"He's good enough for me if he isn't for you."
"All right," exclaimed Dick; "every one to his taste. Some people I
know have a lot of taste--all bad. Good-night, old man. Hope you'll
have a bath when you get home."
"My stars!" cried Curly, as Dick went off; "ain't we getting proud?
Washing and charing must be goin' up. It ought to make you feel taller,
Jimmy, talking to a toff like that."
"Keep your chaff to yourself," said Jim crossly. "Dick Boden's a heap
better than you or me."
Curly opened his eyes wide, but being a wise youth in his generation,
and having a particular object in view, he let the subject drop.
"You couldn't lend me another sixpence, Jimmy, I suppose?" he said after
a time.
"No," said Jim shortly, "I couldn't; and what's more, I'd like the last
one back."
"You shall have it in a few days, but I've been awfully unlucky lately.
I'll pay you back, never fear. I wouldn't like you to have to borrow
from the old man's till; it's dangerous."
"Borrow from the till? What do you mean?"
"Nothin'; only I once knew a feller who did that. When he wanted any
money he used to take it from the till, and pay it back Saturday
nights."
"Why, he was just a common thief!" exclaimed Jim scornfully. "I'd
rather starve than do that."
"Of course you would," said Curly approvingly, "and so would I. Let us
be honest if we are poor; that's my motto. But it's hard when a chap's
starvin', you know. Where are you goin'?"
"Home," said Jim. "I'm tired."
"All right. I'll pay you that tanner soon. Wouldn't it be a lark to
march into the shop and ask the boss for my friend, Jim Hartland?"
"I don't think you'd better," said Jim. "He mightn't like it."
"What did he say last night, then?"
"Oh, well, you see," replied Jim hesitatingly, "I didn't tell him. And
I say, Curly, you'd better give me the sixpence in the street."
"All right," replied Curly; "I'll remember." Then himself he added,
"Well, he is a blessed mug, and mistake. One of the regular
old-fashioned sort."
*CHAPTER XI.*
*IS JIM A THIEF?*
Three weeks after the conversation recorded in our last chapter, Mr.
Broad wished Jim good-night, closed the shop door, and returned to his
desk. As a rule he was a cheery, good-humoured man, easy-going, and
with an eye for the bright side of things.
On this particular evening he appeared moody and unsettled, and quite
unable to look through the pile of books which lay on the desk.
Presently, leaving his chair, he walked up and down the shop.
"I can't believe it," he said half aloud. "I don't wish to believe it.
The boy has always seemed as honest as the day. I must have made a
mistake." And his face brightened. Then it clouded again, and he went
on, "Why should I beat about the bush instead of going straight to the
point? I know I am not mistaken. Some one stole a florin from the till
last night, and Hartland must have been the thief."
For some time past Mr. Broad had had a vague suspicion that he was being
robbed--not on a large scale, and not regularly; but now and again he
fancied a piece of silver or a few coppers disappeared.
The incident which converted his suspicion into certainty was this. On
the previous night he had left the shop with a friend. Before going, he
placed a florin, the price of an article just sold, in the till. On his
return the florin was gone, and, according to Jim's own words, no
customer had entered the shop.
It was very perplexing, but Mr. Broad did not like to tax the boy with
theft, and rather foolishly made no further remark. It was just
possible, he told himself, that he only _intended_ to put the florin in
the till, but had really slipped it into his pocket. One thing he
knew--that after going out he had changed a florin in the town.
However, the subject worried him a good deal, especially as, on sober
reflection, he felt convinced that the coin had been left in the shop.
"I hate to do it," he muttered, "but it will be better even for the
boy's own sake. A sharp fright may do him good and teach him a useful
lesson. If he isn't found out now he is pretty certain to go from bad
to worse. It's an awful pity, too. He's a smart lad, and ought to do
well; but I shall never feel able to trust him again, and I shan't feel
justified in recommending him to any one else."
The shopkeeper kept his suspicions to himself, saying nothing even to
his wife. He had watched Jim closely, however, while affecting to be
busy in another part of the shop. Nothing resulted from this amateur
detective work, but Mr. Broad noticed that several times during the
evening Jim cast glances toward the door.
This certainly seemed rather odd, but it was no proof of guilt; and the
stationer concluded his best plan was to lay a trap for Jim, and then go
off the premises, leaving him a clear field.
