CHAPTER XII
A PLOT THAT FAILED
As the distance was considerable to the business part of the city, Luke boarded a car and rode downtown. It did not occur to him to open the envelope till he was half way to the end of his journey.
When he did so, he was agreeably surprised. The envelope contained a ten-dollar bill.
"Ten dollars! Hasn't Mrs. Merton made a mistake?" he said to himself. "She said it was a week's pay. But, of course, she wouldn't pay ten dollars for the little I am to do."
Luke decided that the extra sum was given him on account of the service he had already been fortunate enough to render the old lady.
Next to him sat rather a showily dressed woman, with keen, sharp eyes. She took notice of the bank-note which Luke drew from the envelope, and prepared to take advantage of the knowledge.
No sooner had Luke replaced the envelope in his pocket than this woman put her hand in hers, and, after a pretended search, exclaimed, in a loud voice: "There is a pickpocket in this car. I have been robbed!"
Of course, this statement aroused the attention of all the passengers.
"What have you lost, madam?" inquired an old gentleman.
"A ten-dollar bill," answered the woman.
"Was it in your pocketbook?"
"No," she replied, glibly. "It was in an envelope. It was handed to me by my sister just before I left home."
As soon as Luke heard this declaration, he understood that the woman had laid a trap for him, and he realized his imprudence in displaying the money. Naturally he looked excited and disturbed. He saw that in all probability the woman's word would be taken in preference to his. He might be arrested, and find it difficult to prove his innocence.
"Have you any suspicion as to who took it?" asked the old gentleman.
"I think this boy took it," said the woman pointing to Luke.
"It's terrible, and he so young!" said an old lady with a severe cast of countenance, who sat next to the old gentleman. "What is the world coming to?"
"What, indeed, ma'am?" echoed the old gentleman.
Luke felt that it was time for him to say something.
"This lady is quite mistaken," he declared, pale but resolute. "I'm no thief."
"It can easily be proved," said the woman, with a cunning smile. "Let the boy show the contents of his pockets."
"Yes, that is only fair."
Luke saw that his difficulties were increasing.
"I admit that I have a ten-dollar bill in an envelope," he said.
"I told you so!" said the woman, triumphantly.
"But it is my own."
"Graceless boy!" said the old gentleman, severely, "Do not add falsehood to theft."
"I am speaking the truth, sir."
"How the boy brazens it out!" murmured the sour-visaged lady.
"Return the lady her money, unless you wish to be arrested," said the old gentleman.
"I don't intend to give this person" – Luke found it hard to say lady – "what she has no claim to."
"Young man, you will find that you are making a grand mistake. Probably if you give up the money the lady will not prosecute you."
"No, I will have pity upon his youth," said the woman.
"I can tell exactly where I got the money," went on Luke, desperately.
"Where did you get it?" asked the old maid, with a sarcastic smile.
"From Mrs. Merton, of Prairie Avenue."
"What did she give it to you for?"
"I am in her employment."
"Gentlemen," said the woman, shrugging her shoulders, "you can judge whether this is a probable story."
"I refer to Mrs. Merton herself," said Luke.
"No doubt! You want to gain time. Boy, I am getting out of patience. Give me my money!"
"I have no money of yours, madam," replied Luke, provoked; "and you know that as well as I do."
"So you are impertinent, as well as a thief," said the old gentleman. "I have no more pity for you. Madam, if you will take my advice, you will have the lying rascal arrested."
"I would prefer that he should give up the money quietly."
"I will take it upon myself to call a policeman when the car stops."
"You do me great injustice, sir," said Luke. "Why do you judge so severely of one whom you do not know?"
"Because, young man, I have lived too long to be easily deceived. I pride myself upon my judgment of faces, and I can see the guilt in yours."
Luke looked about him earnestly.
"Is there no one in this car who believes me innocent?" he asked.
"No," said the old gentleman. "We all believe that this very respectable lady charges you justly."
"I say amen to that," added the old maid, nodding sharply.
Next to the old maid sat a man of about thirty-five, in a business suit, who, though he had said nothing, had listened attentively to the charges and counter-charges. In him Luke was to find a powerful and effective friend.
"Speak for yourself, old gentleman," he said. "You certainly are old enough to have learned a lesson of Christian charity."
"Sir," exclaimed the old gentleman, in a lofty tone, "I don't require any instruction from you."
"Why do you think the boy a thief? Did you see him take the money?"
"No, but its presence in his pocket is proof enough for me of his guilt."
"Of course it is!" said the old maid, triumphantly.
The young man did not appear in the least disconcerted.
"I have seldom encountered more uncharitable people," he said. "You are ready to pronounce the boy guilty without any proof at all."
