“I would have preferred to have kept this matter quiet,” said Mr.
Fitler, the officer. “But that cannot be done now. The robbery of the
cloths is public property, and the arrest of John Elkton has made the
affair of the silks as public.”
“And he still refuses to tell where he got the piece which he gave my
ward?” asked Mr. Leonard, anxiously.
“Yes. We cannot get a word from him about it.”
“That has a very suspicious look,” said Mr. Wilson. “The man could have
no object in screening robbers unless he hopes to save himself by it.”
“He won’t save himself,” said the officer, sharply. “It looks more like
the old principle of honor among thieves.”
“You still think it is some one in the store?” asked Wilson.
“The work could not have been done without an accomplice here. Have you
gained any new ideas about it?”
“I am still more doubtful about that boy,” said Wilson. “There has been
a suspicious-looking old man here to see him.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Fitler, interested. “Was he known, or was any effort
made to follow him?”
“No. I was not here.”
“If he comes again he must be spotted. I don’t believe that boy is
implicated, but we cannot afford to trust anybody.”
“Why not follow the boy then?” suggested Mr. Leonard. “His places of
resort and associates should be known.”
“A good idea,” replied the officer. “I will put it in practice. Has
anything fresh turned up? Any new raid on your dry-goods?”
“Nothing. We have had no new stuffs in lately. I expect to have some in
next week and will see that they are watched.”
“You may save yourself the trouble. They won’t be touched,” said the
officer, decisively. “There has been too much stir about the last for
the thieves to move again so soon.”
“I agree with you in that,” said Wilson. “They won’t be touched.”
“How about the investigation of your books?” asked Mr. Fitler. “Did you
trace any loss?”
“Yes. There have evidently been robberies committed before. Three or
four at least. Perhaps a dozen.”
“Ah! That is important. Running how long?”
“Over a year.”
“That changes the aspect of things. Have all your employes been with
you that long?”
“All except Will.”
“That fact seems to clear Will. There will be no harm in watching him,
though. I suppose you have received hundreds of invoices in that time?”
“Yes.”
“Then the robbers are choice in their operations. They don’t make a
raid on every invoice. I judge from that this lot you expect now would
not be disturbed, even if there had been no discovery.”
“I quite agree with you there,” said Mr. Wilson. “They will wait till
our vigilance is relaxed.”
Mr. Fitler leaned back in his chair, looking closely at Wilson as he
spoke.
This intent observation of persons was a habit of his. It seemed to be
called forth now by Mr. Wilson’s decided settling of how the thieves
would act. His tone had been very positive.
“I guess it is very likely you are right,” said the officer, carelessly.
They were interrupted by the opening of the door, and the abrupt
entrance of Will into the room.
He laid a small package on the table.
“Mr. Thompson says that’s all correct,” he said, nodding familiarly to
the officer.
“Very well,” answered Mr. Leonard.
“He wants to know, what’s more, what stuff you feed your messengers on,
that makes them so slippery of the tongue.”
“You have been giving him some impudence, Will,” said Mr. Leonard.
“Not a bit. I never give impudence,” said Will, indignantly. “I jist
wakened some of them up a trifle. They were loafing over other things,
you see, and keeping me waiting. Now that weren’t my idee of bizness,
and I didn’t stop long to say so.”
“What did you say to them?” asked Wilson.
“I told them that if they thought I was goin’ to hang round cooling my
shins waitin’ on them, they’d spent their money for the wrong monkey,
that was all. But I didn’t give no impudence.”
“You came very near it, then,” said Wilson.
“Bizness is about done up for to-night, and I’ve got some of my own to
’tend to. Anything ag’in’ my gettin’ off early?” asked Will.
“No. You can go,” said Mr. Leonard.
“That’s clever. Want to call on my uncle,” replied Will, with an odd
look, as he left the room.
“There is some hidden meaning in that last remark,” said the officer,
rising. “Very likely he may be going to call on the old man you speak
of. I think I will track him and learn who this individual is.”
