A SERIOUS SET-BACK.
Earl and Randy could scarcely believe their ears. What was this
gentleman in rusty black saying, that two men had been identified as
themselves and had called for the money sent on by their Uncle Foster?
"There is a mistake somewhere," said the clerk, turning to the brothers.
"You say you are Earl and Randolph Portney?"
"We are," both replied, in a breath.
"Two men were here not two hours ago and were identified as the ones to
receive the money. They had a letter from their uncle, in which he
wanted them to come to San Francisco and join him in a trip to Alaska."
"That letter was ours!" burst out Earl. "I lost it a couple of days
ago."
The clerk turned to the elderly gentleman, who looked more serious than
ever.
"Have you any idea who those men were?" asked the gentleman.
"They were a couple of thieves, that's certain," said Randy, bluntly.
"The money was to come to us and nobody else."
"Where did you lose that letter?"
"I lost it on the road between Naddy Brook and Spruceville," replied
Earl, and gave some of the particulars. The full story of his uncle's
offer to Randy and himself followed, to which Mr. Stone listened
closely. He was a fair judge of human nature, and saw at once that the
two boys were no sharpers and that their story was most likely true.
"Well, if you are the real Portney brothers, we are out exactly three
hundred dollars," he said, after considerable talking. "I paid over that
money in good faith, too, on the strength of the letter and the
identification."
"We had nothing to do with that," answered Earl, stoutly, feeling he
must stand up for his rights.
"Of course not, but--Just wait here a few minutes, and I'll try to find
that clerk from the restaurant who identified the rascals."
Mr. Stone put on a silk hat and went out, to be gone nearly or quite
half an hour. He returned accompanied by another man--a police
official--to whom the particulars of the occurrence had been given.
"That identification was also part of the swindle," the broker
explained. "I could not find the clerk at the restaurant, and I am
convinced now that he was not the man he made me believe he was."
"But what about our money?" said Earl, coldly, thinking the broker might
try to shift the responsibility of the affair.
"If you can find some reliable party known to us to identify you, I will
pay the sum to you," was the answer. "But I've got to be sure of the
identification this time--and you can't blame me for that," added the
broker, with a short laugh.
"No, we can't blame you for that," repeated Earl, yet at the same time
wondering who there was in that strange city who knew them.
"I don't know of any one here who knows us," put in Randy, reading his
elder brother's thought. "I wish Uncle had sent the money in some other
way."
"See here," put in the police official. "Since those swindlers had the
letter that was lost up near where you come from, perhaps you know the
men. Mr. Stone, can't you describe them?"
As well as he was able the broker did so. But the description was so
indefinite that both Earl and Randy shook their heads.
"I know a dozen men who look a good deal like that description," said
the older brother. "It's possible they were lumbermen like ourselves."
"Yes, they did look like lumbermen," replied Mr. Stone. "That is why I
was not so particular about their identification."
For another half hour the matter was talked over, and then as it was
getting time to close up the office for the day, Earl and Randy left, to
find some one to identify them, were such a thing possible. At the
corner of the block both halted.
"I'm blessed if I know what to do," were Randy's words. "I can't think
of a soul who knows us here."
"There used to be a man named Curtis Gordon who once lived at Basco--he
owned the feed mill there. He came to Boston and started a flour
business. But whether he would remember me is a question. He hasn't seen
me in about eight years."
"We might try him--it would be better than nothing!" cried Randy,
eagerly. "Let us hunt him up in the directory."
This was done, and they found Mr. Curtis Gordon's place of business
after a search lasting over an hour. Several clerks were in attendance
who supplied the information that Mr. Gordon had gone to New York, and
would not be back for two days.
"Stumped again," murmured Randy, dismally. "Did you ever see such luck!"
"Never give up," answered Earl, as cheerfully as he could. "I wonder if
Mrs. Gordon lives in town."
"What if she does?"
"I'd call on her, and perhaps she can help us out. She used to know me."
From the clerks in the store they received the Gordons' home address.
It was a fine place on the Back Bay, and it was nightfall by the time
the boys reached it. They were ushered into the waiting-hall by a
servant, who immediately went off to notify her mistress, who was at
dinner.
From the dining-room came a murmur of talking, and one of the voices
sounded strangely familiar to Earl. "Hark, Randy," he whispered. "Isn't
that Squire Dobson speaking?"
"It is!" ejaculated Randy. "We are saved at last!"
