CHAPTER XVII
AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE
“Couple of whiskeys – straight – for me and the kid,” ordered Grant’s companion, as he came to a standstill in front of the bar.
“None for me!” said Grant quickly.
But, all the same, two glasses were set out, and the bottle placed beside them.
“Pour it out!” said the miner to the barkeeper. “I’m afraid the boy will get away.”
The barkeeper, with a smile, followed directions, and the two glasses were filled.
The miner tossed his off at a single gulp, but Grant left his standing.
“Why don’t you drink, boy?” demanded his companion, with an oath.
“I told you I wouldn’t,” said Grant angrily.
“We’ll see if you won’t,” said the miner, and, seizing the glass, he attempted to pour it down Grant’s throat, but his arm was unsteady from the potations he had already indulged in, and the whiskey was spilled, partly on the floor, and partly on the boy’s clothes. Grant seized this opportunity to dash out of the saloon, with the miner after him. Fortunately for him, Bill Turner, as he called himself, tripped and fell, lying prostrate for a moment, an interval which Grant improved to so good purpose that, by the time the miner was again on his feet, he was well out of harm’s way.
“I thought the drinking habit was bad enough at home,” thought Grant; “but no one ever tried to make me drink before.”
And now we will go back and see how it fared with Mr. Cooper.
Some quarter of a mile from the Metropolitan Hotel and Restaurant his attention was drawn to a blacksmith’s shop. That was his own line of business, and he felt a curiosity to interview his California brother-workman.
Entering, he saw a stout, black-bearded man in the act of shoeing a horse.
“Good-morning, friend,” he said.
“Good-morning, stranger.”
“I thought I’d take a look in, as you are in my line of business.”
“Is that so?” asked the blacksmith, looking up with interest. “How long since you arrived?”
“Just got in this morning.”
“Going to stay in Sacramento?”
“I am ready for anything that will bring money. I suppose I shall go to the mines.”
“Humph! Why not buy me out, and carry on your old business in Sacramento?”
“Do you want to sell?” asked Jerry Cooper, surprised.
“Yes; I want a little change. I might go to the mines myself.”
“Can’t you make money blacksmithing?” asked Cooper cautiously.
“Yes; that isn’t my reason. I haven’t seen anything of the country yet. I bought out this shop as soon as I reached Sacramento, and I’ve been at work steady. I want a change.”
“How well does it pay you?”
“I get big prices. A dollar for a single shoe, and I have all I can do. Why, how much money do you think I have made since I took the shop, a year since?”
“I can’t tell.”
“I’ve laid up three thousand dollars, besides paying all expenses.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the blacksmith, impressed.
“Yes; I shan’t make as much money at the mines probably, but it’ll be a change, and not so hard work.”
“Then you want to sell out?”
“Yes.”
“What will you take?”
“A thousand dollars. That buys the shop, too. It’s dirt cheap.”
“It may be, but I haven’t the money.”
“I will take half cash, and a mortgage for the balance.”
“Suppose I bought, is there a house near by where I can live?”
“What family have you?”
“A wife and son; but I suppose Tom will want to go to the mines.”
“There is a cabin across the street with three rooms. It is empty. You can hire it for fifty dollars a month, likely.”
“Fifty dollars a month for a cabin with three rooms!” ejaculated Cooper.
“Yes; or you can buy it for five hundred dollars, I expect.”
“Seems to me prices are pretty steep in Sacramento.”
“So they are; but you can get rich faster than at home, in spite of the high prices.”
“Well, that’s a consideration, certainly. How much time will you give me to consider your offer?”
“Till to-morrow.”
“I’ll let you know by that time.”
Jerry Cooper walked away in a state of excitement. He felt that he would rather stay in Sacramento and carry on his own old business, with which he was thoroughly acquainted, than undertake gold-mining, of which he knew nothing. He was a man of fifty, and was not so enterprising as he had been when half the age.
“It seems a good chance,” he reflected. “But how will I get the money?”
He had five hundred dollars left, perhaps more; but all this would have to be paid down for the shop, without leaving anything to provide for his family in the interval before he got to earning an income.
“If I only had the money I would take the shop,” he said to himself. “I wonder if I could borrow any. I might send home for some, but it would come too late.”
He walked slowly back to the hotel and restaurant.
In front of it Mrs. Cooper was waiting for him.
“I’m glad you’ve come, father,” she said. “I was afraid you would be gone all day.”
“Were you discontented, mother?”
“No; it isn’t that; but I’ve had an offer for the wagon and oxen.”
“You have?”
“Yes; quarter of an hour after you went away a man came in and inquired of the landlord who owned the team. He was referred to me, and asked me if I wanted to sell. I told him I didn’t know what your plan might be, but finally he offered me eight hundred dollars, or a thousand if Dobbin were thrown in.”