The opportunity came the next day when most of the shops closed early.
Mr. Broad was compelled to keep open because of the evening papers; but
as soon as they were dispatched, the gas was lowered, and there was
nothing to do beyond waiting for the errand-boy's return. As a rule the
master did this himself, and Jim had an hour or two off.
On this particular evening, however, Mr. Broad said, "Hartland, I am
going out, so you must stay till I return."
"Very good, sir," replied Jim, who really thought it was very bad, for
he had promised to meet Curly Peters at the bottom of the street.
Mr. Broad went round the shop, turned down the lights, except the one
over the desk, and went out, saying,--
"If I am not here by half-past nine, turn the gas off at the meter, lock
the door, and bring the keys to my house. Most likely though I shall be
back."
"Yes, sir," said Jim, who earnestly hoped he would.
"Upon my word," muttered Mr. Broad to himself, as he stepped into the
street, "this business is horrible. I feel almost as if I were
committing some terrible crime. But, after all, it will be a warning to
him. Some men would have him packed off to jail, and then he could never
hold his head up again."
He pulled out his watch and looked at the time.
"I'll just run down and have a gossip at the club," said he. "I feel as
nervous as if I had robbed the till myself.---Bless my soul, boy, why
don't you look where you are going?"
"Awfully sorry, sir," said the boy, who was no other than our lively
friend, Dick Boden. "I hope you aren't hurt?"
"No; but you startled me. You might have been a policeman, you know,
or--or--Dear me, my nerves are in an extraordinary state!"
"Funny old gent," thought Dick; and then, stealing a second look at him,
he said to himself, "Why, it's Mr. Broad. It's no use waiting for Jim,
then. He has to mind the shop."
Remembering that it was early closing day, he had run up directly his
lessons were finished, thinking he might catch Jim and induce him to go
for a good game. He went very rarely now, but he had not quite
abandoned the hope of rescuing Jim from the clutches of his new friends,
who, according to some of the boys, were doing him more harm than good.
Indeed, there were some curious tales floating about which made Dick
extremely anxious on his friend's account.
"I've half a mind to call at the shop and ask him when he'll be off
duty," he thought. "Perhaps his master will be coming back in a few
minutes."
He still stood hesitating on the pavement, when he suddenly caught sight
of a little by-play which turned his thoughts in another direction.
"I wonder," he muttered, "what game those chaps are up to. No good,
I'll be bound."
A few paces off he saw Curly Peters and his mate gazing after the worthy
stationer, and presently they began talking together very earnestly.
Dick could not hear what passed, but he felt sure they were discussing
some scheme with which Mr. Broad was connected.
Now, as a rule, the Angel took little interest in his neighbours'
doings, but on this occasion he could not help watching closely.
"I mustn't let them see me, though," he muttered, and crossed to the
other side of the road.
At last the two boys finished their conversation; and then, while Curly
lounged about the pavement, his companion, whose name was Bryant, ran
after Mr. Broad.
"Hum!" said Dick; "that's a queer start. I should like to watch this
little game, yet I don't want to lose sight of Curly."
The whole affair was most perplexing; but in a few minutes Bryant
returned, laughing and evidently well pleased. He said something to his
companion, who nodded approvingly, and then strolled up the street.
"Going to call on Jim, I'll bet sixpence!" said Dick, who, by the way,
never bet sixpence or any other sum of money in his life. "What an
idiot he is not to drop 'em. Not much use in my going on, I suppose."
He has told me since that he had actually turned to go home, when a
queer thing happened. The two boys had reached the shop, when Bryant
slipped into a doorway adjoining the stationer's, and stood close
against the wall as if not wishing to be seen. In this he was greatly
helped by the fact of the building being in darkness.
Without any definite object Dick did the same thing on his side of the
street.
"This is getting quite exciting," said Dick to himself. "Why did he
slip in there, I wonder? Doesn't he want Jim to see him? But if not,
why not? It doesn't seem very clear."
As soon as Bryant had disappeared, Curly sauntered carelessly past the
shop window and back again. Then he looked up and down the street, which
was now nearly empty, and, appearing satisfied, approached the door.
