CHAPTER XIII
A VICTIM OF INJUSTICE
The man who stood before Gerald was dressed like a mechanic in a working suit somewhat the worse for wear, but he had an honest, intelligent face that inspired confidence. He had an anxious look, however, as if he were in some mental trouble.
“Good morning,” said Gerald courteously. “Won’t you come in and share our breakfast?”
On hearing this invitation the boy’s face brightened up.
“You are very kind, and I accept thankfully,” said the father. “Oscar and myself are both hungry, for we have eaten nothing since one o’clock yesterday.”
“Come in then,” said Gerald hospitably.
“I ought perhaps first to explain how I happen to be here in such a plight.”
“I shall be glad to hear your story, and so will my friend, Mr. Brooke, but you must breakfast first. Then you will feel probably in much better condition for talking.”
Though Gerald and his guest had eaten heartily there was enough left for the two new arrivals, and it was very evident that both thoroughly enjoyed their meal.
“I hope I haven’t taken up your time,” said the visitor as he pushed back his chair from the table. “And now, as in duty bound, I will tell you my story.”
“Don’t think we require it,” said Gerald courteously. “The slight favor we have done you gives us no right to ask your confidence.”
“Still you look friendly and I am glad to tell you about myself. I am, as you will judge from my appearance, a working-man, and have ever since I attained my majority been employed in woolen mills. The last place where I was employed was at Seneca, in the factory of – ”
“Bradley Wentworth?” asked Gerald quickly.
“Yes. Do you know him?” inquired the stranger in surprise.
“Yes; he has been making me a visit here. If you had come here twenty-four hours earlier you would have seen him.”
“Then I am glad I was delayed.”
“Why? Has he wronged you?”
“I don’t know whether I can rightly say that, but he has treated me without mercy. Let me explain. Fifteen years ago I was employed in an Eastern factory. Among my fellow-workmen was one I thought my friend. We were so intimate that we occupied the same room at a factory boarding-house. All went well. I received excellent wages, and had money laid by. My companion, as I soon found, was given to extravagance, and frequently indulged in drink, so that he found it hard work to make both ends meet. Then he began to borrow money of me, but after a time I refused to accommodate him any further. He earned the same wages as myself, and I felt that he ought to maintain himself without help as I did.
“The result of my refusal was to make him my enemy. He said little but looked ugly. Though I did not expect it he schemed a revenge. One day a pocketbook containing money was missing from an adjoining room. A fuss was made, and a search instituted, which resulted to my utter dismay in the pocketbook being found in my trunk. It contained no money, but a couple of papers which attested the ownership. Of course I asserted my innocence, but no one believed me. The proof was held to be too convincing. I was brought to trial, and sentenced to three months’ imprisonment. That imprisonment,” he continued bitterly, “has shadowed all my life since. Of course I could not get back to the factory where I had been employed, and I went to another State. I was left in peace for ten months when one of my fellow-workmen made his appearance and told the superintendent that I had served a sentence of imprisonment for theft. I was summoned to the office, informed of the charge, and had to admit it. I was instantly discharged. To assert my innocence was of no avail. ‘You were found guilty. That is enough for us,’ said the superintendent.
“I had to leave the factory. I found employment elsewhere, but was hounded down again, and by the same man. But before denouncing me, he came to me, and offered to keep silent if I would pay him a hundred and fifty dollars. I raised the money, but the treacherous scoundrel did not keep faith with me. He went to the superintendent, and told him all, exacting that the source of the information should not be divulged. So I was sent adrift again, knowing very well, though I couldn’t prove it, that Clifton Haynes had betrayed me.”
“Why didn’t you thrash the scoundrel?” asked Noel Brooke indignantly.
“It would only have increased the prejudice against me,” answered the visitor wearily.
