CHAPTER XXX
CONGREVE'S SCHEME
James Congreve was a dangerous companion for Philip. He was utterlyunscrupulous, but took care to keep up a semblance of propriety, inorder not to terrify the boy whom he was leading into mischief.
They had commenced playing cards for amusement – at least, that was
Congreve's pretext – but it had led to playing for a stake.
Occasionally, when the stake was small, Congreve allowed Philip to win; but, when more than a dollar was staked on the game, he generallymanaged to win himself.
Of course, Philip did not know that he was a victim, and that his chosenfriend, Congreve, was a skillful sharper, who had practiced his art onWestern steamboats, and was sure to get the better of him.
Why had he remained in this country village so long? Surely, it didn'tpay him to fleece one victim, and that one a boy.
I can give the explanation.
He had been leading a fast life for a year back, and a physician whom heconsulted had recommended country air and quiet for the summer.
"Unless you follow my directions, Mr. Congreve," he said, "I won'tanswer for your life. You have been going at too quick a pacealtogether."
James was sensible enough to follow this advice, and that is why we findhim a guest at the quiet village hotel.
The physician's advice proved to be good. His wasted energies wererecuperated, his thin cheeks filled out and showed a healthy color, hisappetite improved, and he felt himself again.
When the first week in September arrived, he felt that he was wellenough to go back to the city, to more congenial scenes. He was heartilytired of the country, and anxious to get away. Only one thing remainedto be done, and that was to collect what Philip owed him.
"I can't wait any longer," he said to himself. "I must compel the boy topay up. It will liquidate my hotel bill and leave me something over. Ican't let the thing stand any longer."
Soon after he had come to this conclusion, Philip entered his friend'schamber.
"How are you, Phil?" said Congreve, carelessly.
"All right!"
"By the way, I've got some news for you."
"What is it?"
"I'm going away."
"Going away? Where?"
"Back to the city first. I have an urgent summons from my friendsthere."
"How soon do you go?"
"That depends upon you."
"Upon me? I don't understand!" said Philip, puzzled.
"You ought to. As soon as you have paid me what you owe me. I need it toenable me to settle up at the hotel."
Philip turned pale. It was just what he had worried over many atime – this terrible debt, which he felt utterly unable to liquidate.
"How much is it?" he asked, nervously.
"How much? Really, I haven't reckoned it up yet; but I will," said
Congreve, carelessly.
He took out his wallet, and drew out a variety of papers, to which
Philip's signature was attached.
Then he sat down at a table, took a pencil from his pocket, set thedifferent sums on paper, and added them up deliberately. All this washumbug, for he had added it up before Philip came in, and knew to adollar how much it amounted to. Philip stood by, feeling miserablyuncomfortable, while the reckoning went on.
"Really," said Congreve, looking up at length, in assumed surprise, "Ihad no idea it amounted to so much!"
"How much does it come to?" questioned his wretched dupe.
"One hundred and thirty-six dollars," was the calm response.
"A hundred and thirty-six dollars!" gasped Philip.
"Yes; surprising, isn't it? Little sums count up, you know. However, we've had some fun out of it, haven't we?"
"I don't see where the fun comes in," said Philip, bitterly. "Of course, it's fun for you to win so much."
"You won some of the time, Phil. Think how many games we have had, andhow exciting it was. You play a good deal better game than you did."
"But I have lost a big pile of money."
"Oh, yes. Experience costs money, you know. You'll get it all back, andmore, too, some day."
"How can I, when you are going away?"
"I don't mean out of me. I suppose my game is better than yours. I meanout of somebody else."
Philip was silent. The hope held out did not seem to comfort him much.
"When will you pay me that money, Phil?" asked Congreve, abruptly.
"When? I'm sure I don't know. I haven't any money, you know."
"That won't do. It isn't satisfactory," said Congreve, assuming asternness he had never before exhibited toward his friend.
"What do you mean?" asked Philip, half frightened, half offended.
"I mean that I need the money, and must have it."
