No one in Mr. Leonard’s establishment was aware of the fact that a
rat of a new species had made free that night with the contents of
the cellar. Will, for reasons of his own, kept his adventure secret,
appearing in the store the next morning as if he had just walked in
from the street.
It had not been so easy to remove the traces of his rough usage of the
goods, and he had spent considerable time in smoothing and folding the
cloths and the richer and more fragile materials which had served him
for a bed.
Something had happened which he considered it important to keep secret,
and he went about his duties with a vim intended to prove that there
was no weight on his mind, but that he was as fresh and free from care
as a daisy.
“Here, Will,” called Mr. Johnson. “You are wanted front.”
“All right,” returned Will, cheerfully. “I’m the lad for your money if
it’s anything under a ton weight to carry.”
It was out of the question, however, for him to proceed soberly through
the store. He went at something like a bat’s flight, taking a case of
goods in his way at a leap.
There were several dray-loads of goods unloading, and he was busily
occupied for an hour. He was just at leisure again when he observed
a person who had at that moment entered the store, and seemed to be
looking around for a salesman.
He was a middle-aged person, who seemed from his dress and general
appearance to be from the country, and not much used to city ways.
Above his flaming red necktie was a face of mingled simplicity and
shrewdness, a beard of a week’s growth, covering the lower portion of
his visage, while flax-like hair escaped from under his wide-brimmed
felt hat and straggled over his forehead.
Will looked around for a salesman. There was none near. This was a
difficulty he was not long in overcoming. He was intending to learn the
whole business. Why not begin now?
“Calculatin’ to invest in dry-goods?” he said, addressing the stranger.
“Why, I’d like to buy a small bill of goods,” said the man, with a
slow, hesitating accent.
“Hitch hosses, then, and come along here. I’m the man you want. What’ll
you have to-day? Silks, shawls, dress goods? Got some fine new styles
aboard. See here, this is jist the article you want, to a thread.”
In a trice, Will had partly unrolled a rich fabric of the most delicate
shades of color.
“Shall I lay you out a piece of this? It’s dog cheap. Just look at that
stuff! Did you ever see anything as handsome? You can feel it, too, if
your fingers are clean. Every spot on that would be a dollar out of
pocket. How many pieces did you say?”
“No, no,” said the customer, with difficulty restraining Will’s flow
of words. “Silks don’t sell down our way. I’d like to look at the
calicoes.”
“The what?” said Will, starting back in open-mouthed astonishment.
“The calicoes,” said the man, hesitating, as if he feared he had made a
serious blunder.
“Look ye here,” said Will, touching his arm in a patronizing manner.
“What part of Uncle Sam’s farm might you be from?”
“I’m from Woodenville, down in Bucks county,” said the customer,
drawing back in a timid manner.
“Kalkerlated so,” replied Will. “Vote for General Jackson last
’lection?”
“See here, boy,” said the man, a little angrily, “we don’t allow no one
to poke fun at us down our way!”
“All right, boss; don’t get your back up. I’d a notion they always
run the old general down that way. But, ain’t you got into the wrong
cornfield? Does this shanty look like a calico-shop?”
“Not much,” said the man, looking round. “You may have some goods,
though, to suit me. We keep a few choice dress goods.”
“Knowed you did,” said Will, confidently. “See’d it in your eye at
first sight. Knowed you wasn’t no ten-cent calicoer. Can show you goods
from fifty cents a yard to fifty dollars. Trot down this way. I’ll make
your eyes water.”
Will, proud of his new position, worked his man diligently around the
store, showing him a variety of goods, and asking him a greater variety
of questions, about the state of the crops, what kind of poultry he
preferred, banty or game, how much corn it took to fatten pigs, etc.
He seemed to have suddenly developed a powerful desire for agricultural
news, and his customer answered him as if pleased with his interest.
“I’ll have my bill now, please,” said the man, after selecting several
pieces of dress goods.
“That’s an inch or two out of my line,” answered Will. “The fellers
in the office will put that through. This way. Got to report at the
captain’s office.”
The clerks looked rather wonderingly at Will’s ushering a customer into
the office, and proceeding with much dignity to introduce him, and
report the items of his purchase to the entry clerk.
Meanwhile the country customer walked lazily about the office, asking
simple questions of this one and that, and waiting for their replies,
with eyes fixed on their faces as intently as if much hung on the
response.
“Who did you say kept this store?” he asked of a younger man who was
intently engaged on a huge ledger.
“Mr. Leonard,” was the short answer.
“Leonard, hey? I used to know Leonards. Anything to the Bucks county
Leonards?”