“Well,” he continued, “I needn’t prolong the story, for it is always the same. I went from one factory to another, but this man followed me. When we met he had the assurance to demand another sum of money in payment for his silence. I had no money to give him, nor would I have done so if I had, knowing his treachery. The result was that again I was discharged. A year ago I went to Seneca, and obtained employment from Mr. Wentworth. Month after month passed and I began to congratulate myself, when one unlucky day Haynes again made his appearance. He tried to extort money from me, but though I had some, I refused to bribe him. He went to Mr. Wentworth and denounced me. I was discharged unceremoniously, though I told him my story and appealed to his humanity. Then at last, in my despair and anger, I lay in wait for Haynes, and gave him an unmerciful beating until he roared for mercy.”
“Good! good!” exclaimed the Englishman, clapping his hands, “you served the scoundrel right.”
“I always think of it with pleasure, though I am not a revengeful man.”
“Were you arrested?” asked Gerald.
“Yes, but I escaped with a fine which I paid gladly. I am glad to say when it got out that Haynes had dogged me so persistently none of the men would associate with him, and he was obliged to leave the factory.”
“I wish I had been Mr. Wentworth,” said Brooke. “I would have retained you in my employ even if you had been guilty in the first place. I don’t believe in condemning a man utterly for one offense.”
“I wish more men were as charitable as yourself,” said John Carter, for this, as he afterward informed Gerald, was his name.
“But how did you happen to come to Colorado?” asked Noel Brooke.
“I was tired of persecution. In fact I had been employed in so many factories, all of which were now closed against me, that I decided to earn a living some other way. I had a little money left, and I traveled westward. I came to Colorado because it was a new country, and there must be something here for an industrious man to do. It has been rather hard on poor Oscar,” he added with an affectionate glance at his son. “For latterly my money gave out, and we have more than once gone hungry, as we would have done to-day but for your kindness.”
He was about to rise and leave the cabin but Gerald stopped him.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Carter,” he said. “I have an arrangement to propose.”
Carter regarded him with a glance of inquiry.
“I have made an engagement to travel with my friend, Mr. Brooke,” Gerald went on, “and this cabin will be untenanted. If you are willing to occupy it you are welcome to do so. You will be sure to find some employment, and if not you can hunt and fish. What do you say?”
“What can I say except that I am grateful? I am not afraid but that I can make a living for myself and Oscar, and I shall not live in constant fear that Clifton Haynes will find me out and expose me.”
“I wish he would happen along about this time,” said Noel Brooke. “I should like nothing better than to get a chance at the fellow. One thrashing isn’t enough for him.”
“I think you would make thorough work with him, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald laughing.
“I would try to at all events,” rejoined the Englishman.
“If you want any certificate attesting your prowess you have only to refer to Jake Amsden.”
“Jake Amsden,” exclaimed John Carter in surprise. “Why, he is the man for whose crime I suffered. He was the man who stole the wallet and put it in my trunk to incriminate me.”
CHAPTER XIV
JAKE AMSDEN TURNS OVER A NEW LEAF
Now it was the turn of Gerald and Mr. Brooke to look surprised.
“Why, I thrashed Jake Amsden within an hour,” said the tourist, “for an attack upon Gerald.”
“He doesn’t seem to have improved then,” said Carter. “Does he live hereabouts?”
“Yes.”
“Is he in business in this neighborhood?”
“His chief business,” answered Gerald, “is to get drunk, and when he can’t raise money any other way he steals it.”
“Evidently he is the same man. He is the cause of all my misfortunes.”
“Here he is coming back!” said Gerald suddenly.
“Good!” exclaimed the tourist. “I have some business with him.”
Jake had evidently visited Pete Johnson’s saloon again, judging from his flushed face and unsteady gait. Still he was in a condition to get around.
“Stay in the cabin till I call you!” whispered Noel Brooke to Carter.
“Well,” he said, turning to meet Amsden, “have you come back for another boxing lesson?”
“No, squire,” answered Jake.
“What then?”
“I thought you might like a guide, considerin’ this is your first visit to Colorado. Don’t you want to go up Pike’s Peak?”
“I have engaged Gerald here to go about with me.”
“He’s a boy. He don’t know nothin’ of the country.”
