CHAPTER XXXVI
WARNER POWELL STARTS ON A JOURNEY
Thanks to the liberal compensation received from Mrs. Merton, Luke was enabled to supply his mother and Bennie with all the comforts they required, and even to put by two dollars a week. This he did as a measure of precaution, for he did not know how long the engagement at the house on Prairie Avenue would last. If he were forced to fall back on his earnings as a newsboy, the family would fare badly. This might happen, for he found himself no nearer securing the favor of Harold and his mother. The manner of the latter was particularly unpleasant when they met, and Harold scarcely deigned to speak to him. On the other hand, Warner Powell showed himself very friendly. He often took the opportunity to join Luke when he was leaving the house, and chat pleasantly with him. Luke enjoyed his companionship, because Warner was able to tell him about Australia and California, with both of which countries Mrs. Tracy's brother was familiar.
"Mother," said Harold, one day, "Uncle Warner seems very thick with that newsboy. I have several times seen them walking together."
Mrs. Tracy frowned, for the news displeased her.
"I am certainly very much surprised. I should think my brother might find a more congenial and suitable companion than Aunt Eliza's hired boy. I will speak to him about it."
She accordingly broached the subject to Warner Powell, expressing herself with emphasis.
"Listen, Louisa," said Warner, "don't you think I am old enough to choose my own company?"
"It doesn't seem so," retorted Mrs. Tracy, with a smile.
"At any rate, I don't need any instructions on that point."
"As my guest, you certainly ought to treat me with respect."
"So I do. But I don't feel bound to let you regulate my conduct."
"You know what cause I have – we both have – to dislike this boy."
"I don't dislike him."
"Then you ought to."
"He is in Aunt Eliza's employment. While he remains so, I shall treat him with cordiality."
"You are blind as a mole!" said Mrs. Tracy, passionately. "You can't see that he is trying to work his way into aunt's affections."
"I think he has done so already. She thinks a great deal of him."
"When you find her remembering him in her will, you may come over to my opinion."
"She is quite at liberty to remember him in her will, so far as I am concerned. There will be enough for us, even if she does leave Luke a legacy."
"I see you are incorrigible. I am sorry I invited you to remain in my house.
"I was under the impression that it was Aunt Eliza's house. You are claiming too much, Louisa."
Mrs. Tracy bit her lip, and was compelled to give up her attempt to secure her brother's allegiance. She contented herself with treating him with formal politeness, abstaining from all show of cordiality. This was carried on so far that it attracted the attention of Mrs. Merton.
"What is the trouble between you and Louisa?" she asked one day.
Warner laughed.
"She thinks I am too intimate with your boy, Luke."
"I don't understand."
"I often walk with Luke either on his way to or from the house. Harold has reported this to his mother, and the result is a lecture as to the choice of proper companions from my dignified sister."
Mrs. Merton smiled kindly on her nephew.
"Then you don't propose to give up Luke?" she said.
"No; I like the boy. He is worth a dozen Harolds. Perhaps I ought not to say this, for Harold is my nephew and they say blood is thicker than water. However, it is a fact, nevertheless, that I like Luke the better of the two."
"I shall not blame you for saying that, Warner," returned the old lady. "I am glad that one of the family, at least, is free from prejudice. To what do you attribute Louisa's dislike of Luke?"
"I think, aunt, you are shrewd enough to guess the reason without appealing to me."
"Still, I would like to hear it from your lips."
"In plain words, then, Louisa is afraid you will remember Luke in your will."
"She doesn't think I would leave everything to him, does she?"
"She objects to your leaving anything. If it were only five hundred dollars she would grudge it."
"Louisa was always selfish," said Mrs. Merton, quietly. "I have always known that. She is not wise, however. She does not understand that I am a very obstinate old woman, and am more likely to take my own way if opposed."
"That's right, aunt! You are entitled to have your own way, and I for one am the last to wish to interfere with you."
"You will not fare any the worse for that! And now, Warner, tell me what are your chances of employment?"
"I wished to speak to you about that, aunt. There is a gentleman in Milwaukee who has a branch office in Chicago, and I understand that he wants someone to represent him here. His present agent is about to resign his position, and I think I have some chance of obtaining the place. It will be necessary for me, however, to go to Milwaukee to see him in person."