“You should have accepted,” exclaimed her husband excitedly.
“I didn’t dare to. I didn’t know what you would say. But he’s coming back again, and – there he is!”
Fifteen minutes later the bargain was struck and the money paid, cash down.
“That settles it!” decided the blacksmith. “Mother and I will stay in Sacramento.”
CHAPTER XVIII
A TRUE FRIEND
The next morning, as Grant was enjoying a few minutes’ rest, breakfast being over, he was surprised by the entrance of Giles Crosmont. It seemed pleasant to see a familiar face.
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Crosmont,” he said warmly. “Will you have breakfast?”
“No; I am staying at the hotel and have already breakfasted. I have come in to see you.”
“I am glad to see you, sir. I was afraid we would not meet again. How did you know where to find me?”
“I met Tom Cooper on the street early this morning.”
“Tom has gone to the mines.”
“So he told me. That is, he told me he was to start this morning. You intended to go to the mines, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you go?”
“I hadn’t money enough,” answered Grant candidly.
“That needn’t have prevented your going.”
Grant looked inquiringly at Mr. Crosmont.
“I mean that I would have lent you a hundred dollars. That would have been enough, wouldn’t it?”
“It would have been ample. You are very kind, Mr. Crosmont.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I have more money than I know what to do with.”
“But I might never have been able to repay you.”
“I would have taken the risk of that. Besides, to be frank, I should have intended the money as a gift, not a loan.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Grant gratefully. “I never met such kindness before.”
“Do you wish to give up your situation, and go to the mines at once?”
“No, sir. I enjoy feeling that I am so well paid for my labor. You see I never earned much before; Mr. Tarbox only gave me my board.”
“And how much are you paid for your services here?”
“Three dollars a day and my board,” answered Grant proudly.
“That is indeed high pay for a boy of your age. If you will let me advise you, don’t let it make you extravagant. Don’t form the habit of gambling. I notice there are several gambling saloons here.”
“No, sir, I won’t. I know nothing about cards.”
“You could soon learn.”
“Thank you for your advice, Mr. Crosmont.”
“I give it because I feel an interest in you, Grant. I can’t explain why, for I have met a good many young persons in my travels, and never was drawn to any one as I am drawn to you.”
“I am glad to have so good a friend, Mr. Crosmont,” said Grant earnestly.
“And I am glad to have found some one in whom I can feel an interest. I begin to feel that there is some object in living.”
“Are you going to remain in Sacramento, Mr. Crosmont?”
“No, I start this afternoon for San Francisco.”
Grant’s countenance fell. Just as he had ascertained how true and reliable a friend Mr. Crosmont was, he was destined to part with him.
“Then I shall not see you again,” he said soberly.
“I hope you will, Grant,” returned Mr. Crosmont, with a friendly smile. “Indeed, I mean that you shall. I don’t propose to lose sight of you. How long do you think you shall remain in your present employment?”
“One month, and possibly two. I would like to get a good sum of money together before I start. I shall need to buy a few things.”
“What things?”
“Some underclothing, a new pair of shoes, and a new suit. The clothes I have on were pretty well worn out by the trip across the plains.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that. I will take your directions on the size, and send you what you need from San Francisco.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Crosmont. It will save me a good deal of money.”
“You will need all the money you can earn. Now I will give you my address in San Francisco, and if you have any occasion to ask help or advice write unhesitatingly. I shall travel a part of the time, but I shall always answer your letters as soon as I receive them.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You have no father. Look upon me as a father or guardian, whichever you please. This will be my address.”
He took a card from his pocket, and wrote upon it, under his name, “Care of C.D. Vossler, Jeweler, Market St., San Francisco.”
“Mr. Vossler is an old friend of mine,” he said, “and he will take care of any letters that come directed in this way. I don’t know where I shall put up, so that it will be best always to address me, when you write, in his care.”
“Thank you, sir. I will remember.”
“Yes; don’t lose the card.”
Mr. Crosmont left the restaurant, and Grant did not again see him before his departure. He felt cheered to think he had found such a friend. Two thousand miles from home, it was worth a good deal to think that, if he were sick or got into trouble he had a friend who would stand by him, and to whom he could apply for help or advice.
The next day, in an hour which was given him during the time when business was slack, Grant went round to see Mr. Cooper.
He found the blacksmith busy in his shop. He had bought the little cabin opposite, and his family had already moved in.
“It didn’t take me long to get established, Grant,” he said with a well-satisfied smile.
“No, sir. I was quite taken by surprise to hear it.”
“I did a good thing in coming to California. I am convinced of that. Why, Grant, how much do you think I took in for work yesterday?”
“Ten dollars,” suggested Grant.
“Better than that – seventeen! Why, at this rate, I shall be able to buy back my old place in a year out of my savings.”