Dick judged that he whistled softly and received no answer. In a minute
or two he whistled again, when the door was opened partly, and he
appeared to be talking to some one inside.
"That must be Jim," thought Dick. "I suppose they are making some
arrangement; but it's odd the other fellow doesn't show himself."
Presently Curly took what appeared to be a scrap of newspaper from his
pocket, and in order to see it better, Jim came right outside. Then,
almost imperceptibly, Curly began to edge away till he manoeuvred Jim
from the doorway to the front of the shop. The movement was so natural
and performed so dexterously that even the suspicious Dick thought
nothing of it.
But the instant the coast was clear, a dark figure glided swiftly
through the open door and disappeared in the shop. Dick rubbed his eyes
and looked at Jim. His head was bent over the paper, and, whether by
accident or design, Curly kept him engaged in animated conversation.
What was to be done? Should he rush over and give the alarm? For once
in his life he could not decide what to do, and while he hesitated the
opportunity was lost.
Jim was still talking earnestly when the dark figure reappeared in the
doorway, stole away with cat-like stealth by the side of the wall, and
vanished. The next moment some one coughed loudly; Jim looked up with a
start, returned the paper to Curly, and, with a parting word, went back
to the shop door. A dozen yards away Bryant waited for his companion.
There was not sufficient light for Dick to see what took place, but in a
minute or two Curly ran back quickly to where Jim was still standing.
This time Curly did not speak so quietly, and so Dick was able to hear
brief snatches of the conversation, such as, "Awfully sorry--wouldn't do
you--now we're square, aren't we?"
"Yes," replied Jim, slipping something into his pocket, "and it comes in
very handy just now."
"All right," said Curly, walking away; and raising his voice, he added,
"You'll be sure to come, won't you? We'll have a rattling good time.
So long."
Dick was on the horns of a dilemma. He felt eager to tell his chum what
he had seen, yet he had a vague idea that he ought to keep an eye on the
other two.
"I'll follow them up," he said, "and then come back to meet Jim. Unless
I've been dreaming with my eyes open, there's something very rotten in
the state of Denmark."
Meanwhile, Jim remained at the door till the errand-boy returned, then
he went in and sat down at the desk. He had finished his lessons, and
was in the midst of a very exciting story, but somehow he did not find
much pleasure in it.
As a matter of fact he was getting very tired of Curly Peters and
Company. He knew quite well they were doing him no food. On more than
one occasion they had forced him to lie to his employer and to do other
things of which he was heartily ashamed.
"I've a good mind to cut the whole concern," said he, "make a clean
breast of it to the gov'nor, and ask him to give me a fresh start. I
really believe he would do it."
Then he turned to his book again, but it was useless trying to follow
the fortunes of the hero; he was thinking all the time what a fool he
had been in preferring Curly Peters to Dick Boden.
"The Angel's a little brick," he said to himself. "He's stuck to me like
a leech, though I've snubbed him awfully. Never mind, Dicky; I'll make
up for it, if you'll let me."
Presently he closed the book, got down from the desk, and went to the
door, muttering, "I wish the gov'nor would make haste."
He little guessed the shame and agony which Mr. Broad's return would
cause him.
*CHAPTER XII.*
*WHERE IS THE MISSING MONEY?*
"Hullo, Hartland! tired of waiting?"
"Rather, sir. I thought I would come outside for a breath of fresh
air."
"Ah! Everything all right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any one been here?"
"Only Johnson."
Johnson was the boy who did the evening round.
"Just so.--Come inside, Farrant, will you?--Turn up the gas, Hartland.
I want you to stay a few minutes longer."
"Yes, sir," replied Jim, who was getting his hat.
He thought his employer's manner a trifle strange, and rather wondered
why Mr. Farrant, who was a frequent visitor, remained standing just
inside the door. However, he turned the gas on full and waited.
"Sure no one has been here?" repeated the stationer.
"Quite sure, sir," answered Jim, who thought it was a very odd question.
"Then you haven't sold anything, or given change?"
"No," said Jim, who was beginning to feel a trifle uneasy, though he
scarcely knew why.
"Hum," said his master; "that's satisfactory in one sense, at least. It
leaves no room for mistakes." And going round the counter he opened the
till.
One glance was sufficient, and in a loud voice he added, "Lock the door,
Farrant, and bring me the key.--Hartland, come here."
