Robert Coverdale's Struggle: or, on the Wave of Success

CHAPTER XXI
THE HERMIT'S SECRET

Mr. Jones, in his anger at Robert, regretted that he must wait four weeks before he could turn him and his aunt out of the house. It would be a great satisfaction to him to see the boy without a roof to shelter him, reduced to becoming a tramp or to take refuge in the poorhouse.

"By George, I'll humble the young beggar's pride!" exclaimed Mr. Jones as he hastened homeward from his unsatisfactory interview.

It must be admitted that Robert had not been exactly respectful, but, on the other hand, it is quite certain that the landlord had been rude and rough in manner and speech.

Why, then, did not Mr. Jones foreclose the mortgage instantly and gratify his resentment? Because in the instrument there was a proviso requiring a notice of four weeks.

However, he felt that it would make little difference.

"They can't raise the money in four weeks," he reflected. "There's nobody round here who will lend them the money, and they don't know anybody anywhere else."

So, on the whole, he was satisfied. Four weeks would soon pass, and then his thirst for revenge would be sated.

"What makes you so sober, my boy?" asked the hermit when Robert made his regular call upon him the next day.

"I feel anxious," answered the boy.

"But why need you? You told me your uncle did very little for the family. I think you will be able to take care of your aunt. If not, I will help you more."

"Thank you, sir; you are very kind. But we thought when you called the other day that we owned the house and would have no rent to pay."

"Were you mistaken about this?" asked the hermit quickly.

"It seems so. Mr. Jones, the tavern keeper, has a mortgage on the property and threatens to foreclose in four weeks unless the money is paid. Of course, we can't pay him, and I suppose we shall be turned out."

"How large is this mortgage?"

"Two hundred dollars."

"That is not a very great sum."

"It is very large to us. You know how poor we are."

"But have you no friend who will lend you the money?"

"No, sir."

"Are you sure of that?" asked the hermit with a peculiar smile, which inspired new hope in Robert. Then, without waiting for a reply, the man continued:

"If you are willing, I will pay this mortgage when the time comes, and I will be your creditor instead of Mr. Jones."

"How can I thank you?" exclaimed Robert joyfully. "My aunt will be delighted."

"Tell her then, but no one else. It will give Mr. Jones a surprise."

"It won't be a pleasant one. He was very rude and impolite and said he hoped to see us in the poorhouse."

"I don't believe you will ever go there, Robert," said the hermit, looking earnestly at the strong, energetic face of the boy before him.

"No, sir, I don't believe we will. But you are doing a great deal for us, sir. How can I ever repay you? If there was anything I could do for you I should be glad."

"Perhaps you can," said the hermit in a musing tone.

"Let me know what it is, sir, and I'll be glad to do it."

"Have you ever wondered," asked the hermit abruptly, "why I have left the haunts of men and retired to this out-of-the-way spot?"

"Yes, sir. I have thought of that often."

"Your curiosity is natural. I am not a poor man – in fact I should be called rich. Poverty and pecuniary troubles, therefore, have nothing to do with my strange act – as the world considers it. In my life there have been two tragedies. I was married, at the age of thirty, to a very beautiful young lady, whom I tenderly loved. I made my home in a city of considerable size and lived as my means warranted. One evening, as my wife stood before the open grate, dressed for a party, her dress caught fire, and before help could arrive she was fatally injured. Of course the blow was a terrible one. But I had a child – a boy of five – on whom my affections centered. A year later he mysteriously disappeared, and from that day I have never heard a word of him. When search proved unavailing, I became moody and a settled melancholy took possession of me. I could not endure the sight of other parents happy in the possession of children, and I doomed myself to a solitary life, wandering here and there till, two years since, I chanced to find this cave and made my home here."

"How old would your son be now?" asked Robert with interest.

"About your own age – perhaps a little older. It was this and a fancied resemblance which attracted me toward you."

"Had you any suspicion that your son was stolen?" asked Robert.

"Yes. In particular I suspected a cousin who would be my probable heir in case my boy died. But I could never prove anything, and the man expressed so much sympathy that I was ashamed to avow any suspicions. But Charles Waldo was a covetous man, insatiable in his greed of money and absolutely cold and unsympathetic, though his manner was plausible. He hoped that this second blow would kill me, but he has been disappointed."

