll be a warning. There's nothing so good for everyday
wear as the truth. It'll wash and won't fade."
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