“He will satisfy me as a companion better than you.”
“If you’re goin’ away, Gerald,” said Amsden with unabashed assurance, “won’t you let me live in the cabin till you come back?”
“It has been engaged by another tenant,” answered Gerald.
“Who is it? It isn’t Pete Johnson, is it?”
“No, I don’t propose to let my cabin for a saloon.”
“You’re right, boy. You’d better let me have it.”
“But I told you that it was already promised to another party.”
“Who is it?”
“An old acquaintance of yours.”
At a signal from Noel Brooke John Carter came out, leading Oscar by the hand. He looked earnestly at Jake Amsden. It was the first time in many years that he had seen the man who was the prime mover in the events that had brought about his financial ruin. He would hardly have known Jake, so much had his appearance suffered from habitual intemperance.
Jake Amsden on his part scanned Carter with curious perplexity.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“You knew me once. I have good reason to remember you,” answered John Carter gravely.
Something in his voice recalled him to Amsden.
“Why, it’s Carter,” he said, “John Carter. How are you, Carter, old fellow? It does me good to set eyes on an old friend.”
Carter was unprepared for this cordial welcome, and when Jake Amsden approached with hand extended, he put his own behind his back.
“I can’t take your hand, Jake,” he said. “You’ve done me too much harm.”
“Oh, you mean that old affair,” said Jake in an airy tone. “I did act meanly, that’s a fact, but we’re both older now. Let bygones be bygones. It’s all over now.”
“It isn’t all over. That false accusation of yours has blighted my life. It has driven me from factory to factory, and finally driven me out here in the hope that I might begin a new life where it would no longer be in my way.”
“I’m sorry for that, Carter,” said Jake Amsden. “’Pon my soul, I am. I know it was a mean trick I played upon you, but it was either you or I.”
“And you ruined this man’s reputation to save your own?” said Noel Brooke sternly.
“I didn’t think much about it, squire, I really didn’t,” said Jake. “You see I run in a hole, and I was ready to do anything to get out.”
“It was the act of a scoundrel, Amsden. There is only one thing to do.”
“What is it? Take another lickin’?”
“No, that wouldn’t mend matters. You must sign a confession that you committed the theft of which Carter was unjustly accused, so that he may have this to show whenever the old charge is brought up against him hereafter.”
“I’ll do it, squire. I’d have done it long ago if I’d known.”
“It is better late than not at all. Come into the cabin, both of you.”
His orders were obeyed, and after asking questions as to details he wrote out a confession exonerating John Carter and laying the blame on the right party. Gerald furnished him with pen, ink and paper.
“Now,” he said, when the document was completed, “I want you, Jake Amsden, to sign this and Gerald and I will subscribe our names as witnesses.”
“All right, squire, I’ll do it. You must not mind the writin’ for I haven’t handled a pen for so long that I have almost forgotten how to write.”
Jake Amsden affixed his signature in a large scrawling hand, and the two witnesses subscribed after him.
“Now, Mr. Carter,” said Noel Brooke, as he handed him the paper, “keep this carefully, and whenever that scoundrel who has made it his business to persecute you engages again in the same work you can show this document, and it will be a satisfactory answer to his base charges.”
“I thank you, Mr. Brooke,” said Carter in a deep voice. “You cannot conceive what a favor you have done me. I feel that a great burden has been lifted from my life, and that it has passed out of the shadow which has obscured it for so long. Now I shall be able to leave Oscar an untarnished name!”
During the day Carter made a trip to a point two miles distant where he had left his modest luggage, and returned to take possession of the cabin. In the afternoon Jake Amsden made another call, and informed him that he could obtain employment at a lumber camp not far distant.
“Are you going to work there, Mr. Amsden?” asked Gerald.
“I am offered employment,” answered Jake, “but my health won’t allow me to do hard work, so I gave my chance to Carter.”
Gerald smiled, for he understood this was not the real objection. Jake Amsden was naturally stronger and more robust than John Carter, but he had for years led a life of idleness, and the mere thought of working all day fatigued him.
