REINSTATED AND ARRESTED.
TOTALLY unconscious of the storm arising so rapidly on his horizon, and
the evidence that was being accumulated to prove him a thief, Myles
Manning journeyed homeward that Saturday night in a comparatively
cheerful frame of mind. Although he could not believe that his friend’s
promised interview with Mr. Haxall would do the slightest good, or
cause the city editor to take him back on the paper, still it was
comforting to think that so powerful a friend was interesting himself
in his cause.
Why he thought of the old gentleman as a powerful friend he could not
have told, for in fact he knew almost nothing about him. They had only
met two or three times, and the other had so evidently avoided any
reference to himself or his own affairs, that Myles felt it would be
impolite to ask any questions concerning them. He knew that his name
was Saxon, that he was a graduate of X—— College, and that he was a
particularly pleasant old gentleman to meet, but this was about all. So
it now happened that, as he speculated concerning his friend, he was
surprised to find how little knowledge he had of him.
“He must be a man of influence, though, and connected with some
extensive business, if he employs men by the thousand, and of course,
if he wants to, he can give me work of some kind,” thought Myles.
In his present frame of mind he would gladly have accepted almost any
position in any line of business. He would rather it would be newspaper
work than any thing else. At the same time he hated the thought of
working on any paper except the _Phonograph_.
“If they would only give me one more trial there!” he said to himself.
“I shouldn’t care how or why they took me on again; I’d soon make them
want to keep me for myself alone. Of course it would not be half so
pleasant to have Mr. Haxall persuaded to try me again as to have him do
so of his own free will; but I don’t suppose any thing except influence
would get me back there again now. Well, Monday will soon be here, and
then we’ll see what will happen.”
In the little cottage that was now the home of the Manning family
Myles found his mother sitting up and waiting for him. She held the
front-door open as he reached it, and, after kissing him, and warning
him not to make any noise that would wake his father, she said: “God
bless you, my boy! we are all just as proud of you as we can be. Now go
to bed, dear, for it is very late, and to-morrow we will have some nice
long talks.” There was not a suspicion of blame or of disappointment
in her tone or manner, and Myles went to his room with a very tender
feeling toward those who loved and trusted him so implicitly.
The next day they did have nice long talks, all of which ended in their
taking the very brightest and most cheerful view of things. Kate pinned
her faith to the “Oxygen gentleman.” “I don’t know why,” she said, “but
somehow I feel sure he will do something splendid for you, Myles. Even
if he shouldn’t, we have my plan of working together to fall back on;
and the more I think of it the more I am inclined to believe we should
make it succeed.”
Mr. Manning listened to the several conversations without taking a very
active part in them; but once, when he and Myles were alone in the
room, he said:
“You are learning one of the most difficult lessons of life, my son;
but you seem to have set about it manfully, and I believe you will
finally master it. When you do, you will have acquired a knowledge of
infinite value. I mean a knowledge of self-control, self-reliance, and
strict obedience to the orders of your own conscience.”
Thus, in spite of the fact that he was wellnigh penniless and out of
work, with no certain prospect of obtaining any sort of a position,
Myles returned to the city, that bright autumn Monday morning, full of
hope and determination.
“I will have some sort of a place, as good if not better than the one
I have lost before I come home again! See if I don’t!” was his mental
exclamation.
He went first to his lodgings. There the landlady informed him that a
gentleman had called only a few minutes before, who said he wished to
see him on important business, and had seemed greatly disappointed when
told that he was out. He had offered to wait, but she told him he would
be more likely to catch Mr. Manning at the Phonograph office than
anywhere else, and that he had better wait there.
“Didn’t he leave any message?” asked Myles.
“No; nor a card; and he wouldn’t even tell his name; for he said you
would not know any better who he was if he did, but that he’d meet you
somewhere during the day.”
“I only hope he may,” said Myles, as he started up-stairs, “but I don’t
think it is very likely.”