"Don't it occur to you that you are insulting the lady who brings the charge?" asked the old gentleman, sternly.
The young man laughed.
"The woman has brought a false charge," he said.
"Really, this is outrageous!" cried the old maid. "If I were in her place I would make you suffer for this calumny."
"Probably I know her better than you do. I am a salesman in Marshall Field's drygoods store, and this lady is a notorious shoplifter. She is varying her performances to-day. I have a great mind to call a policeman. She deserves arrest."
Had a bombshell exploded in the car, there would not have been a greater sensation. The woman rose without a word, and signaled to have the car stopped.
"Now, sir," went on the young man, sternly, "if you are a gentleman, you will apologize to this boy for your unworthy suspicions, and you, too, madam."
The old maid tossed her head, but could not find a word to say, while the old gentleman looked the picture of mortification.
"We are all liable to be mistaken!" he muttered, in a confused tone.
"Then be a little more careful next time, both of you! My boy, I congratulate you on your triumphant vindication."
"Thank you, sir, for it. I should have stood a very poor chance without your help."
The tide was turned, and the uncharitable pair found so many unfriendly glances fixed upon them that they were glad to leave the car at the next crossing.
CHAPTER XIII
TOM BROOKS IN TROUBLE
"I begin to think I am the favorite of fortune," thought Luke. "Ten dollars will more than pay a month's rent. Mother will feel easy now about her loss of employment."
Some boys would have felt like taking a holiday for the balance of the day, perhaps, or going to a place of amusement, but Luke bought his evening papers as usual. He had but half a dozen left when his new acquaintance, Stephen Webb, sauntered along.
"How's business, Luke?" he asked.
"Very fair, thank you."
"Give me a News."
Stephen passed over a penny in payment, but did not seem inclined to go away.
"I meant to see you before," he said, "but my time got filled up."
"Have you taken a situation, then?" asked Luke.
"No, I am still a man of leisure. Why don't you hire a small store, and do a general periodical business? It would pay you better."
"No doubt it would, but it would take money to open and stock such a store."
"I may make a proposition to you some time to go in with me, I furnishing the capital, and you managing the business."
"I am always open to a good offer," said Luke, smiling.
"I suppose I ought to have some business, but I'm a social kind of fellow, and should want a partner, a smart, enterprising, trustworthy person like you."
"Thank you for the compliment."
"Never mind that! I am a judge of human nature, and I felt confidence in you at once."
Somehow Luke was not altogether inclined to take Stephen Webb at his own valuation. His new acquaintance did not impress him as a reliable man of business, but he had no suspicion of anything underhand.
By this time Luke had disposed of his remaining papers.
"I am through for the day," he said, "and shall go home."
"Do you walk or ride?"
"I walk."
"If you don't mind, I will walk along with you. I haven't taken much exercise to-day."
Luke had no reason for declining this proposal, and accepted Stephen's companionship. They walked on Clark Street to the bridge, and crossed the river. Presently they reached Milwaukee Avenue."
"Isn't the walk too long for you?" asked Luke.
"Oh, no! I can walk any distance when I have company. I shall take a car back."
Stephen accompanied the newsboy as far as his own door. He would like to have been invited up, but Luke did not care to give him an invitation. Though Stephen seemed very friendly, he was not one whom he cared to cultivate.
"Well, so long!" said Stephen, with his "good-night," "I shall probably see you to-morrow."
"I have found out where they live," thought Stephen. "I am making a very good detective. I'll drop a line to Uncle Thomas this evening."
Meanwhile Luke went upstairs two steps at a time. He was the bearer of good tidings, and that always quickens the steps.
He found his mother sitting in her rocking-chair with a sober face.
"Well, mother," he asked, gayly, "how have you passed the day?"
"Very unprofitably, Luke. I went out this afternoon, and visited two places where I thought they might have some sewing for me, but I only met with disappointment. Now that I have a sewing machine, it is a great pity that I can't make use of it."
"Don't be troubled, mother! We can get along well enough."
"But we have only your earnings to depend upon."
"If I always have as good a day as this, we can depend on those very easily."
"Did you earn much, Luke?"
"I earned a lot of money."
Mrs. Walton looked interested, and Luke's manner cheered her.
"There are always compensations, it seems. I was only thinking of my own bad luck."
"What do you say to that, mother?" and Luke displayed the ten-dollar bill.
"I don't understand how you could have taken in so much money, Luke."
"Then I will explain," and Luke told the story of the adventure on State Street, and his rescue of the old lady from the danger of being run over.
"The best of it is," he concluded, "I think I shall get regular employment for part of my time from Mrs. Merton. Whatever I do for her will be liberally paid for."