John Carter felt relieved at the prospect of obtaining work and grateful to the man whom for years he had regarded as his enemy for his agency in securing it.
“What pay will I receive?” he asked.
“Four dollars a day.”
“Why, that is twice as much as I was paid at the factory,” he said. “Now I can see my way clear to support Oscar and myself comfortably. Jake Amsden, I never expected to feel grateful to you, but if I get this job I will forget the past and feel kindly towards you from henceforth.”
“It’s all right, Carter, old boy. I ain’t all black, you see.”
But there were certainly some pretty dark spots still on his character, not the least of which was his compact with Bradley Wentworth concerning the papers in Gerald’s possession, which the crafty Amsden had by no means forgotten.
CHAPTER XV
BRADLEY WENTWORTH’S MORNING MAIL
Bradley Wentworth lived in quite the most pretentious house in Seneca. It was within five minutes’ walk of the huge brick factory from which he drew his income. All that money could buy within reasonable limits was his. Handsome furniture, fine engravings, expensive paintings, a stately carriage and handsome horses, contributed to make life comfortable and desirable.
But there is generally something to mar the happiness of the most favored. Mr. Wentworth had but one child – Victor – whom he looked upon as his successor and heir. He proposed to send him to college, partly to secure educational advantages, but partly also because he thought it would give him an opportunity to make friends in high social position. He had reached that age when a man begins to live for those who are to come after him.
But Victor unfortunately took different views of life from his father. He did not care much for a liberal education, and he selected his companions from among those who, like himself, enjoyed a good time. He was quite aware that his father was rich, and he thought himself justified in spending money freely.
Victor was in attendance at the classical academy of Virgil McIntire, LL.D., an institute of high rank in the town of Ilium, about fifty miles from Seneca. He had been there about two years, having previously studied at home under a private tutor. Being a busy man his father had been able to visit the school but twice, and had but a vague idea as to the progress which his son was making.
Five days after he returned home from Colorado he received a letter from Dr. McIntire, the material portion of which is subjoined:
“I regret to say that your son Victor is not making as good use of his time and advantages as I could desire. I have hitherto given you some reason to hope that he would be prepared for admission to Yale College at the next summer examination, but I greatly fear now that he will not be ready. He is a boy of good parts, and with moderate application he could satisfy you and myself in this respect; but he is idle and wastes his time, and seems more bent on enjoying himself than on making progress in his studies. I have spoken with him seriously, but I am afraid that my words have produced very little effect. It may be well for you to remonstrate with him, and try to induce him to take sensible views of life. At any rate, as I don’t want you to cherish hopes that are doomed to disappointment, I have deemed it my duty to lay before you the facts of the case.
“Yours respectfully,“Virgil Mcintire.”
Bradley Wentworth received and read this letter in bitterness of spirit.
“Why will that boy thwart me?” he asked himself. “I have mapped out a useful and honorable career for him. I am ready to provide liberally for all his wants – to supply him with fine clothes as good, I dare say, as are worn by the Astors and Vanderbilts, and all I ask in return is, that he will study faithfully and prepare himself for admission to college next summer. I did not fare like him when I was a boy. I had no rich father to provide for my wants, but was compelled to work for a living. How gladly would I have toiled had I been situated as he is! He is an ungrateful boy!”
Bradley Wentworth was not altogether justified in his estimate of himself as a boy. He had been very much like Victor, except that he was harder and less amiable. He had worked, to be sure, but it was not altogether because he liked it, but principally because he knew that he must. He, like Victor, had exceeded his income, and it was in consequence of this that he had forged the check for which he had induced his fellow-clerk, Warren Lane, to own himself responsible. He forgot all this, however, and was disposed to judge his son harshly.