"If the boy is living, perhaps he knows where he is," said Robert.

"If he abducted him – yes. He would not kill him, for he is too cautious a man and has too great fear of the law."

"Where is Mr. Waldo now living?"

"In Ohio. He has a large farm and a moderate amount of money invested – some twenty thousand dollars perhaps – so that he is able to live at ease. He was disappointed because I would not give him the charge of my property, but with the lingering suspicion in my mind I could not make up my mind to do it. He also sought a loan of ten thousand dollars, which I refused."

"How then does he expect to be your heir?" asked Robert.

"Two-thirds of my property is entailed and must be left to him if my boy is dead."

"If he really stole your son, he must be a wicked man," said Robert with boyish indignation at the thought.

"Yes, for he has wrecked two lives – mine and my boy's."

"Have you no hope of ever again seeing your son?"

"Only a slight one. I have thought of a plan in which I need your help."

"If I can help you, sir," said Robert heartily, "I will do so gladly."

"I do not doubt it, Robert," said the hermit kindly. "I will explain my meaning. If Charles Waldo knows anything of my lost boy, he must, from time to time, hold communication with him, and if he is watched he may some day reveal his hiding place."

"Why do you not go out to where he lives and watch him?"

"It would do no good. It would only put him on his guard. I intend this office for you."

"For me?" exclaimed Robert in amazement.

"Yes, you are young, but you have natural ability, and shrewdness. At any rate, you are the only one I have to send. It is a desperate chance, but I shall feel better satisfied when I have tried it."

"I will follow your instructions whenever you wish," said Robert, his heart beating at the prospect of seeing something of that world of which he had seen so little and heard so much.

"My instructions will be few. I must trust much to your shrewdness. You will need to visit the town where my cousin lives to observe his habits and any unusual visitors he may have – in fact, try to arrive at the knowledge of the secret, if there is one, connected with my boy's disappearance."

"What was your son's name?"

"Julian Huet. My own name is Gilbert Huet, but this information is for your ear alone."

"I will not mention it, sir."

"You need not feel anxious about leaving your aunt. I will see that her wants are provided for during your absence."

"Thank you, sir."

"And the mortgage shall be paid when it comes due."

"I wish I could be here to see Mr. Jones disappointed."

"You can hardly be back so soon. It may take you six months. The task is one that will require time. By the way, I do not wish you to mention to your aunt the nature of your errand. Merely tell her that you are traveling on business for me."

"Very well, sir. How soon do you wish me to start?"

"At the beginning of next week."

"I am afraid, sir, I have no clothes that are fit to wear," said Robert with hesitation.

"You will provide yourself in Boston with a suitable outfit. You will be supplied with an ample sum of money, and I will instruct my bankers to honor any drafts you may make."

"You will be spending a great deal of money for me, Mr. Huet."

"I am rich, and living as I have each year this made me richer. I will not grudge ten, twenty, fifty thousand dollars if you find my boy or bring me a clew which will lead to his discovery."

Robert was dazzled. It was evident that the hermit must be very rich. He walked home in high spirits. He was on the eve of an exciting journey and he enjoyed the prospect.

CHAPTER XXII
TWO PERSONS ARE SURPRISED

"Aunt," said Robert, his face aglow with excitement, "I am going to make a journey. I hope you won't feel lonely while I am away."

"A journey!" exclaimed Mrs. Trafton in astonishment.

"Yes, I am going away on business for the hermit."

"Where are you going?"

"To Boston first."

"To Boston? Land's sake! How can a boy like you find your way round in such a great city as Boston?"

"A boy of my age ought to be able to take care of himself."

"Why, child, you'll lose your way! There's ever so many streets and roads. I went to Boston once, and I got so puzzled I didn't know whether I stood on my head or my heels. If there was some older person going with you, now – "

"Aunt, don't make a baby of me. I guess I can get along as well as anybody."

"Well, you can try it. When will you be back?"

"When I get my business done."

"You won't be gone over two days, I calculate."

"I may be gone two months or more."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the astonished woman, staring at Robert as if she thought his mind was wandering. "What sort of business is it that's going to take so long?"

"The hermit wants it kept secret, Aunt Jane."

"But how am I going to get along without you?" asked his aunt in dismay. "I can't go out fishing, and the money I earn by sewing is almost nothing."

Robert smiled, for he knew he could allay his aunt's fears.