Luke went to a bakery for some cream cakes, of which Bennie was particularly fond.
At the same time Stephen Webb was busily engaged In the writing room of the Palmer House, inditing a letter to his uncle.
DEAR UNCLE THOMAS: – I have devoted my whole time to the task which you assigned me, and have met with very good success. I found the boy uncommunicative, and had to exert all my ingenuity.
Of the accuracy of this and other statements, the reader will judge for himself.
The boy has a mother and a younger brother. They depend for support chiefly upon what he can earn, though the mother does a little sewing, but that doesn't bring in much. They live in Green Street, near Milwaukee Avenue. I have been there, and seen the house where they reside. It is a humble place, but as good, I presume, as they can afford. No doubt they are very poor, and have all they can do to make both ends meet.
I have learned this much, but have had to work hard to do it. Of course, I need not say that I shall spare no pains to meet your expectations. If you should take me into your confidence, and give me an idea of what more you wish to know, I feel sure that I can manage to secure all needed information. Your dutiful nephew,
STEPHEN WEBB.
Thomas Browning, in his Milwaukee home, read this letter with satisfaction.
He wrote briefly to his nephew:
"You have done well thus far, and I appreciate your zeal. Get the boy to talking about his father, if you can. Let me hear anything he may say on this subject. As to my motive, I suspect that Mr. Walton may have been an early acquaintance of mine. If so, I may feel disposed to do something for the family."
On his way to the Sherman House, the next morning, Luke witnessed rather an exciting scene, in which his old friend, Tom Brooks, played a prominent part.
There was a Chinese laundry on Milwaukee Avenue kept by a couple of Chinamen who were peaceably disposed if not interfered with. But several boys, headed by Tom Brooks, had repeatedly annoyed the laundrymen, and excited their resentment.
On this particular morning Tom sent a stone crashing through the window of Ah King. The latter had been on the watch, and, provoked beyond self-control, rushed out into the street, wild with rage, and pursued Tom with a flatiron in his hand.
"Help! help! murder!" exclaimed Tom, panic-stricken, running away as fast as his legs would carry him.
But anger, excited by the broken window, lent wings to the Chinaman's feet, and he gained rapidly upon the young aggressor.
CHAPTER XIV
LUKE HAS A COOL RECEPTION IN PRAIRIE AVENUE
Tom Brooks had reason to feel alarmed for his Chinese pursuer fully intended to strike Tom with the flatiron. Though this was utterly wrong, some excuse must be made for Ah King, who had frequently been annoyed by Tom.
It was at this critical juncture that Luke Walton appeared on the scene.
He had no reason to like Tom, but he instantly prepared to rescue him. Fortunately, he knew Ah King, whom he had more than once protected from the annoyance of the hoodlums of the neighborhood.
Luke ran up and seized the Chinaman by the arm.
"What are you going to do?" he demanded, sternly.
"Fool boy bleak my window," said Ah King. "I bleak his head."
"No, you mustn't do that. The police will arrest you."
"Go way! Me killee white boy," cried Ah King, impatiently trying to shake off Luke's grasp. "He bleak window – cost me a dollee."
"I'll see that he pays it, or is arrested," said Luke.
Unwillingly Ah King suffered himself to be persuaded, more readily, perhaps, that Tom was now at a safe distance.
"You plomise me?" said Ah King.
"Yes; if he don't pay, I will. Go and get the window mended."
Luke easily overtook Tom, who was looking round the corner to see how matters were going.
"Has he gone back?" asked Tom, rather anxiously.
"Yes, but if I hadn't come along, he would, perhaps, have killed you."
"You only say that to scare me," said Tom, uneasily.
"No, I don't; I mean it. Do you know how I got you off?"
"How?"
"I told Ah King you would pay for the broken window. It will cost a dollar."
"I didn't promise," said Tom, significantly.
"No," said Luke, sternly, "but if you don't do it, I will myself have you arrested. I saw you throw the stone at the window."
"What concern is it of yours?" asked Tom, angrily. "Why do you meddle with my business?"
"If I hadn't meddled with your business, you might have a fractured skull by this time. It is a contemptibly mean thing to annoy a poor Chinaman."
"He's only a heathen."
"A well-behaved heathen is better than a Christian such as you are."
"I don't want any lectures," said Tom in a sulky tone.
"I presume not. I have nothing more to say except that I expect you to hand me that dollar to-night."
"I haven't got a dollar."
"Then you had better get one. I don't believe you got a dollar's worth of sport in breaking the window, and I advise you hereafter to spend your money better."
"I don't believe I will pay it," said Tom, eying Luke closely, to see if he were in earnest.
"Then I will report your case to the police."
"You're a mean fellow," said Tom, angrily.