"If he's guilty, he's a good actor," thought Mr. Farrant, who was
watching the puzzled look on the boy's face.
"Count the money in the till, Hartland--it won't take a century to do,"
said Mr. Broad, who intended to be sarcastic.
"Fourpence ha'penny, sir," said Jim promptly.
Without a word the stationer drew a notebook from his pocket, opened it,
and laid it on the table. On the top of the page was a circle with a
star in the centre, drawn in ink. Underneath was written, "One florin,
1884. One shilling, 1885. One sixpence, 1861. Sevenpence ha'penny in
coppers. Silver all marked as above."
"That," said Mr. Broad, speaking very slowly and gravely, "is the amount
of money in the till when I left the shop. Here"--pointing to the few
coppers--"is fourpence ha'penny. Where is the rest?"
Jim's face became white as death, and he trembled violently. Beads of
perspiration stood on his forehead, a film gathered before his eyes, his
throat was parched, and he could not utter a word.
"Come," repeated his master sternly; "I must have an answer to my
question. Where is the missing money?"
"I don't know, sir," answered Jim huskily.
"That's rubbish. No one but you has been in the shop."
"Only Johnson."
"Was he near the till?"
"That is a foolish question," thought Mr. Farrant. "Of course he'll
shift the blame to the errand-boy. Broad has given him a fine chance to
wriggle out of it."
The same idea flashed through Jim's mind, but he rejected it scornfully.
"No," said he, with the utmost deliberation, "he did not go near the
counter. I took the bag from him myself, and he went out again."
"Then, if you didn't steal the money, where is it?" asked the stationer
testily. He was really a kind-hearted man, and the miserable business
upset him terribly.
"Come, my boy," said Mr. Farrant; "this is a sad case, but you will do
no good by denying your guilt. Better make a clean breast of it, and
trust to your master's leniency."
Now if I have drawn anything like an accurate picture of James Hartland,
you will not be surprised that this well-meant suggestion made him very
angry. The blood rushed to his face, his eyes glowed, and, as Dicky
would have said, "the monkey was up" with a vengeance.
"I don't know that it is any business of yours," he exclaimed. "I'm
responsible to my master, and not to you," which was very rude, and very
ill-advised.
"Oh, all right," said Mr. Farrant; "go your own way. You'll feel a
trifle less high and mighty when you've been in prison a week or two."
"It will be an awful disgrace, Hartland. You'll be ruined for life,"
observed Mr. Broad. "Come, my boy, tell me the truth; I have no wish to
be severe with you. Where is the money?"
"I haven't seen it," answered Jim sullenly.
"This isn't the first time, you know," continued his master. "I have
missed money before when you were left in charge, but I did not like to
be positive. Unfortunately for you, there can be no question about it
this time. If you will confess, I will forgive you, for your mother's
sake; if not, I must ask my friend to fetch a policeman."
The boy shuddered at this threat. He had a strong imagination, and he
instantly conjured up the whole pitiful scene. He saw himself marched
to the station, and brought up next morning before the magistrates. He
pictured the grief and horror in his mother's face, and thought of Susie
when she should hear of what had happened.
Mr. Broad understood what was passing through his mind, and said in an
encouraging tone,--
"Come; which is it to be?"
"I really can't confess anything," cried Jim hopelessly. "I have not
been near the till."
"Wouldn't it be as well to search him?" suggested Mr. Farrant. "Of
course he may have got rid of it; but, on the other hand, it may be in
his pockets--that is," he added blandly, "assuming he is guilty of the
theft."
"That seems to be a very good idea," said the stationer.--"I suppose,
Hartland, you have no objection to turning out your pockets? Of course
if you are innocent there can't be any objection."
"No, sir," answered Jim eagerly. "You can search me as much as you
like. Shall I take my coat off?"
"Yes," said his master, "do."
They found nothing beyond a handkerchief and a few odds and ends such as
every schoolboy loves to carry; and a search of the trousers pockets
only revealed a knife, a piece of tarred string, a wire puzzle, and a
halfpenny, which might or might not have been taken from the till.
"Have you anything in your waistcoat pockets?" asked Mr. Broad.
"No," answered Jim promptly; "there's nothing--" He stopped suddenly,
and his face turned very red.