"The hermit will pay you five dollars a week while I am gone, and here is the first week's pay," he said, drawing from his pocket a bill.

"Well, I must say your friend the hermit is a gentleman. Five dollars a week is more than I can spend."

"Then save a part of it if you like, aunt."

"But what shall I do, Robert, if Mr. Jones comes upon me to pay the mortgage when you arc gone?" said his aunt, with new alarm.

"The hermit has agreed to pay off the mortgage and take one himself for the same amount."

"He is very kind, Robert. Don't you think that I ought to call and thank him?"

"What! Call at the cave?"

"Yes!"

"No, aunt," said Robert hastily. "He would not like to have you. You can wait till you see him. But mind you don't tell anybody – least of all, Mr. Jones – that you will be able to pay the mortgage. As he is so mean, we want to give him a surprise."

"Just as you say, Robert. I am glad we'll be able to disappoint him, for he is certainly a very mean man. Now, when do you want to start for Boston?"

"To-morrow."

"But how am I going to get ready your shirts and socks so soon?"

"I shall not take any of them."

"Robert Coverdale, you must be crazy. You can't wear one shirt for two months if you're going so long."

"I don't expect to, aunt," said the boy, smiling. "I am going to buy a whole outfit of new things when I get to Boston. The hermit wants me to."

"He must be awful rich!" said the good woman, whose ideas on the subject of wealth were limited.

"All the better for us, Aunt Jane, as he is willing to spend some of his money for us."

Mrs. Trafton was considerably excited by the prospect of Robert's journey, and, notwithstanding what he had said, occupied herself in washing his clothes and making a small bundle for him to carry, but Robert declined taking them, with a smile.

"You see, aunt, my clothes wouldn't be good enough to wear in Boston," he said. "Just keep them till I get back. Perhaps I may need them then."

"I'll lay 'em away carefully, Robert. When you get a little larger I guess you'll be able to wear some of your uncle's clothes. His best suit might be made over for you. He hadn't had it but six years, and there's a good deal of wear in it yet. I might cut it over myself when you're gone."

"Better wait till I come back, aunt," said Robert hastily.

He knew the suit very well. It was snuff-colored and by no means a good fit, even for his uncle, while under his aunt's unpracticed hands it would probably look considerably worse when made over for him.

It must be confessed that Robert's ideas were expanding and he was rapidly growing more fastidious. He instinctively felt that he was about to turn a new leaf in his book of life and to enter on new scenes, in which he was to play a less obscure part than had been his hitherto in the little village of Cook's Harbor.

But no such change had come to his aunt. She still regarded Robert as the same boy that he always had been – born to the humble career of a fisherman – and she examined her husband's best suit with much complacency, mentally resolving that, in spite of Robert's objection, she would devote her leisure time to making it over for him.

"He can wear it for best for a year or two," she thought, "and then put it on every day. I am sure it will look well on him."

In the evening Robert went to the cave to have a farewell interview with the hermit – or Gilbert Huet, to give him the name which was properly his.

"You may write to me about once a week if you have anything to say,

Robert," said the hermit.

"How shall I direct you, sir? Shall I use your name?"

"How am I known in the village?"

"They call you 'the hermit of the cliff.'"

"Then direct your letters to 'The Hermit of the Cliff.' They are not likely to go astray."

Mr. Huet gave Robert his instructions and finally produced a roll of banknotes.

"You will find two hundred dollars in this roll, Robert," he said. "You can buy a wallet to keep it in when you reach Boston."

"Two hundred dollars!" exclaimed the boy in amazement.

"You won't find it so large a sum as you suppose when you are required to pay traveling expenses. You need not try to be over-economical. I prefer that you should stop at good hotels and put on a good appearance. But I warn you to keep your mouth shut and tell your business to no one. I depend upon your discretion not to fall into the hands of knaves or adventurers. I know that I am putting unusual confidence in a boy of your limited experience, but I have no one else to trust, and I feel that you may be relied upon."

"I hope I shall not disappoint you, Mr. Huet."

"Well, Robert, I will bid you good night and God bless you! We don't know what lies before us, but if you succeed, I will take care that your career shall be a fortunate one."

Robert walked slowly back to his humble home, almost wishing that the night were over and his journey actually begun.