“I am glad to hear of your good luck, Mr. Cooper.”
“You have got employment, too, Grant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How much are you paid?”
“My board and three dollars a day.”
“Why, that’s fine, and you only sixteen years old, too. I shall be well pleased if Tom does as well at the mines.”
“If he does well, I expect to join him in a month or two.”
“I don’t know as it’s wise. Perhaps you had better stay where you are.”
“I might not make as much money, but I should not be satisfied to come to California and not go to the mines.”
“That’s just exactly what I am going to do. Me and mother are better off in Sacramento. However, you are young, and that makes a difference.”
“I must leave you now, Mr. Cooper, and get back to business.”
“Are you a good deal confined?”
“Yes, that’s the worst of it. I have to be at the restaurant in the evening till ten o’clock, but I can get off for an hour every afternoon.”
“Well, come out and see us often. I would invite you to come and take supper some night, but I suppose you couldn’t accept.”
“No, Mr. Cooper, thanking you just the same.”
“You haven’t been homesick yet, Grant, have you?”
“No; except the first day, when I didn’t know how I was coming out.”
“And you wouldn’t like to be back on Mr. Tarbox’s farm again?”
“Not much; but I should like to see mother again, if only for a few minutes.”
“If you do well, and carry home a good sum of money, you can make things comfortable for her, you know.”
“That’s what I am thinking of all the time.”
Grant took leave of the blacksmith and went back to work. He was glad to think he had some one to call upon who reminded him of home. He worked long hours, though the labor could not be considered hard. There was one other waiter beside himself, a young man of twenty-five, named Albert Benton. He was thin and dark-complexioned, and Grant, without being able to explain why, conceived a dislike to him. He saw that Benton was inclined to shirk work, though he received higher pay than his young associate. He was paid five dollars per day and had a room outside. Mr. Smithson, the proprietor of the restaurant, had desired him to sleep in a small room over the restaurant, but he had declined to do so. Upon this the same request was made of Grant, and he complied, glad to save the price of lodging elsewhere. When the restaurant closed at ten o’clock, frequently Grant would go out for a short walk, as it was a relief to breathe the fresh outside air after being confined in the close atmosphere of the eating-house during the day and evening. Generally he and Benton went out together, but his companion soon left him, finding a simple walk entirely too slow and unexciting for his taste.
CHAPTER XIX
GRANT FALLS UNDER SUSPICION
It struck Grant as strange that his fellow waiter, though he received five dollars a day, never seemed to have any money on hand. More than once he had borrowed a couple of dollars of Grant, which, however, he always repaid.
“What can he do with his money?” thought Grant. “He gets very little chance to spend it, for he is confined in the restaurant from twelve to fourteen hours a day.”
The mystery was solved when, one night, he saw Benton entering a notorious gambling saloon not far from the restaurant.
“So that is where he disposes of his money,” reflected Grant. “I wish I could venture to give him a hint. But probably he would pay it no attention, as I am a boy considerably younger than he.”
He did, however, find occasion for speaking soon afterward.
“Have you ever been to the mines, Mr. Benton?” he asked.
“No.”
“Don’t you ever expect to go?”
“I would go in a minute if I had money enough.”
“I should think you might save money enough in a month or two. You get good pay.”
“It’s tiresome saving from one’s daily pay. I want to make a strike. Some day I shall. I might win five hundred dollars in the next week. When I do I’ll bid the old man good-by, and set out for the mines.”
“I believe in saving. A friend of mine, now in San Francisco, warned me to keep clear of the gambling-houses, and I would be sure to get on.”
Albert Benton regarded Grant suspiciously.
“Does the boy know I gamble, I wonder?” he said to himself.
“Your friend’s an old fogy,” he said, contemptuously.
“Don’t you think his advice good?”
“Well, yes; I don’t believe in gambling to any extent, but I have been in once or twice. It did me no harm.”
If he had told the truth, he would have said that he went to the gambling-house nearly every evening.
“It’s safest to keep away, I think.”
“Well, yes, perhaps it is, for a kid like you.”
No more was said at the time. But something happened soon which involved both Benton and his associate.
Mr. Smithson, the proprietor, began to find that his receipts fell off. This puzzled him, for it appeared to him that the restaurant was doing as good a business as ever. He mentioned the matter to the senior waiter.
“Benton,” said he, “last week I took in fifty dollars less than usual.”
“Is that so?” asked Benton indifferently.
“Yes; I can’t understand it. Has the trade fallen off any, do you think?”
“Really, I can’t say. It seemed about the same as usual – that is, the number of customers did.”
“So it seemed to me.”
“Perhaps they ordered less. Now I think of it, I feel sure that they did.”
“That might explain it partially, but not so large a falling off.”