"I'd pay it to you if I had it, but I haven't."
"You must get it."
"How can I? My father won't give it to me."
"Listen to me. I am in earnest. I want to ask you a question. Supposeyou had won, wouldn't you have expected me to pay you?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so."
"Well, it's a poor rule that doesn't work both ways. I tell you, Phil, Ineed that money. I need it to pay my hotel bill."
"Was that what you depended upon to pay your bills?" asked Philip, withawakening suspicion. "I thought you had plenty of money."
This was what Congreve had represented to his dupe, but the question byno means disconcerted him.
"Of course," he said; "but a man can't always command his resources. Ihave sent in two different directions for money, but they have put meoff, so I have to fall back on you."
"I'd like to pay the money, and get it off my mind," said Philip, uncomfortably, "but the fact of it is I can't."
"This is a debt of honor. Gentlemen always pay their debts of honor. Ittakes precedence of all other claims."
"I have no other claims. That is all I owe to anybody."
"Well, when can you let me have the money?"
"I am sure I don't know," returned Philip, sullenly. "I didn't expectyou were going to press me so."
James Congreve saw that Philip had reached the point which he desired.
"I press you because I have to," he said. "I have already told you howyou can settle the claim."
"How?" asked Philip, uneasily.
He could guess, for there had been conversation on that point before.
"You know what I mean. Get hold of some of your father's governmentbonds," said Congreve, insinuatingly.
"I don't want to become a thief."
"Pooh! Isn't he your father, and ain't you an only son? Won't it all beyours sometime?"
"Yes, but – "
"Oh, don't bother with buts! That makes all the difference in theworld."
"I couldn't do it without being suspected," objected Philip, with whomthis was the principal consideration.
"Yes, you can. You'll give the bonds to me, and I will dispose of them. If you could get hold of two hundred-dollar bonds, I would give you thebalance, after deducting the amount of my debt."
"But I am sure to be suspected."
"Unless you throw the suspicion upon some one else."
"How can I?"
"There's your friend, Harry Gilbert – "
"He isn't my friend."
"Well, your enemy, then. So much the better. You can say you saw himprowling round the house. If you could get him arrested, it would be asatisfaction, even if he wasn't convicted."
"That's true. I should like to get even with him."
"So you can. You can throw suspicion on him, and get off free yourself.
It will be a splendid revenge."
Philip began to think favorably of the scheme, arid before he left thehotel had agreed to it.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE TEMPTER
Philip was far from being a model boy – as we have seen, he didn't shrinkfrom meanness – but it was not without reluctance that he assented toJames Congreve's proposal. He did not feel that abhorrence of theft thata better principled boy would have done, but the thought of resorting toit gave him a sense of humiliation. Besides, the fear of detectioninspired in him a certain uneasy feeling. In fact, he retraced hissteps, and sought Congreve in his room again.
"What! back again?" asked James, in surprise.
"Yes," replied Philip. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to do whatyou proposed to me."
"Don't want to do it?" repeated Congreve, frowning. "What nonsense isthis?"
"No nonsense at all," retorted Philip, not liking his friend's tone. "Idon't want to be a thief."
"You won't be. It's all in the family, you know."
"What if it is? Father won't take that view of it."
"That won't matter to you."
"Why not?"
"Because he won't know you took the bonds. You're not going to tellhim."
"He may find out."
"Look here, Phil. You're the biggest coward I ever met!"
"If you think so, suppose you do it yourself," said Philip. "That'llshow whether you are a coward or not."
"That's absurd. It wouldn't be in the family then. The bonds don'tbelong to my father. There wouldn't be any excuse for me."
"You want me to do what you are unwilling to do."
"You already explained why. Besides, I've no object in taking them. Asfor you, why they are part yours already; and, besides, you need themoney you can raise out of them to pay your debts."
"I haven't any debts, except to you."
"So much the better for you," answered Congreve, coolly. "You won't haveany one to pay except me."