There was but one way out of Cook's Harbor – that is, by land. A stage left the village every morning for Kaneville, six miles distant, a small station on a road which terminated many miles away in Boston.

The stage started at seven o'clock, so Robert was forced to get up betimes, take an early breakfast and walk up to the tavern.

Mr. Jones, the landlord, was standing on the piazza when Robert made his appearance.

He had no proprietary right in the stage line, but the driver generally stopped overnight at the tavern and the horses were kept in his stable, so that he had come to assume a certain air of proprietorship.

As Robert was climbing up to take a seat by the driver Mr. Jones, with a frown, called out:

"Look here, you young rascal, come right down!"

"Why am I to come down, Mr. Jones?" said Robert independently.

"Because I tell you to. We can't have any boys stealing rides."

"Is this stage yours?" asked Robert, surveying the landlord with provoking coolness.

"No matter whether it is or not," retorted Jones, red in the face. "I tell you to come down. Do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear."

"Then you'd better come down double quick or I'll give you a taste of a horsewhip."

"I advise you to mind your own business, Mr. Jones," said Robert hotly, "and not interfere with the passengers by this stage."

"You're not a passenger, you young beggar!"

"I am a passenger – and now you'd better stop talking."

"Have you got money to pay your fare?" asked the landlord, beginning to suspect he had made a fool of himself.

"When the driver calls for the fare it will be time enough to tell."

"Luke," said Mr. Jones to the driver, "you'd better take that boy's fare now. He wants to swindle you out of a ride."

"You may take it out of this," said Robert, tendering a five-dollar bill.

"I guess we'll let it stand till we get to Kaneville," said Luke, gathering up the reins.

Robert darted a glance of triumph at the discomfited and bewildered landlord, and his journey was begun.

The latter, on Luke's return, learned to his further surprise that Robert had gone to Boston. On reflection, he concluded that Mrs. Trafton must have some relatives in the city from whom they hoped to borrow enough money to raise the mortgage.

"But he won't succeed, and in four weeks I shall turn him and his aunt out of doors," Mr. Jones complacently reflected.

CHAPTER XXIII
AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE

When Robert arrived in Boston he was at first bewildered by the noise and bustle to which, in the quiet fishing village, he was quite unaccustomed. All that he knew about the city was the names of the principal streets.

It was not necessary, however, that he should go in any particular direction. He decided, therefore, to walk along, keeping a good lookout, and, when he saw a clothing store, to go in and provide a new outfit.

He was sensible that he was by no means dressed in city style. His clothes were coarse, and being cut and made by his aunt – who, though an excellent woman, was by no means an excellent tailor – looked countrified and outlandish.

The first hint Robert had of this was when two well-dressed boys, meeting him, simultaneously burst out laughing.

Robert was sensitive, but he was by no means bashful or timid.

Accordingly he stepped up to the boys and demanded with kindling eyes:

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Oh, no, of course not," answered one of the boys, rolling his tongue in his cheek.

"Certainly not, my dear fellow," said the other, winking.

"I think you were," said Robert firmly. "Do you see anything to laugh at in me?"

"Well, to tell the truth," said the first boy, "we were wondering whether you import your clothes from Paris or London."

"Oh, that's it," said Robert good-humoredly, for he was aware that his clothes were of strange cut. "My clothes were made in the country and I don't think much of them myself. If you'd tell me where I can get some better ones I will buy a suit."

The boys were not bad-hearted and were won over by Robert's good humor.

"You're a good fellow," said the first speaker, "and I am sorry I was rude enough to laugh at you. There is a store where I think you can find what you want."

He pointed to a clothing store. In front of which was a good display of ready-made clothing.

"Thank you," said Robert.

He entered and the boys walked on.

If Robert had been better dressed he would have received immediate attention. As it was, he looked like a poor boy in want of work and not at all like a customer.

So, at all events, decided a dapper-looking clerk whose attention was drawn to the new arrival.

"Well, boy, what do you want?" he demanded roughly, approaching Robert.

"Civil treatment to begin with," answered Robert with spirit.

"If you've come for a place, we don't want any scarecrows here."

It appears that the firm had advertised for an errand boy that very morning, and it was naturally supposed that Robert was an applicant.

"Are you the owner of this shop?" asked Robert coolly.

"No," answered the clerk, lowering his tone a little.

"I thought so. I'll tell my business to somebody else."