"Go, then, by all means," said Mrs. Merton. "I will defray your expenses."
"Thank you very much, aunt. You know that I have little money of my own. But there is another thing indispensable, and that I am afraid you would not be willing to do for me."
"What is it, Warner?"
"I shall have charge of considerable money belonging to my employer, and I learn from the present agent that I shall have to get someone to give bonds for me in the sum of ten thousand dollars."
"Very well! I am willing to stand your security."
Warner looked surprised and gratified.
"Knowing how dishonestly I have acted in the past?" he said.
"The past is past. You are a different man, I hope and believe."
"Aunt Eliza, you shall never regret the generous confidence you are willing to repose in me. It is likely to open for me a new career, and to make a new man of me."
"That is my desire, Warner. Let me add that I am only following your own example. You have refused to believe evil of Luke, unlike your sister, and have not been troubled by the kindness I have shown him. This is something I remember to your credit."
"Thank you, aunt. If you have been able to discover anything creditable in me, I am all the more pleased."
"How much will this position pay you, supposing you get it?"
"Two thousand dollars a year. To me that will be a competence. I shall be able to save one-half, for I have given up my former expensive tastes, and am eager to settle down to a steady and methodical business life."
"When do you want to go to Milwaukee, Warner?"
"I should like to go at once."
"Here is some money to defray your expenses."
Mrs. Merton opened her table drawer, and took out a roll of bills amounting to fifty dollars.
"I wish you good luck!" she said.
"Thank you, aunt! I shall take the afternoon train to Milwaukee, and sleep there to-night."
Warner Powell hastened to catch the train, and, at six o'clock in the evening, landed, with a large number of fellow passengers, in the metropolis of Wisconsin.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THOMAS BROWNING'S SECRET
Warner Powell had learned wisdom and prudence with his increasing years, and, instead of inquiring for the best hotel, was content to put up at a humbler hostelry, where he would be comfortable. He made the acquaintance on the cars of a New York drummer, with whom he became quite sociable.
"I suppose you have been in Milwaukee often," said Warner.
"I go there once a year – sometimes twice."
"Where do you stay?"
"At the Prairie Hotel. It is a comfortable house – two dollars a day."
"Just what I want. I will go there."
So, at quarter-past six. Warner Powell found himself in the office of the hotel. He was assigned a room on the third floor.
After making his toilet, he went down to supper. At the table with him were two gentlemen who, from their conversation, appeared to be residents of the city. They were discussing the coming municipal election.
"I tell you, Browning will be our mayor," said one. "His reputation as a philanthropist will elect him."
"I never took much stock in his claims on that score."
"He belongs to all the charitable societies, and is generally an officer."
"That may be; how much does he give himself?"
"I don't know. I suppose he is a liberal subscriber."
"He wants to give that impression, but the man is as selfish as the average. He is said to be a hard landlord, and his tenants get very few favors."
"I am surprised to hear that."
"He is trading on his philanthropy. It would be interesting to learn where his wealth came from. I should not be surprised if he were more smart than honest."
Warner Powell found himself getting interested in this Browning. Was he really a good man, who was unjustly criticised, or was he a sham philanthropist, as charged?
"After all, it doesn't concern me," he said to himself. "The good people of Milwaukee may choose whom they please for mayor so far as I am concerned."
After supper Warner stepped up to the cigar stand to buy a cigar. This, as the reader will remember, was kept by Jack King, an old California acquaintance of Thomas Browning, whose first appearance in our story was in the character of a tramp and would-be burglar.
"Is business good?" asked Warner, pleasantly.
"It is fair; but it seems slow to a man like myself, who has made a hundred dollars a day at the mines in California."
"I have been in California myself," said Powell, "but it was recently, and no such sums were to be made in my time."
"That is true. It didn't last with me. I have noticed that even in the flush times few brought much money away with them, no matter how lucky they were."
"There must become exceptions, however."
"There were. We have a notable example in Milwaukee."
"To whom do you refer?"
"To Thomas Browning, the man who is up for mayor."
Jack King laughed.