"I wish I'd never made your acquaintance," said poor Philip.
"Very complimentary, upon my word!" replied Congreve, with a sneer. "Itstrikes me that you have got as much pleasure out of the acquaintance asI."
"I haven't got you into my debt."
"It isn't my fault if I am a better player at cards than you. However, that's neither here nor there. I don't propose to play any more withyou. I ought not to have let you run up such a score. Just pay that off, and I won't trouble you any more."
"I've told you I can't pay you."
"Except in one way, and that way is an easy enough one. Listen toreason, Phil," he said, dropping his sneer. "Don't you see it is goingto benefit you as well as me? You'll have a good deal of money left foryour own use, after paying me, provided you take two hundred-dollarbonds. It will be convenient to have fifty or sixty dollars in yourpocket, eh?'
"Yes," assented Philip, more cheerfully.
"Of course it will, and it will be fun to see Harry Gilbert hauled upfor stealing them. Ho! ho! ho!"
Philip echoed the laughter. This phase of the transaction certainly didplease him.
"If it can be brought about," he said, doubtfully.
"Of course it can. Listen, and I'll tell you how. You can tell yourfather you saw Harry acting suspiciously near the house the evening itis done."
"But the door would be locked."
"You can unlock it, and leave it unlocked all night. It will be found soin the morning; and, even if the bonds are not immediately missed, thecircumstance will be remembered."
Philip's mind changed again. The plan looked more feasible andattractive as Congreve represented it.
"Well, I don't know but I'll try it," he said.
"I thought you'd be sensible," said Congreve, inwardly rejoiced. "Now, let me give you one piece of advice."
"What is that?"
"Strike while the iron's hot. If you want to know what that means, neverput off till to-morrow what you can do to-day."
"You don't mean I should go right home and do it?" said Philip, nervously.
"No; wait till to-night – when everybody is in bed. Then steal downstairsand do the job. The sooner it's over, the better!"
"I'll see about it," replied Philip, hesitatingly.
"He's a little coward," said Congreve to himself; "but I guess I canbring him to it."
CHAPTER XXXII
PHILIP DOES NOT FEEL HAPPY
At supper time Philip seemed so sober and preoccupied that his mothersaid:
"What ails you, Philip?"
"Nothing. What makes you ask?"
"I thought you were looking unusually sober."
"I suppose it is because I have a headache," answered the boy.
It was not a falsehood, for the burden upon his mind had actually givenhim a slight headache.
"You'd better let me mix you some chamomile tea," said Mrs. Ross, withwhom this was a specific against more than one bodily disability.
"No, thank you," answered Philip, with an involuntary grimace; for, inhis younger days, when it was useless to resist, he had more than oncehad an opportunity of learning how far from agreeable chamomile tea wasto the taste. "It doesn't ache much. It will be better soon."
"The tea will cure you immediately, my son."
"I won't take it," said Philip, roughly.
"Don't speak in that way to your mother, Philip," said his father, reprovingly.
"Do you ever let her give you chamomile tea, father?"
"No," smiled the Colonel, "I don't require it."
"Nor I; and, if I did, I prefer the headache."
"I am not sure whether I don't agree with you," said his father, smilingagain.
When supper was over, Philip lounged about restlessly. Nothing could bedone as yet – nothing, indeed, till his father had retired and was fairlyasleep – and, in the meantime, he had to wait in suspense.
He strolled out to the stable without any definite object to take himthere. He was in an unquiet, irritable frame of mind, which was likelyto exhibit itself on the smallest provocation.
A boy of seventeen, Tom Calder by name, was employed by Colonel Ross tolook after his two horses and attend to any errands or light duties thatmight be required about the house.
Philip, as he entered the stable, saw Tom sitting on a kitchen chair, which had been transferred to the stable, engaged in reading a weeklypaper.
"What are you doing there, Tom?" he demanded, in an imperious tone.
If Philip had asked in a civil tone, Tom would have answered him withcivility, but the boy's tone was offensive, and Tom was too spirited tobear it.