By the same mail with Doctor McIntire’s letter came the following letter from Victor:
“Dear Father: – I meant to write you last week but was too busy” – ”Not with your studies, I’ll be bound,” interpolated his father – “besides there isn’t much to write about here. It is a fearfully slow place” – “You wouldn’t find it so if you spent your time in study,” reflected Mr. Wentworth – “I don’t enjoy Latin and Greek very much, I don’t see what good they are ever going to do a fellow. You never studied Latin or Greek, and I am sure you have been very successful in life. I have an intimate friend here, Arthur Grigson, who is going to spend next year in traveling. He will go all over the United States to begin with, including the Pacific coast. I wish you would let me go with him. I am sure I would learn more in that way than I shall from the stuffy books I am studying here under that old mummy, Dr. McIntire. Arthur thinks he shall be ready to start in about six weeks. Please give your consent to my going with him by return of mail, so that I may begin to get ready. He thinks we can travel a year for two thousand dollars apiece.
“Your affectionate son,“Victor.”
Bradley Wentworth frowned ominously when he read this epistle.
“What a cheerful sort of letter for a father to receive,” he said to himself, crushing the pages in his strong hands. “Victor has all the advantages that money can command, and a brilliant prospect for the future if he will only act in accordance with my wishes, and yet he is ready to start off at a tangent and roam round the world with some scapegrace companion. I wish he were more like Lane’s boy – I don’t like him, for he is obstinate and headstrong, and utterly unreasonable in his demands upon me, but he is steady and correct in his habits, and if he were in Victor’s place would never give me any uneasiness.”
Gerald would have been surprised if he had heard this tribute from the lips of his recent visitor, but he was not likely to know the real opinion of the man who had declared himself his enemy.
Bradley Wentworth, continuing the examination of his letters, found another bearing the Ilium postmark. It was addressed in an almost illegible scrawl and appeared to be written by a person of defective education. It was to this effect:
“Dear Sir: – Your son Victor, at least he says you are his father, and have plenty of money, has run up a bill of sixty-seven dollars for livery at my stable, and I think it is about time the bill was paid. I am a poor man and I can’t afford to lose so much money. I have already waited till I am tired, but your son’s promises ain’t worth much, and I am obliged to come to you for payment.
“I shall take it as a favor if you will send me a check at once for the money, as I have some bills coming due next week. I don’t mind trusting your son if I am sure of my money in the end, and if it isn’t convenient for you to pay right off, you can send me your note on thirty days, as I am sure a gentleman like you would pay it when due.
“Yours respectfully,“Seth Kendall.”
This letter made Mr. Wentworth very angry. It is hard to tell whether he was more angry with his son or with the proprietor of the livery stable. He answered the latter first.
“Mr. Seth Kendall: – I have received your letter, and must express my surprise at your trusting my son, knowing well that he is a minor, and that I have not authorized his running up a bill with you. It would serve you right to withhold all payment, but I won’t go so far as that. Cut your demand in two, and send me a receipt in full for that sum, and I will forward you a check. I never give a note for so small an amount. Hereafter, if you are foolish enough to trust Victor, you must run your own risk, as I shall decline to pay any bill that may be presented.
“Bradley Wentworth.”
Mr. Wentworth next wrote to Victor a letter from which a paragraph is extracted:
“I admire your audacity in asking me to let you leave school and go around the world with some scapegrace companion. You say it will only cost two thousand dollars. That probably seems to you a very small sum of money. When I was several years older than yourself I was working for seventy-five dollars a month or nine hundred dollars a year. It is evident that you do not understand the value of money. You speak of me as a rich man, and I admit that you are correct in doing so, but I do not propose to have you make ducks and drakes of my money.
“I may mention, by the way, that a livery stable keeper, who signs himself Seth Kendall, has sent me a bill run up by you for sixty-seven dollars. I have written him that I didn’t authorize your running up such a bill, and that he must be content with fifty per cent of it, or else go unpaid. Hereafter I forbid your running up bills in Illium of any description. Bear this in mind.
“Your father,“Bradley Wentworth.”
A week later Mr. Wentworth received this telegram from Illium.
“Your son Victor has disappeared, leaving no traces of his destination. Particulars by mail.
“Virgil Mcintire.”