“Oh, Mr. Manning,” called the landlady, “a letter came here for you by
the mail this morning, and I laid it on your table.”
“My prospects are certainly looking up,” thought Myles, who was not in
the habit of receiving letters at any other place than the office—“a
man on important business and a letter both in one morning. I wonder
who the one could have been; and who the other is from? Perhaps it is
from Mr. Saxon.”
It was not from his old gentleman friend, however, but was from Mr.
Haxall, and was written in the _Phonograph_ office on Saturday evening.
It was of such an astounding nature to Myles that he could hardly
believe he was reading it aright when he first glanced over its
contents. Again he read it through, and again, to make sure that there
could be no mistake as to its meaning. Then he uttered such a shout of
joy as startled his landlady in the distant, lowermost depths of the
house. The letter was as follows:
MY DEAR MR. MANNING:
I want you to come back to the _Phonograph_ and report for duty as
usual on Monday morning. If, during our interview of to-day, I seemed
unnecessarily harsh or unjust, you will please lay the blame to my
position rather than to myself. I cannot go beyond the rules of the
office, which oblige me to take such action as I did in your case. You
were undoubtedly guilty of a neglect of duty; but I am well satisfied
that such a thing will not happen again in your case. Although you
failed us in that single instance, your subsequent course was such as
reflects great credit upon this paper, and I am convinced that you are
one of the staff with whom we cannot afford to part. Therefore, if
you will return at a salary of $25 per week, or, if you prefer it, on
space, you will be cordially welcomed by
Yours very truly,
JOSEPH HAXALL,
City editor, the _Phonograph_.
“Glory hallelujah!” shouted Myles. “Go back? Of course I will! As a
space man too. Well, if Joe Haxall isn’t a trump then I’m no judge. He
certainly is the most just and honorable man I know. I’d just like to
hear anybody say a word against him in my presence.
“Mr. Brown, I’ll thank you for that key again if you please, sir.
“Yes, Myles Manning, your fortune is made, and you have come out of
what looked like a pretty ugly fix with flying colors.
“My, but I’m glad that letter was written on Saturday, before there
was a chance for any influence being used to get me back. How cheap a
fellow must feel who, after once losing a job, only gets taken back
through influence.”
So thinking, and hardly able to contain himself for joy, Myles gathered
together the papers he had brought away from the _Phonograph_ office
and prepared to carry them back to it. In his own happiness he did not
forget the anxiety of those at home, and his first care upon leaving
the house was to hunt up a telegraph station. From it he sent a message
containing the joyful news to his mother. Then he hurried down town.
When he entered the city-room of the _Phonograph_ Mr. Brown handed
him the key to his desk as a matter of course. Mr. Haxall looked up
from the reading of his morning papers long enough to shake hands
with him and welcome him back. Nobody else knew that only two days
before he had been dismissed in disgrace. The other reporters, most
of whom supposed he had just returned from Mountain Junction, crowded
about to congratulate him upon the manner in which he had saved the
train with the 50th Regiment on board, and to ply him with questions
as to the details of that affair. To those who considered that he had
snubbed them on Saturday he made ample apologies, and explained that
his apparent rudeness was caused by a piece of bad news of which he had
then just heard.
The first to learn of and congratulate him upon his new prospects was
his stanch friend Rolfe, who had that morning returned from Chicago,
and who, while shaking hands with him, said:
“Now, old fellow, you will have a chance to show what you are made
of. As a space man you will reap an instant pecuniary reward from
every successful effort you make, exactly as any man does who is in
business for himself. You also occupy the curious position that I do
not believe exists except among newspaper reporters on space, of being
under orders and at the same time able to render yourself absolutely
independent of them.”