Mrs. Gordon came to them a minute later, having excused herself to her
guest. The boys' mission was soon explained, Earl at the same time
offering an excuse for calling at the meal hour. He mentioned Squire
Dobson, and that individual was called from the table.
"Well, well!" exclaimed the squire of Basco, a short, stout, and rather
jolly type of a country official. "I didn't expect to see you in Boston,
although I heard yesterday that you were bound for Alaska or some such
place. Mrs. Gordon, these are Daniel Portney's boys,--you must remember
Daniel Portney,--the one who lost his life in that dreadful forest fire
up our way some years ago."
Mrs. Gordon did remember, and she gave both lads a warm greeting. It was
several minutes before Earl could get down to business, and then the
matter of identification was left to Squire Dobson, who said he would
see them through in the morning, as soon as the Bartwell & Stone offices
were open.
"I don't know them," he said, "but I know some bankers on the same
block, and we can introduce each other."
Mrs. Gordon was glad enough to see some folks from the district which
had once been her home, and asked the brothers to partake of dinner with
the squire and her family of boys and girls. After some hesitation, the
invitation was accepted, and two hours were spent at the mansion.
During the course of this time it was learned by Earl and Randy that
Squire Dobson had come down from Maine in search of his son, a
happy-go-lucky lad, who had run away from home, as previously mentioned.
The squire had heard from a friend that Fred had been seen near the
docks in Boston, but he had been unable so far to locate the wayward
youth.
"I'm afraid he has either gone to New York or on some long ocean trip,"
said the squire to Earl. "He's a foolish boy and is causing me no end of
trouble. If you ever run across him, send him home at once."
"I will--if he'll go," answered Earl; but neither he nor Randy ever
dreamed of meeting Fred Dobson where they did.
The visit over, the brothers left, to hunt up some cheap hotel at which
to stop for the night. This was an easy matter, and at ten o'clock they
retired. A sound sleep, however, was out of the question, for both were
anxious concerning the outcome of their dealings with Bartwell & Stone.
Promptly at the hour appointed they met the squire at the office of the
brokers and bankers. Another banker, well known to both Squire Dobson
and to Mr. Stone, was introduced all around, and thus Randy and Earl's
identification was established beyond a doubt. This accomplished, Earl
received three hundred dollars in cash, for which he and Randy signed a
receipt; and the transaction was over.
Just outside of the office, the boys separated from the squire of Basco,
and the former lost no time in making their way to the depot of the New
York & New England Railroad.
"I don't know what route is best to take to San Francisco," said Earl.
"I guess we had better buy tickets as far as New York first." And this
was done; and a few hours later saw them safe on board a train, with
their baggage in the car ahead. At the depot Earl had obtained a number
of folders of different routes to the west, and these he intended to
study while on his way to the great metropolis.
"Oh, but railroad travelling is fine!" cried Randy, enthusiastically, as
the long train sped on its way through hills and valleys, and past
numerous pretty towns and villages, all alive with the hum of a thousand
industries. "One feels as if he would like to ride forever!"
"I'm afraid you'll be tired of riding by the time we reach San
Francisco," said Earl, who, nevertheless, also enjoyed the journey.
"This is only a little trip of six or seven hours. The next will be one
of many days and nights."
"I wonder how they sleep on a train," went on Randy, curiously.
"We'll learn soon enough, Randy. Only don't let every one see how green
we are," added Earl, in a whisper.
At one of the stations in Connecticut, where a ten minutes' stop was
made, the two lads alighted to stretch their legs and take a look
around. They had been seated in the last car, and now they walked
forward along the broad platform.
Suddenly Randy caught his brother's arm. "Earl! Earl! look!" he
ejaculated, and pointed to a window of the smoking-car. "There are Tom
Roland and Jasper Guardley! What can they be doing on this train?"
Earl glanced to where Randy pointed and saw that his brother was right.
At the same instant Tom Roland saw them, and he drew back and motioned
for his companion to do the same. Earl noted the movement and stood
stock-still.
"Randy, I wonder--" he began, and stopped short.
"What, Earl? Isn't it queer they should be on this train from Boston?"
"Yes. Randy, do you think it is possible that Tom Roland would be so
dishonest as to--to--"
"To get that money, Earl?" broke in the younger boy. "He might be--and
yes, Mr. Stone's description of the two swindlers fits Roland and
Guardley exactly!"