“I suppose you haven’t thought of any other solution of the question?” said Benton, slowly scrutinizing the face of his employer.
“Have you?”
“Well, sir, I have, but I don’t like to mention it.”
“Out with it!”
“I don’t know anything, sir.”
“If you suspect anything, it’s your duty to tell me.”
“Well, perhaps it is, but I might be doing injustice to Grant.”
“Ha! what has Grant to do with it?”
“Nothing that I know of.”
“Good Heavens, man, don’t tantalize me in this way. What do you suspect?”
“Well, sir, the boy always appears to have money.”
“He seems to be economical, and I pay him well. That counts for nothing.”
“No, sir, but – some one told me that he had seen him entering a gambling-house on the street.”
“Ha! that would account for his needing a good deal of money. By the way, do you ever enter such places?”
“I have entered out of curiosity, sir,” answered Benton, with a burst of candor. “I wanted to see what they were like.”
“Better keep out of them altogether.”
“No doubt you are right, sir.”
“But about the boy – have you ever seen him take anything from the drawer?”
“I couldn’t be sure of it, but once when he was alone I entered suddenly, and saw him near the drawer. He flushed up and came away in a hurry. I couldn’t swear that he took anything.”
However, Benton’s tone implied that he felt sure of it all the same, and so it impressed Mr. Smithson.
“Did you have any recommendations with Grant?” inquired Benton, in an insinuating tone.
“No; but, then, I had none with you, either.”
“That is true. Still, I hope you have confidence in me.”
“I know of no reason why I should not. Do you know if Grant drinks?”
“I don’t think he drinks much.”
“Does he drink at all?” asked Smithson curtly.
“One evening I saw him coming out of a drinking saloon pretty well loaded. That is the only time, however.”
“It was once too often. Benton, I have been greatly deceived in that fellow. I thought him a model boy.”
“So did I, sir, and I don’t think he is very bad now. Perhaps he has been a little indiscreet.”
“It is very kind of you to excuse him; but if what you say is true, I shall not be able to retain him in my employment.”
“Give him a little more time. Remember that I know nothing positive to his discredit. He may not have taken the money.”
This half-hearted defence of Grant led Mr. Smithson to think that Benton was his friend and spoke against him unwillingly. It never occurred to him that his senior waiter was only seeking to divert suspicion from himself.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll keep him on a week longer. Perhaps something may occur in that time to confirm my suspicions or discredit them.”
The result of this conversation was that the restaurant keeper was all but convinced that Grant was a sly young villain and was secretly robbing him. He had a friend, however, who had once been a detective in St. Louis, though now engaged in a different business in Sacramento.
He sought him out and told him the story.
Vincent listened attentively.
“It looks bad for the boy; don’t you think so?” Smithson asked.
“Yes, if all is true that is said against him. But who says it?”
“Albert Benton.”
“The old waiter?”
“Yes.”
“You have never yourself seen the boy drunk, or coming out of a gambling-house?”
“No.”
“Then all the testimony to that effect is that of the man Benton?”
“Yes.”
“May not Benton have an object in slandering the boy?”
“He seemed very reluctant to say anything against him.”
“That may be all artfulness, and to divert suspicion from himself.”
“You surely don’t think he would rob me?”
“Why not?”
“He has been in my employ for a year.”
“Then he ought by this time to have a good deal of money saved up – that is, if his habits are good.”
“I am sure he has not.”
“What evidence have you on the subject?”
“At one time, three months since, I thought of selling out the restaurant, and asked Benton if he didn’t want to buy it.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“That he hadn’t got fifty dollars in the world.”
“How much do you pay him?”
“Five dollars a day and his board.”
“Whew! and he spends all that?”
“He seems to.”
“Look here, Smithson, you are on the wrong tack. He is the thief, and not the boy.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Leave the matter in my hands, and I will prove it to you.”
“How!”
“I shall follow Benton in the evening, and see how he spends his time and money. But you must be careful not to let him know that he is suspected. If anything is said of the disappearance of money, tell him that you attribute it to decrease in trade.”
“All right; I will do as you suggest.”
“He doesn’t know me, and will not imagine that I am watching him.”
Two days later Albert Benton, a little anxious to know whether he had himself eluded suspicion, asked his employer: “Have you found out anything about the lost money?”
“I am not sure that any has been lost,” answered Smithson carelessly.
“Have you watched the boy?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t look to me like a thief. It may be, after all, that we are doing less business.”
“Yes, sir; that’s very likely,” responded Benton, glad that his employer was disposed to regard the matter from this point of view.
“I don’t like to think that any one in my employ would rob me.”
“Very true, sir. It would be a great shame.”
“It’s all right!” thought Benton complacently. “It is better so. I don’t care to have the boy discharged. Some one might succeed him whom I couldn’t hoodwink so easily.”