Myles was so happy, and the future seemed so bright and secure to him,
surrounded as he was by friendly faces, that he read Billings’ telegram
with only a vague wonder as to what it could mean, and without a trace
of anxiety. Ben Watkins seemed so very far away, and to belong so
entirely to some remote period of his life, that Myles could only think
of him with pity and contempt. He had it in his power to inflict a
serious injury upon Ben Watkins, if he chose, by simply telling of that
scene before the safe in the superintendent’s office; but what harm
could Ben Watkins do him? None. Absolutely none. He had been guilty of
but one wrong that Ben knew of, and that had already been amply atoned
for and forgiven.
As he reached this conclusion Myles lifted his eyes to those of a
stranger who stood beside him, and who asked:
“Is this Mr. Manning?”
“Yes,” replied Myles, “it is.”
“Mr. Myles Manning?”
“Yes, that is my name. What can I do for you?”
“You can come with me quietly and without any fuss. I am an officer,
and have a warrant for your arrest on the charge of robbing a safe in
the office of the A. & B. Railroad Company at Mountain Junction.”
“I—charged with robbing a safe!” repeated Myles, slowly, and with a
face so colorless that he looked as though about to faint. “Who dares
bring such a charge against me?”
“The charge is made, I believe, by Mr. Ben Watkins, assistant
division superintendent at Mountain Junction. My instructions and the
warrant for your arrest were forwarded by his uncle, the division
superintendent at that place,” answered the detective.
“Where do you want me to go with you?” asked Myles, with a wild look in
his eyes and his face still deathly pale.
“To the office of the president of the road first,” answered the
officer, evasively. He thought it as well not to say just yet that he
was instructed to deliver his prisoner to the authorities at Mountain
Junction, where he would probably be locked up to await trial.
“May I speak to the city editor for a moment?” asked poor Myles, whose
brain was in such a whirl at this terrible accusation that he hardly
knew what to say or do.
“Certainly you may. I’m never hard on my prisoners so long as they act
decently and behave themselves.”
This conversation had been carried on in such low tones that none of
the other reporters had caught a word of it. They saw, however, by
Myles’ face that something very serious had happened to him, and they
watched him curiously as he almost staggered toward the city editor’s
desk.
“Mr. Haxall,” he said abruptly, “that man over there is a detective,
and has a warrant for my arrest on the charge of robbing a safe. What
shall I do?”
“Eh! what’s that?” exclaimed the city editor, startled for a moment
from his ordinary self-possession.
Myles repeated what he had said.
“But of course it is all a mistake?”
“Of course it is, sir.”
Mr. Haxall beckoned to the officer, who at once stepped to the desk.
“Don’t you think you have made some mistake, officer, and arrested the
wrong person?” asked the former.
“No, sir, not if this is Myles Manning, the _Phonograph_ reporter who
was in Mountain Junction last week.”
“Will you let me see your warrant?”
“Certainly, sir,” said the officer, producing it.
“Um; this seems to be straight enough,” said Mr. Haxall, glancing over
it.
“It was issued in Mountain Junction, I see.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will the case be tried there?”
“I believe so.”
“Then I suppose you want to take Mr. Manning there?”
“Yes, sir, those are my orders; but first I am to take him to the
office of the president of the road.”
“Well, Manning, my poor fellow, this seems to be a very serious
business,” said Mr. Haxall, turning to Myles, who stood like one in
a dream. “I don’t see that there is any thing for it but for you to
go with this officer. You may rest assured, though, that you sha’n’t
want for friends in this time of trouble. I will telegraph Billings to
remain at Mountain Junction until the matter is settled. Furthermore,
as this charge reflects upon the good name of the _Phonograph_, as well
as upon yours, I think I can safely say that no money will be spared to
clear you of it.”
With a voice that trembled in spite of his efforts to control it Myles
thanked the city editor and turned away. He mechanically locked his
desk and handed the key to Mr. Brown, from whom he had so proudly
received it but a few minutes before; then, accompanied by the officer,
he walked from the room without a word to any of his fellows, who gazed
curiously and in silence after him.