"You'd better not put on airs!" said the clerk angrily.

"You are the one who is putting on airs," retorted Robert.

"What's the matter here?" asked a portly gentleman, walking up to the scene of the altercation.

"I was telling this boy that he would not do for the place," answered the clerk.

"I believe, Mr. Turner, that you are not commissioned to make a selection," said the gentleman.

And Turner retired, discomfited.

"So you want a place?" he said inquiringly to Robert.

"No, sir, I don't."

"Mr. Turner said you did."

"I never told him so."

"Here, Turner," said the gentleman. "Why did you tell me this boy wanted a place?"

"I supposed he did. He looked like it, sir."

"I don't want a place. I want to buy a suit of clothes," said Robert. "If that young man hadn't treated me so rudely, I should have asked him to show me some."

"Look here, Mr. Turner," said the gentleman sternly, "If you have no more sense than to insult our customers, we can dispense with your services. Mr. Conway, will you wait on this young man?"

Turner was mortified and slunk away, beginning to understand that it is not always safe to judge a man or boy by the clothes he wears.

Mr. Conway was more of a gentleman and civilly asked Robert to follow him.

"What kind of a suit would you like?" he added.

"A pretty good one," answered Robert.

He was shown several suits and finally selected one of gray mixed cloth of excellent quality.

"That is one of our most expensive suits," said Conway doubtfully.

"Will it wear well?"

"It will wear like iron."

"Then I will take it. How much will it cost?"

Conway named the price. Robert would have hesitated about paying so much, but that he was acting under instructions from the hermit.

"Shall we send it to you anywhere?" asked Mr. Conway, a little surprised at Robert's readiness to pay so high a price.

"No, I should like to put it on here."

"You can do so – that is, after paying for it."

Robert drew out a wallet and from his roll of bills took out sufficient to pay for the new suit.

Mr. Conway went to the cashier's desk. The two had a conversation together. Then the stout gentleman was called to the desk. Robert saw them open a copy of a morning paper and read a paragraph, looking at him after reading it. He wondered what it all meant.

Presently Conway came back and asked him to walk up to the desk.

Robert did so, wonderingly.

"You seem to have a good deal of money with you," commenced the stout gentleman.

"Yes, sir," answered Robert composedly.

"A great deal of money for a boy dressed as you are," continued the speaker pointedly.

Robert began to understand now, and he replied proudly:

"Do you generally ask your customers how much money they have?"

"No, but yours is a peculiar case."

"The money is mine – that is, I have a right to spend it. I am acting under orders from the gentleman who employs me."

"Who is that?"

"No one that you would know. He lives at Cook's Harbor. But I didn't come in here to answer questions. If you don't want to sell me a suit of clothes, I will go somewhere else."

"To be plain with you, my boy," said the stout gentleman, not unkindly, "we are afraid that you have no right to this money. The Herald of this morning gives an account of a boy who has run away from a town in New Hampshire with three hundred dollars belonging to a farmer. You appear to be the age mentioned."

"I never stole a dollar in my life," said Robert indignantly.

"It may be so, but I feel it a duty to put you in charge of the police, who will investigate the matter. James, call an officer."

Robert realized that he was in an unpleasant situation. It would be hard to prove that the money in his hands was really at his disposal.

Help came from an unexpected quarter.

A young man, fashionably dressed, had listened to the conversation of which Robert was the subject.

He came forward promptly, saying:

"There is no occasion to suspect this boy. He is all right."

"Do you know him?" asked the proprietor politely.

"Yes, I know him well. He is in the employ of a gentleman at Cook's

Harbor, as he says. You can safely sell him the clothes."

The young man spoke so positively that all suspicion was removed.

"I am glad to learn that it is all right," said the clothing merchant. "My young friend, I am sorry to have suspected you. We shall be glad to sell you the suit, and to recompense you for the brief inconvenience we will take off two dollars from the price."

"Thank you, sir."

"It would not do for us to receive stolen money, hence our caution."

Robert did not bear malice, and he accepted the apology and dressed himself in the suit referred to, which very much changed his appearance for the better.

In fact, but for his hat and shoes, he looked like a city boy of a well-to-do family.

He felt fortunate in getting off so well, but he was puzzled to understand where he could have met the young man who professed to know him so well.

He left the store, but almost immediately was tapped on the shoulder by the young man in question.