“I don’t know,” snapped the clerk.
“What might his first name be?”
“Henry,” said the clerk, plunging again into his figures.
“Henry. Reckon I know him, then. Is he in?”
“Your bill is ready, sir,” said another clerk, accosting him.
“Very well. Hold on to it a minute. I want to see Mr. Leonard.”
“He is in his private office, and closely engaged. I do not think he
would like to be disturbed.”
“Oh, he won’t mind me,” said the countryman, confidently. “I know
he will be glad to hear from his uncle Tim, and Jake Leonard, his
first-cousin. You see, I know the family.”
“I am afraid he is too busy just now. I will ask him if he has time to
see you.”
“Now, there ain’t no use for that in the world. I won’t trouble him a
bit. Wouldn’t like to get back to Bucks county without I could tell
Jake that I’d had a talk with his relation. Ain’t this the office?”
“Yes,” said the clerk, doubtfully.
“I’ll drop in then. There ain’t no use standing on such ceremony.”
A repressed laugh ran through the office as the simple-minded but
persistent customer opened the door and ushered himself into Mr.
Leonard’s room.
“He’s green as a cucumber,” said the entry-clerk, as he returned to his
desk.
Mr. Leonard looked up in surprise as his visitor entered his office,
and stood looking curiously around.
“Well, sir,” said the merchant, “can I do anything for you?”
“I reckon not,” said the man, quietly. “Just been buying some goods out
in the store.”
“Ah! Well, I hope you were suited?”
“Yes, pretty well.”
“I am glad to hear that. I hope you will excuse me now. I am very
busily engaged. Will be happy to do anything for you though if I can.”
“Are you anything to the Bucks county Leonards?” said the customer,
taking a seat instead of taking the merchant’s hint.
“No. I am not from that part of the country,” said Mr. Leonard,
impatiently.
“Not, hey? Thought you might be. There’s a Jake Leonard down there, a
real clever fellow. Do you know him? Maybe he is something to you.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Well, well, it was just a notion of mine. Go on with your writing.
Don’t let me disturb you.”
Mr. Leonard resumed his pen, taking his free-and-easy visitor at his
word. The latter stretched himself out indolently, seeming to wonder at
the rapid motion of his host’s pen.
“You’ve got the regular Leonard nose,” he at length said. “Look enough
like Jake to be his cousin.”
The merchant pushed back his chair in great annoyance.
“You will excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I am engaged on important
business. My clerks can attend to you.”
“I think not,” said the visitor.
“Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t like to post them in my business. You wouldn’t like
me to ask them if there’s anything new in the custom-house robbery.”
Mr. Leonard rose hastily to his feet, and stood looking with alarmed
visage at the speaker.
“Who are you?” he asked, in anxious tones.
“Not the bird whose feathers I wear, you can be sure of that,” said the
man, laughing. “I called on you yesterday, and told you then that I
would be here this morning.”
“Not Mr. Fitler! That is not possible!”
“That is my name,” said the visitor, whose face had quite lost its
expression of simplicity.
He lifted the wide-brimmed hat from his head, and with it came the
straggling yellow locks which had helped to disguise him.
“I’ve been having a look at your office hands, and asked them a few
questions,” he said.
“With what result?”
“None. Appearances are all correct. If there are any rascals among them
they have the wit to keep it out of their looks and voices.”
“Have you gained any clew to the custom-house fraud?”
“Not as yet. I have put all the sharp eyes I could on the track. It is
a new style of work, and I don’t know just where to place it among the
professionals.”
“It is no professional,” said Mr. Leonard.
“You think so?” remarked Mr. Fitler, looking up.
“I am sure. Please examine that check. It is my printed form, you see,
and my correct signature.”
“Well?”
“It is a forgery.”
“The deuce! And when did this come in on you?”
“I discovered it yesterday, after your visit.”
“The plot is thickening, and is getting narrowed down,” said Mr.
Fitler, curiously. “Do you recognize the writing in the body of the
check?”
“No. The hand is plainly a disguised one.”
“Perhaps so. I am not sure. I would like to compare it with the
handwriting in the custom-house entry. Can I have the check for a day
or two?”
“Certainly.”
“Tell me all the particulars of the forgery.”
Mr. Leonard proceeded to give him the information with which the reader
is already acquainted; to which his visitor listened with intense
interest.
“There’s a deep one at work here, but I bet he’ll have a shallow spot,”
said the detective. “There’s a traitor in your own store. I had best
pay for my goods and take them away. If I act the country customer, I
will have an excuse for often dropping in. Good-day. I have been long
enough here.”
Resuming his hat, Mr. Fitler left the office.