"Well?" observed his master, and the boy felt how stern the voice had
become.
"I forgot," he said; "there's a sixpenny piece, but it is my own."
Mr. Farrant smiled slightly, as the stationer, producing the coin, laid
it on the counter.
"I notice that it is dated 1861," remarked he, "but that may be only a
coincidence." Then he turned the coin over, and pointing to a spot at
the back of the Queen's head, added sorrowfully, "This, however, is
hardly a coincidence."
Jim's knees knocked together as he saw quite plainly the figure of a
circle with a starred centre, similar to the one in the notebook. There
could be no doubt that the coin was one of those which his master had
marked.
"That settles it," remarked Mr. Farrant emphatically. "Come, Broad; you
had better make short work of the matter. Give him two minutes, and if
he doesn't own up, let me go for a policeman."
"I am afraid I must," said the stationer sadly.--"You see, Hartland, the
thing's as plain as a pikestaff; and here," tapping the coin, "is the
proof. You can't explain that away."
Jim felt that he was in a desperate situation, and he doubted if even
the truth would save him now. Mr. Broad might believe the story--his
friend certainly would not--but, after all, it would throw no real light
on the mystery.
"Well," said his master, "are you going to confess that you took this
sixpence from the till?"
"No," said Jim, "because it wouldn't be true."
"Good boy!" exclaimed Mr. Farrant sarcastically; "always stick to the
truth!"
By this time even Mr. Broad was inclined to lose patience; but,
controlling his temper, he said, "Perhaps you will tell me how it came
to be in your possession?"
"I'll tell you all about it as far as I know, though I'm afraid it won't
do much good. Some weeks ago I lent a boy sixpence. His name is
Peters. This evening, while you were away, he called me to the door. He
came to pay back the money he had borrowed, because I had asked him for
it several times."
"Did he come into the shop?" interrupted Mr. Farrant sharply.
"No; we both stood talking outside. He took the sixpence from his
pocket"--Jim was scarcely correct in this--"but we were so full of our
talk that he forgot to give it to me. However, he ran back with it
directly he remembered, and I put it in my pocket."
"Any one with him?" asked Mr. Farrant, who was drumming softly on the
counter, and smiling at what he called a cock-and-bull story.
"No," answered Jim confidently; "he was by himself."
"What sort of chap is this Peters? Respectable?"
"Well, he's very poor, sir, so I suppose folks are down on him a bit."
"Rubbish! You're poor, aren't you? Nobody's 'down' on you! Would you
take him home, now, if your mother was there?"
This was a poser; and Mr. Farrant, noticing Jim's perplexity, began
quite a brilliant tune with his fingers.
"Better leave it to the police, Broad," he advised. "I daresay they'll
be able to supply us with information concerning the other boy. We
aren't likely to get anything satisfactory in this quarter."
In truth Jim's story did not go far toward clearing his character, and
of this he was fully aware. Curly Peters had given him the sixpence,
but, just as certainly, he had not entered the shop. The more Jim
puzzled, the more mixed things became, until at length his brain was in
a perfect whirl. Still he stuck stubbornly to the main points of his
statement, from which he could not be turned either by threats or
blandishments.
His employer implored him for the sake of his mother and sister to tell
the truth, while Mr. Farrant drew a vivid word-picture of the disgrace
and misery awaiting him; but to each of them he replied in the same
terms.
"I did not steal the money!" he exclaimed; "and I have told you all I
know."
Mr. Farrant ceased drumming. "I'm tired of this farce, Broad," he
exclaimed, "and if you don't make an end one way or another, I'm off!"
"Wait five minutes longer," pleaded Jim's master. "Now, Hartland, here
is your last chance." And he laid his watch on the counter. "Tell the
whole truth, and I promise solemnly that nothing more shall be heard of
the business. Beyond the three of us, no one shall be any the wiser.
If you still remain obstinate at the end of five minutes, I shall place
the matter in the hands of the police."
Jim is not likely ever to forget that tiny fraction of his life. His
master stood by his side; Mr. Farrant seated himself on the counter; no
one spoke, and the only sound to break the silence was the monotonous
ticking of the watch.
Five minutes--and then? The boy dared not think of it. He was pale and
deadly cold, but he tried to stand firm, to hold himself erect, so that
his employer should not think he was afraid.