A few moments later, when the story spread among them, there was a
general burst of indignation that they had permitted such an outrage
as the arrest of one of their number to take place in that room. Had
the detective reappeared just then he would in all probability have
encountered an angry crowd of stout young fellows who would have
promptly hustled him downstairs and out of the building.
As it was, he and his prisoner were walking rapidly in the direction
of Wall Street; he with a watchful eye on Myles, and Myles so full of
bewildered wretchedness as to be totally unconscious of whither he was
being led.
The clerks in the office of the great railroad company winked at each
other as he passed them, for they all knew the detective by sight, and
suspected that his companion must also be his prisoner. Myles however,
never noticed them. He neither seemed to see nor notice any thing until
the door of an inner office was closed behind him, and he found himself
in the presence of his old gentleman friend, with whom he had dined two
evenings before at the Oxygen Club.
He uttered a cry of amazement. “Are you Mr. Walker B. Saxon, President
of the A. & B. road?” he exclaimed.
“I am,” was the reply; “and you may rest assured, my dear boy, that if
I had known of this thing in time you should not have been subjected
to the mortification of an arrest. I only heard of it an hour ago,
and then I did not know but what the officer had already found you. I
could only send orders to have you brought here before being taken to
Mountain Junction. Now sit down and tell me your side of the story, and
then we will see what can be done.”
“But I don’t even know why I am arrested,” said Myles. “It is absurd to
say that I robbed a safe. What am I supposed to have taken from it?”
“An express package sent from this office and containing one thousand
dollars.”
“There wasn’t a sign of any such package in the safe,” exclaimed Myles,
impetuously. “It only contained books and papers.”
An anxious look flitted across Mr. Saxon’s face at this admission.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
The full import of what he had said flashed into Myles’ mind. The blood
rushed to his face, and he hesitated a moment before asking in turn:
“Does Ben Watkins accuse me of this crime?”
“Not directly; but he intimates that you stole the key of the safe from
his room, which amounts to about the same thing.”
“Then I am released from my promise to him,” said Myles, “and am at
liberty to tell you all I know of this miserable business.”
Mr. Saxon listened with absorbed interest to the young reporter’s story
of his visit to the superintendent’s office on that eventful night, of
what took place there between him and Ben, of his taking possession of
the key for safe-keeping, and of the manner in which he sent it back.
It was a long story, and when it was finished the president’s face
expressed a decided feeling of relief. He said:
“My dear boy, I have studied your character carefully, much more so
than you are aware of, during the past four months, and I am thankful
to be able to tell you honestly that I believe every word you say. What
a very foolish thing you did, though, in taking possession of that key!
It undoubtedly saved property of great value to this company, but at
the same time it placed you in the power of your enemy as no other act
could have done.”
“Yes,” assented Myles, “I see that only too plainly now.”
“But you were short of money that night?” continued Mr. Saxon.
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“And had fifty dollars the next morning? Where did it come from?”
Myles told him.
“Have you that note signed ‘A friend in need’ now?”
“No, sir; I lost both it and what money I had left after paying my
hotel bill, on the night that I was trying to get back to town in time
to warn the train.”
“That’s bad. In fact, the whole combination of circumstances is the
most unfortunate I ever knew. It will be very difficult to prove your
innocence, though, of course, it will be done sooner or later. I would
have the charge withdrawn and the whole matter hushed up even now, but
for your sake. The accusation against you is already so widely known
that nothing short of a public trial and triumphant acquittal can for
a moment be considered. I will use my influence to have the trial come
off at the earliest possible date, probably next week, and in the
meantime I can think of nothing better for you to do than go quietly to
Mountain Junction with the detective, procure bail, which I will see
that you have no difficulty in doing, and spend the next few days in
hunting up evidence for your own defence.”
Thus, at four o’clock that afternoon, Myles found himself once more on
his way to Mountain Junction. This time it was as a prisoner charged
with robbing a safe and on his way to trial.