"I got you off well, didn't I?" said the young man with a wink.

"I am much obliged to you, sir," said Robert.

"You don't seem to remember me," continued the young man, winking again.

"No, sir."

"Good reason why. I never saw you in my life before nor you me."

"But I thought you said you had met me at Cook's Harbor?" said Robert in surprise.

The young man laughed.

"Only way to get you off. You'd have been marched off by a policeman if

I hadn't."

This seemed rather irregular to our hero. Still he knew that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and as the young man appeared to have acted from friendly motives he thanked him again.

"That's all very well," said the young man, "but, considering the scrape I've saved you from, I think you ought to give me at least twenty-five dollars."

"But the money isn't mine," said Robert, opening his eyes, for he could hardly have expected an application for money from a young man so fashionably dressed.

"Of course it isn't," said the young man, winking again. "It belongs to the man you took it from. I'm fairly entitled to a part. So just give me twenty-five and we'll call it square."

"If you mean that I stole the money, you're quite mistaken," said Robert indignantly. "It belongs to my employer."

"Just what I thought," said the other.

"But I have a right to spend it. I am doing just as he told me to do."

"Come, young fellow, that won't go down! It's too thin!" said the young man, his countenance changing. "You don't take me in so easily. Just hand over twenty-five dollars or I'll hand you over to the police! There's one coming!"

Robert certainly did not care to have the threat executed, but he did not choose to yield.

"If you do," he said, "I'll tell him that you did it because I would not give you twenty-five dollars."

This did not strike his new acquaintance as desirable, since it would be, in effect, charging him with blackmail. Moreover, he could bring nothing tangible against our young hero. He changed his tone therefore.

"I don't want to harm you," he said, "but I deserve something for getting you out of a scrape. You might spare me five dollars."

"I got my suit two dollars cheaper through what you said," said Robert.

"I'll give you that sum."

"Well, that will do," said the other, finding the country boy more unmanageable than he expected. "I ought to have more, but I will call it square on that."

Robert drew a two-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the stranger.

"That I can give," he said, "because it was part of the price of my suit."

"All right. Good morning!" said the young man, and, thrusting the bill into his vest pocket, he walked carelessly away.

Robert looked after him with a puzzled glance.

"I shouldn't think a young man dressed like that could be in want of money," he reflected. "I am afraid he told a lie on my account, but I thought at the time he had really seen me, even if I couldn't remember him."

Soon Robert came to a hat store, where he exchanged his battered old hat for one of fashionable shape, and a little later his cowhide shoes for a pair of neat calfskin. He surveyed himself now with natural satisfaction, for he was as well dressed as his friend Herbert Irving.

He had by this time reached Washington Street and had just passed Milk Street when he met George Randolph, who looked as consequential and conceited as ever.

"Good morning, George," said Robert.

George looked at him doubtfully.

How could he suppose that the boy before him, dressed as well as himself, was the poor fisher boy of Cook's Harbor?

"I don't seem to remember you," said George civilly.

Robert smiled.

"You met me at Cook's Harbor," he explained. "I am Robert Coverdale."

"What! not the young fisherman?" ejaculated George incredulously.

"The same."

"You haven't come into a fortune, have you? What brings you here?" demanded the city boy in great amazement.

"I am in the city on business. No, I haven't come into a fortune, but I am better off than I was. Can you recommend me a good hotel?"

"I don't know about the cheap hotels."

"I don't care for a cheap hotel. I want a good one."

More and more surprised, George said:

"You might go to Young's."

"I will go there. Thank you for telling me."

"I don't understand how a boy like you can afford to go to such a hotel as that," said George, looking very much puzzled.

"No, I suppose not," returned Robert, smiling.

"If you don't mind telling me – "

"I am sorry I can't, but my errand is a secret one.

"Did my uncle send you?"

"No, neither he nor Herbert knows of my coming. I didn't have time to see Herbert before I came away."

"Are you going to stay long in Boston?"

"No, I think not. I am going to New York or Albany."

"It seems queer to me."

"Very likely. Good-by! Thank you for directing me."

George had been remarkably civil, but in a boy like him that is easily explained. He was civil, not to Robert, but to his new suit and his new prosperity.

"It's the strangest thing I ever heard of," he muttered as he walked away. "Why, the young fisherman is dressed as well as I am!"