"I've heard a lot of talk about that man. He's very honest and very worthy, I hear."
"They call him so," he answered.
"I am afraid you are jealous of that good man," said Warner, smiling.
"I may be jealous of his success, but not of his reputation or his moral qualities."
"Then you don't admire him as much as the public generally?"
"No, I know him too well."
"He is really rich, is he not?"
"Yes, that is, he is worth, perhaps, two hundred thousand dollars."
"That would satisfy me."
"Or me. But I doubt whether the money was creditably gained."
"Do you know anything about it? Were you an acquaintance of his?"
"Yes; I can remember him when he was only a rough miner. I never heard that he was very lucky, but he managed to take considerable money East with him."
Warner eyed Jack King attentively.
"You suspect something," he said, shrewdly.
"I do. There was one of our acquaintances who had struck it rich, and accumulated about ten thousand dollars. Browning was thick with him, and I always suspected that when he found himself on his deathbed, he intrusted all his savings to Butler – "
"I thought you were speaking of Browning?"
"His name was Butler then. He has changed it since. But, as I was saying, I think he intrusted his money to Browning to take home to his family."
"Well?"
"The question is, did Browning fulfill his trust, or keep the money himself?"
"That would come out, wouldn't it? The family would make inquiries."
"They did not know that the dying man had money. He kept it to himself, for he wanted to go home and give them an agreeable surprise. Butler knew this, and, I think, he took advantage of it."
"That was contemptible. But can't it be ascertained? Is it known where the family lives? What is the name?"
"Walton."
"Walton!" repeated Warner Powell, in surprise.
"Yes; do you know any family of that name?"
"I know a boy in Chicago named Luke Walton. He is in the employ of my aunt. A part of his time he spends in selling papers."
"Mr. Browning told me that Walton only left a daughter, and that the family had gone to the Eastern States."
"Would he be likely to tell you the truth – supposing he had really kept the money?"
"Perhaps not. What more can you tell me about this boy?"
Powell's face lighted up.
"I remember now, he told me that his father died in California."
"Is it possible?" said Jack King, excited. "I begin to think I am on the right track. I begin to think, too, that I can tell where Tom Butler got his first start."
"And now he poses as a philanthropist?"
"Yes."
"And is nominated for mayor?"
"Yes, also."
"How are your relations with him?"
"They should be friendly, for he and I were comrades in earlier days, and once I lent him money when he needed it, but he has been puffed up by his prosperity, and takes very little notice of me. He had to do something for me when I first came to Milwaukee, but it was because he was afraid not to."
Meanwhile Warner Powell was searching his memory. Where and how had he become familiar with the name of Thomas Browning? At last it came to him.
"Eureka!" he exclaimed, in excitement.
"What does that mean? I don't understand French."
Warner smiled.
"It isn't French," he said; "but Greek, all the Greek I know. It means 'I have discovered' – the mystery of your old acquaintance."
"Explain, please!" said Jack King, his interest be coming intense.
"I have a friend in Chicago – Stephen Webb, a nephew of your philanthropist – who has been commissioned by his uncle to find out all he can about this newsboy, Luke Walton. He was speculating with me why his uncle should be so interested in an obscure boy."
"Had his uncle told him nothing?"
"No, except that he dropped a hint about knowing Luke's father."
"This Luke and his family are poor, you say?"
"Yes, you can judge that from his employment. He is an honest, manly boy, however, and I have taken a fancy to him. I hope it will turn out as you say. But nothing can be proved. This Browning will probably deny that he received money in trust from the dead father."
Jack King's countenance fell.
"When you go back to Chicago talk with the boy, and find out whether the family have any evidence that will support their claim. Then send the boy on to me, and we will see what can be done."
"I accept the suggestion with pleasure. But I will offer an amendment. Let us write the boy to come on at once, and have a joint consultation in his interest."
CHAPTER XXXVIII
FELICIE PROVES TROUBLESOME
We must return to Chicago for a short time before recording the incidents of Luke's visit to Milwaukee.
Though Harold had lost nearly half of his money through being compelled to divide with Felicie, he was, upon the whole, well satisfied with the way in which he had escaped from suspicion. He had his gold watch, and, as far as he knew, the story which he had told about it had not been doubted. But something happened that annoyed and alarmed him.