Will was not twenty steps from the door before the eyes of the shrewd
officer were on him. Unconscious of espionage he hurried in a rapid
manner through the streets, giving Mr. Fitler some trouble to keep him
in sight.
He stopped at length on the doorstep of one of the fine houses on Arch
street, and boldly rung the bell.
“Wonder what the deuce he wants there?” muttered the officer. “It is
a queer place for a young reprobate like him to be visiting. Not much
like the house of a burglar, that’s sure.”
It was more than an hour before Will reappeared. He went now straight
to his home in a very different quarter of the city, leaving the
officer full of wonder that a boy like Will could have business
detaining him so long in an Arch street residence.
Will had found the grateful old gentleman at home, and had had a long
chat with him.
There was much evidence of wealth in Mr. Somers’s surroundings, and
the room in which he was interviewed by Will was richly furnished, and
tastefully adorned with oil paintings and other objects of art.
He questioned Will very closely as to his former life, his present
residence and mode of living, his advantages of education, etc.
His young visitor, however, was not very communicative.
“Never went to school much,” said Will, frankly, when this point was
touched on. “Been pickin’ up my schoolin’ on the street. It’s a rough
one, but I’ve learnt something. I ain’t worth a cent at books, but I’m
good at men.”
“Which is a very important branch of education,” said Mr. Somers. “Your
father and mother are not living then?”
“Never had none that I know on.”
“That is bad, very bad,” said Mr. Somers, feelingly. “No wonder that a
poor little orphan like you has had a rough life. It is well that you
have come through life with an honest record, after being exposed to
such temptations.”
“I never carried away anything I hadn’t earned,” said Will, “and never
hit a boy that wasn’t as big or bigger than me. And never took no slack
from anybody, if he was as big as a meeting-house and dressed like a
king.”
“Brave, independent and honest,” said the old gentleman, “you are the
making of a true American citizen. I only hope _my_ poor boy may have
as good a record.”
“Your boy?” said Will, questioningly.
“Yes, my lad,” said Mr. Somers, with a pained expression. “I had two
dear children, a boy and a girl, who are lost to me. I do not know if
they even live. Perhaps it is better if they do not.”
“That’s a bad biz’ness,” said Will, looking the sympathy he so poorly
expressed.
“They were stolen from me by an enemy, an old vagrant who had a fancied
injury to revenge. I have sought them in vain ever since. I fear I
shall never find them.”
“And the old vagabond?”
“He is dead. His secret perished with him.”
“Well, that’s bad. Don’t wonder you’re down-hearted. Hope you’ll run
across them yet, but it’s risky. Guess I’ll have to go now.”
“Sit still a minute,” said the old man, decisively. “I wish to have
some further conversation with you. I owe you a debt which is not yet
repaid.”
“Oh, drop that!” cried Will, impatiently.
“I have taken a fancy to you aside from that. You are living in squalor
and ignorance. I am wealthy and alone. What hinders me from taking
you into my house, and giving you the advantages of which fortune has
deprived you? I know you will amply repay my care.”
“There’s one thing hinders,” said Will, dryly.
“I see no hindrance. What is it?”
“It’s only that I ain’t in the notion of being took in and done for.
I’ve hoed my own row so fur, and guess I’ll keep it up.”
“But this is an idle scruple. You would feel no dependence here.”
“I’d feel it in my own muscles and in my own nerves,” said Will,
decisively. “I wouldn’t marry no gal that was richer than me, and I
ain’t going to adopt a rich stepfather. I went into Mr. Leonard’s
store with a notion to learn bizness, and I’m not the feller to stand
at the bottom of the ladder. If I haven’t made my pile before ten years
I’ll sell out. Much obliged to you all the same, but can’t see it in
your light.”
Mr. Somers did his best to overcome this scruple, but Will was not to
be shaken. He would not eat the bread of dependence.