"What's that to you, Phil?" he retorted.
"You'll find out what it is!" answered Philip, angrily.
"That's just what I'm wanting to do."
"And don't you presume to call me Phil, either."
"Why – isn't it your name?"
"Yes; but it isn't for you to call me by it."
"What am I to call you, now?"
"You can call me Master Philip, or Mr. Philip."
"Ho! ho! It's a joke you're playing on me!"
"No, it isn't. It is your duty to treat me with respect. But you haven'tanswered my question."
"What is it?"
"What are you doing there?"
"Reading a paper. Can't you see for yourself?"
"That isn't what my father pays you for. Go right to work."
"Shure, you want me to work day and night! That's what Tom Calder won'tdo for no man last of all for a boy like you!"
"If you ain't careful, my father will send you away."
"If he does, I'll get another place soon," said Tom, indifferently.
"You're an impudent loafer!"
"The same to yourself," said Tom, indifferently.
After a little further altercation, Philip walked off in dudgeon. It wasclear that he couldn't bully Tom.
CHAPTER XXXIII
STEALING THE BONDS
Contrary to his usual custom, Philip spent the evening at home; and, ashe must have something to occupy him, he spent it in reading. Usually, he cared very little for reading, and was prone to spend the eveningout.
Mrs. Ross regarded her son with approval, as she saw him steadilyreading all the evening.
"I do believe you're getting studious, Phil," she said.
"I'm interested in a story," remarked Phil.
"How much better it is to spend the evening at home reading than to begadding about?" said his mother.
"Well, you know a boy can't be always reading," observed Philip.
If Mrs. Ross had been a close observer, she might have noticed thatPhilip got over wonderfully few pages. Indeed, he sometimes held thebook open at the same place for half an hour together. The fact was thatPhilip cared very little for reading, unless he could get hold of somehighly sensational story about highwaymen or pirates. He simply used thebook as a cover.
The Colonel, his father, was sitting in a room which he called hisoffice, opening out of the family sitting-room, and Philip had seatedhimself so that he could look into that room, and watch what his fatherwas doing.
Near his desk, Colonel Ross kept a small, iron-bound trunk, which heused as a sort of safe, or a repository for valuable papers, andsometimes for bonds and securities. It was imprudent, for anyone mightreadily have carried it off; but the Colonel didn't think of this, or, at any rate, didn't feel inclined to go to the expense of a safe. Indeed, most of his bonds and securities were deposited in the strongroom of the county bank, and, therefore, his imprudence was less.
Philip's eager attention was roused when he saw his father rise from hisdesk, take up the trunk and open it, as it lay on the desk where heplaced it.
"Now, I may find out what he has inside," thought Philip.
Colonel Ross opened it, as I have said, and took out several envelopes. Opening one of these, he drew therefrom what Philip recognized to begovernment bonds, and spread them out before him.
What was the object of this examination, Philip could not divine, nordid he particularly care, though he might had he known that his fatherwas considering the expediency of selling them, and buying anothersecurity – the stock of a certain railroad – which would pay largerdividends. His main interest was to ascertain whether his father had anygovernment bonds, and this question he was now able to answer in theaffirmative.
After a brief inspection, Colonel Ross replaced in the trunk thesecurities he had taken from it, and locked the trunk. The bunch ofkeys, one of which opened the trunk, he laid on the desk, unconsciously, probably.
"I hope he'll forget 'em," said Philip to himself. "It'll save me a goodbit of trouble."
It seemed likely that the keys would be forgotten, for Colonel Ross, asthough his business were ended, took the lamp from his desk, and enteredthe sitting-room, where his wife and son were seated.
"I don't know how it is, wife," he said, "but I feel sleepy."
"It isn't your bed hour yet. It is only half-past nine."
"That is true, but I shall go to bed earlier than usual to-night."
"All the better for me," thought Philip. "Now, if mother would only go, too!"