One day, when there was no one else in the house, except the servants, Felicie intercepted him as he was going out.
"I want a word with you, Master Harold," she said.
"I am in a hurry, Felicie," replied Harold, who had conceived a dislike for the French maid.
"Still, I think you can spare a few minutes," went on Felicie, smiling in an unpleasant manner.
"Well, be quick about it," said Harold, impatiently.
"I have a sister who is very sick. She is a widow with two children, and her means are very small."
"Goodness, Felicie! What is all this to me? Of course, I'm sorry for her, but I don't know her."
"She looks to me to help her," continued Felicie.
"Well, that's all right! I suppose you are going to help her."
"There is the trouble, Master Harold. I have no money on hand."
"Well, I'm sure that is unlucky, but why do you speak to me about it?"
"Because," and here Felicie's eyes glistened, "I know you obtained some money recently from your aunt."
"Hush!" said Harold, apprehensively.
"But it's true."
"And it's true that you made me give you half of it."
"It all went to my poor sister," said Felicie theatrically.
"I don't see what I have to do with that," said Harold, not without reason.
"So that I kept none for myself. Now I am sure you will open your heart, and give me five dollars more."
"I never heard such cheek!" exclaimed Harold, indignantly. "You've got half, and are not satisfied with that."
"But think of my poor sister!" said Felicie, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, in which there were no tears.
"Think of me!" exclaimed Harold, angrily.
"Then you won't give me the trifle I ask?"
"Trifle? I haven't got it."
"Where is it gone?"
"Gone to buy this watch. That took nearly the whole of it."
"It is indeed so? I thought you received it as a reward for picking up a pocketbook."
"I had to tell my aunt something. Otherwise they would ask me embarrassing questions."
"Ah, quelle invention!" exclaimed Felicie, playfully. "And you really have none of the money left?"
"No."
"Then there is only one way."
"What is that?"
"To open the drawer again."
"Are you mad, Felicie? I should surely be discovered. It won't do to try it a second time when my aunt is on her guard. Besides, very likely she don't keep her money there now."
"Oh, yes, she does."
"How do you know?"
"I was in the room yesterday when she opened the drawer to take out money to pay a bill."
"She must be foolish, then."
"Ah," said Felicie, coolly, "she thinks lightning won't strike twice in the same place."
"Well, it won't."
"There must have been fifty dollars in bills in the drawer," continued Felicie, insinuatingly.
"It may stay there for all me. I won't go to the drawer again."
"I must have some money," said Felicie, significantly.
"Then go and tell Aunt Eliza, and she may give you some."
"I don't think your Aunt Eliza likes me," said Felicie, frankly.
"Very likely not," said Harold, with equal candor.
"You can raise some money on your watch, Master Harold," suggested Felicie.
"How?"
"At the pawnbroker's."
"Well, I don't mean to."
"No?"
"No!" returned Harold, emphatically.
"Suppose I go and tell Mrs. Merton who took her money?"
"You would only expose yourself."
"I did not take it."
"You made me divide with you."
"I shall deny all that. Besides, I shall tell all that I saw – on that day."
Harold felt troubled. Felicie might, as he knew, make trouble for him, and though he could in time inform against her, that would not make matters much better for him. Probably the whole story would come out, and he felt sure that the French maid would not spare him.
A lucky thought came to him.
"Felicie," he said, "I think I can suggest something that will help you."
"Well, what is it?"
"Go to my aunt's drawer yourself. You have plenty of chance, and you can keep all the money you find. I won't ask you for any of it."
Felicie eyed him sharply. She was not sure but he meant to trap her.
"I have no keys," she said.
"You can use the same bunch I have. Here they are!"
Felicie paused a moment, then took the proffered keys. After all, why should she not make use of the suggestion? It would be thought that the second thief was the same as the first.
"Can I rely on your discretion, Master Harold?" she asked.
"Yes, certainly. I am not very likely to say anything about the matter."
"True! It might not be for your interest. Good-morning, Master Harold, I won't detain you any longer."
Harold left the house with a feeling of relief.
"I hope Felicie will be caught!" he said to himself. "I have a great mind to give Aunt Eliza a hint."