"I begin to be sorry I interfered to save you. How ever, take your choice. If necessary, I will pay the dollar myself, for I have promised Ah King; but I shall keep my word about having you arrested."
It was a bitter pill for Tom to swallow, but he managed to raise the money, and handed it to Luke that evening. Instead of being grateful to the one who had possibly saved his life, he was only the more incensed against him, and longed for an opportunity to do him an injury.
"I hate that Luke Walton," he said to one of his intimate friends. "He wants to boss me, and all of us, but he can't do it. He's only fit to keep company with a heathen Chinee."
Luke spent a couple of hours in selling papers. He had not forgotten his engagement with Mrs. Merton, and punctually at ten o'clock he pulled the bell of the house in Prairie Avenue.
Just at that moment the door was opened, and he faced a boy of his own age, a thin, dark-complexioned youth, of haughty bearing. This, no doubt, he concluded, was Harold Tracy.
"What do you want?" he asked, superciliously.
"I should like to see Mrs. Merton."
"Humph! What business have you with Mrs. Merton?"
Luke was not favorably impressed with Harold's manner, and did not propose to treat him with the consideration which he evidently thought his due.
"I come here at Mrs. Merton's request," he said, briefly. "As to what business we have together, I refer you to her."
"It strikes me that you are impudent," retorted Harold, angrily.
"Your opinion of me is of no importance to me. If you don't care to let Mrs. Merton know I am here, I will ring again and ask the servant to do so."
Here a lady, bearing a strong personal resemblance to Harold, made her appearance, entering the hall from the breakfast room in the rear.
"What is it, Harold?" she asked, in a tone of authority.
"Here is a boy who says he wants to see Aunt Eliza."
"What can he want with her?"
"I asked him, but he won't tell."
"I must trouble him to tell me," said Mrs. Tracy, closing her thin mouth with a snap.
"Like mother – like son," thought Luke.
"Do you hear?" demanded Mrs. Tracy, unpleasantly.
"I am here by Mrs. Merton's appointment, Mrs. Tracy," said Luke, firmly. "I shall be glad to have her informed that I have arrived."
"And who are you, may I ask?"
"Perhaps you've got your card about you?" sneered Harold.
"I have," answered Luke, quietly.
With a comical twinkle in his eye, he offered one to Harold.
"Luke Walton," repeated Harold.
"Yes, that is my name."
"I don't think my aunt will care to see you," said Mrs. Tracy, who was becoming more and more provoked with the "upstart boy," as she mentally termed him.
"Perhaps it would be better to let her know I am here."
"It is quite unnecessary. I will take the responsibility."
Luke was quite in doubt as to what he ought to do. He could not very well prevent Harold's closing the door, in obedience to his mother's directions, but fortunately the matter was taken out of his hands by the old lady herself, who, unobserved by Harold and his mother, had been listening to the conversation from the upper landing. When she saw her visitor about to be turned out of the house, she thought it quite time to interfere.
"Louisa," she called, in a tone of displeasure, "you will oblige me by not meddling with my visitors. Luke, come upstairs."
Luke could not forbear a smile of triumph as he passed Harold and Mrs. Tracy, and noticed the look of discomfiture on their faces.
"I didn't know he was your visitor, Aunt Eliza," said Mrs. Tracy, trembling with the anger she did not venture to display before her wealthy relative.
"Didn't he say so?" asked Mrs. Merton, sharply.
"Yes, but I was not sure that he was not an impostor."
"You had only to refer the matter to me, and I could have settled the question. Luke is in my employ – "
"In your employ?" repeated Mrs. Tracy, in surprise.
"Yes; he will do errands for me, and sometimes accompany me to the city."
"Why didn't you call on Harold? He would be very glad to be of service to you."
"Harold had other things to occupy him. I prefer the other arrangement. Luke, come into my room and I will give you directions."
Mrs. Tracy and Harold looked at each other as the old lady and Luke disappeared.
"This is a new freak of Aunt Eliza's," said Mrs. Tracy. "Why does she pass over you, and give the preference to this upstart boy?"
"I don't mind that, mother," replied Harold. "I don't want to be dancing attendance on an old woman."
"But she may take a fancy to this boy – she seems to have done so already – and give him part of the money that ought to be yours."
"If we find there is any danger of that, I guess we are smart enough to set her against him. Let her have the boy for a servant if she wishes."
"I don't know but you are right, Harold. We must be very discreet, for Aunt Eliza is worth half a million."
"And how old is she, mother?"
"Seventy-one."
"That's pretty old. She can't live many years."
"I hope she will live to a good old age," said Mrs. Tracy, hypocritically, "but when she dies, it is only fair that we should have her money."