It seemed as if everything was turning out favorably for his plan, forhis mother answered:
"Well, I think I will accompany you – that is, if Philip won't feellonely."
Philip's heart beat with eager satisfaction. He had expected that hewould be obliged to go to bed, and wait there till his father and motherwere asleep, then steal downstairs, running the risk of detection, lighta lamp, and commit the theft. Now it looked as if he could do it muchmore easily.
He answered, in as indifferent a voice as he could assume:
"I am not at all sleepy. I'll stay up a little longer and read."
Mrs. Ross nodded, in a satisfied way, to her husband.
"I do believe Phil's getting fond of reading," she said.
"I hope he is," returned the father.
"Phil," said his mother, "the servant is out tonight. A cousin of hersis sick, and I gave her permission to stay with her all night. Are youwilling to close up the house?"
"Oh, yes," answered Phil, briskly. "I'm glad she's away," he thought. "She won't be spying round and see what I'm about. Besides, I can leavethe door open, so that it will be easier to accuse Harry Gilbert."
"Good-night," said his mother.
"Good-night, mother."
"Don't stay up too late reading."
"No, I won't."
"How many more pages are there, Philip?" asked his father.
"About four hundred," answered Phil, looking over to the end.
"Then I wouldn't advise you to sit up till you've finished the book," hesaid, jocosely.
"I guess not. I shan't sit up more than half an hour."
So Colonel and Mrs. Ross went upstairs, and the coast was clear.
When he was left alone, and felt that the hour so long anticipated hadcome, Philip's heart beat fast.
"Come; it's easier than I hoped," he said to himself. "And father lefthis keys, too, on the desk. I hope he won't think of them, and comedownstairs after them. That might upset my plans, though I've got a lotof old keys in my pocket, and one of them might answer. However, there'snone so good as the real thing."
Philip had to consider whether he would wait till his father and motherwere asleep, or act sooner. He at length decided, in the words ofShakespeare, though he was not familiar with them:
"If 'twere done with when 'tis done,
Then, 'twere well it were done quickly."
The argument was this: If he acted soon, he could make use of hisfather's keys, and that would save him trouble. On the other hand, therewas some risk that his father might think of them, and, comingdownstairs, surprise him. However, Philip didn't think this was likely, and, in any event, he resolved to take the risk. He could pretend thathe had just caught sight of his keys, and was going to carry themupstairs for safekeeping.
Indeed, Philip did not wait more than ten minutes.
"Father must be in bed by this time," he said to himself.
He took the small lamp by which he was reading, and entered his father'soffice.
There lay the keys, and there stood the trunk.
He took the bunch of keys and selected a small one, which he thoughtlikely to fit the trunk.
It did.
The lid was lifted, and Philip, with eager hand, took the envelope whichhe knew contained the government bonds. It was a bulky envelope, andcontained probably eight or ten bonds.
Of course, Philip didn't venture to take all. He selected two, of onehundred dollars each, and replaced the others in the envelope, andafterward in the trunk.
He put the bonds in his inside coat pocket, and, hastily refastening thetrunk, replaced the keys on his father's desk.
He breathed a sigh of relief to think the thing was done, and walkedover to the window.
What was his gratification to see Harry Gilbert walking by on the otherside of the street.
"All happens right," he said. "Now, Harry can't say he was at home. I'llfix him. I'll say I saw him at the window, looking in, and his denialwon't amount to much, when he admits, as he will, that he was near thehouse."
He would have felt differently had he seen the face of Tom Calderpeering in at one of the side windows. Tom had spent the evening in thevillage, and was now on his return to his chamber, on the second floorof the stable. His attention was attracted by the light in the room, and, as the curtain was partly raised, he took the liberty of peeringin, unobserved.
"By gracious!" he exclaimed, in amazement. "Phil is stealing gov'mentbonds from his father. He's a bad one, but I didn't think that of him."
Tom slipped out, resolved to consider at his leisure what he had betterdo about imparting his secret information. It was well he did, for Philhimself almost immediately came to the same window.