It looked as if the generally astute Felicie had made a mistake.
CHAPTER XXXIX
LUKE WALTON'S LETTER
"Here is a letter for you, Luke!" said Mrs. Walton.
Luke took it in his hand, and regarded it curiously. He was not in the habit of receiving letters.
"It is postmarked Milwaukee," he said.
"Do you know anyone in Milwaukee?" asked his mother.
"No; or stay, it must be from Mr. Powell, a brother of Mrs. Tracy."
"Probably he sends a message to his sister."
By this time Luke had opened the following letter, which he read with great surprise and excitement:
DEAR LUKE: – Come to Milwaukee as soon as you can, and join me at the Prairie Hotel. I write in your own interest. There is a large sum due to your father, which I may be able to put you in the way of collecting. You had better see Aunt Eliza, and ask leave of absence for a day or two. If you haven't money enough to come on, let her know, and I am sure she will advance it to you.
Your friend,
WARNER POWELL.
"What can it mean?" asked Mrs. Walton, to whom Luke read the letter.
"It must refer to the ten thousand dollars which father sent to us on his dying bed."
"If it were only so!" said the widow, clasping her hands.
"At any rate, I shall soon find out, mother. I had better take the letter which was sent us, giving us the first information of the legacy."
"Very well, Luke! I don't know anything about business. I must leave the matter entirely in your hands.
"I will go at once to Mrs. Merton and ask if it will inconvenience her if I go away for a couple of days."
"Do so, Luke! She is a kind friend, and you should do nothing without her permission."
Luke took the cars for Prairie Avenue, though it was afternoon, and he had been there once already. He was shown immediately into the old lady's presence.
Mrs. Merton saw him enter with surprise.
"Has anything happened, Luke?" she asked.
"I have received a letter from your nephew, summoning me to Milwaukee."
"I hope he is not in any scrape."
"No; it is a very friendly letter, written in my interest. May I read it to you?"
"I shall be glad to hear it."
Mrs. Merton settled herself back in her rocking-chair, and listened to the reading of the letter.
"Do you know what this refers to, Luke?" she asked.
"Yes; my father on his deathbed in California intrusted a stranger with ten thousand dollars to bring to my mother. He kept it for his own use, and it was only by an accident that we heard about the matter."
"You interest me, Luke. What was the accident?"
Luke explained.
"It must be this that Mr. Powell refers to," he added.
"But I don't see how my nephew should have anything to do with it."
"There is a man in Milwaukee who answers the description of the stranger to whom my poor father intrusted his money. I have seen him, for he often comes to Chicago. I have even spoken to him."
"Have you ever taxed him with this breach of trust?"
"No, for he bears a different name. He is Thomas Browning, while the letter mentions Thomas Butler."
"He may have changed his name."
"I was stupid not to think of that before. There can hardly be two men so singularly alike. I have come to ask you, Mrs. Merton, if you can spare me for two or three days."
"For as long as you like, Luke," said the old lady, promptly. "Have you any money for your traveling expenses?"
"Yes, thank you."
"No matter. Here are twenty dollars. Money never comes amiss."
"You are always kind to me, Mrs. Merton," said Luke, gratefully.
"It is easy to be kind if one is rich. I want to see that man punished. Let me give you one piece of advice. Be on your guard with this man! He is not to be trusted."
"Thank you! I am sure your advice is good."
"I wish you good luck, Luke. However things may turn out, there is one thing that gratifies me. Warner is showing himself your friend. I have looked upon him till recently as a black sheep, but he is redeeming himself rapidly in my eyes. I shall not forget his kindness to you."
As Luke went downstairs he met Mrs. Tracy.
"Here again!" said she, coldly. "Did my aunt send for you this afternoon?"
"No, madam."
"Then you should not have intruded. You are young, but you are very artful. I see through your schemes, you may rest assured."
"I wished to show Mrs. Merton a letter from your brother, now in Milwaukee," said Luke.
"Oh, that's it, is it? Let me see the letter."
"I must refer you to Mrs. Merton."
"He has probably sent to Aunt Eliza for some money," thought Mrs. Tracy. "He and the boy are well matched."