"Two minutes more," said the stationer gravely, and then--"One minute
more. Now, Hartland, seize your chance before it is too late."
Mr. Farrant slid to the ground; evidently he had quite made up his mind
how the affair would end. Mr. Broad took the watch from the counter,
replaced it in his pocket, and waited for the boy to answer.
Jim looked helplessly from one to the other of the two men. What could
he say? How could he prove his innocence? No magistrate would believe
his story, and, as likely as not, Curly would deny it, in order to save
himself. A boy of Curly's doubtful character was not likely to admit
being in possession of a stolen sixpence.
"It is no good," said he wearily; "I have told the truth. I am not a
thief, Mr. Broad. I have never stolen a ha'penny in my life, either
from you or from any one else."
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE.*
When Dick Boden set off after the two boys he had no definite object in
view beyond keeping them in sight. As yet he did not quite grasp the
meaning of what he had seen, though his suspicions were fully aroused.
Curly and his companion displayed no particular hurry in getting clear
of the neighbourhood. They strolled along quietly, and without
attracting attention, for the street was deserted, and the only light
was that thrown out by the public lamps.
At the first corner they stopped a moment, and then, turning to the
right, plunged into a narrow but busy street, much frequented by hawkers
and all kinds of barrow-merchants. Quickening his steps, Dick followed,
but they were already swallowed up by the throng of people.
In the middle of the road a policeman stood on point duty, and Dick felt
a strong desire to accost him; but what could he say? He had really
nothing to go on except his own suspicion that in some way the two boys
had been up to mischief, but the officer was not likely to interfere on
that account.
Putting this idea aside, Dick edged his way through the crowd, keeping a
sharp lookout for his quarry. For some time he saw nothing of them, and
began to fear they had dodged up one of the narrow courts, when he
caught sight of them standing by a hand-cart piled with bananas.
"All ripe! all ripe!" the owner was shouting at the top of his voice.
"Here you are! Two for three-ha'pence. The finest fruit in
Beauleigh.--Out o' the way, matey, if you don't want to buy; you're
keeping off good customers.--Sold again, and got the money! Come on;
it's like giving 'em away at the price!"
"Let's have four," said Bryant, "and don't pick out all the little uns."
"Here ye are, sonny," cried the hawker, taking the three coppers; "we're
in luck to-night. Sold again!"
Bryant shared the bananas with his companion, and both fell to without
delay. Evidently they were in high spirits, and enjoying themselves
thoroughly, only stopping in their feast to nudge each other playfully.
"It's wonderful how flush of money they seem!" thought Dick.
While he stood watching them his mind was busy recalling the events of
the evening. He pieced them all together, and, as a result, made up a
pretty correct picture.
"O my aunt!" said he, "I didn't think Curly was so cute! But the dodge
seems plain enough now. While Curly was bamboozling Jim, the other
slipped into the shop and emptied the till. Ah, ah, you artful dodgers;
that accounts for the milk in the cocoanut!"
Suddenly his satisfied smile vanished, and a shiver of fear ran through
him. Why had Curly gone back? And what had he given Jim? Was it
possible that his old friend formed one of the gang? No, no; he would
not believe that! Jim had acted foolishly, no doubt, in taking up with
these fellows, but he was not dishonest. Besides, if he wished to rob
his employer, it could be done in a much simpler way.
Yet what did Curly mean by being, "square"? and why had Jim said, "It
comes in very handy just now"? Had he shared the plunder without
knowing it? It seemed to Dick that fifty thousand bees were buzzing in
his brain.
"Broad is sure to miss the money," he thought, "and, of course, he'll
charge Jim with stealing it. I wish I knew what to do! If I run back to
tell him, perhaps he'll think it's a pitched-up yarn. Hullo, they're
moving again."
Having finished their bananas the two boys walked on slowly, stopping
now and then to speak to an acquaintance or to look at the contents of
the various barrows. They did not seem at all uneasy; only once, when a
policeman came their way, they separated, Bryant stepping on to the
pavement just in front of Dick. A few yards farther he was rejoined by
Curly, who said something to his companion which Dick could not hear.
Presently they stopped outside a small tobacconist's shop. Dick did not
care to approach too closely, but he got near enough to hear that they
were discussing what to buy.