STOLEN MONEY.
Saturday afternoon arrived, and with it came Bert's discharge from the
shoe shop. He put the four dollars in his pocket, and with a sober face
went home.
"There are my week's wages, mother," he said. "I don't know when I shall
have any more money to hand you."
"We won't borrow trouble to-night, Bert," responded Mrs. Barton,
concealing her solicitude under a cheerful exterior. "To-morrow is
Sunday, and we will defer all worldly anxieties till it is over."
"You are right, mother," said Bert, readily chiming in with her
cheerful humor. "I am young and strong, and there is plenty of work to
be done in the world."
"Keep up your courage, Bert, and you will be more likely to win
success."
When Sunday was over, however, Bert felt that he must begin to look
about him. But the more he looked the more downhearted he became. He
went to the village store, having heard that the boy employed there was
about to leave. After buying a pound of sugar for his mother, he
ventured to say, "Mr. Jones, don't you want to hire a boy?"
"Why should I want to hire a boy?" asked the store-keeper, in a tone of
surprise.
"I thought that Herman was going to leave you."
"So he was, but he has changed his mind."
"Oh!" ejaculated Bert, disappointed.
"Are you asking for yourself?" inquired the merchant.
"Yes, sir."
"I thought you were at work in the shoe shop."
"So I was, but I have lost my place."
"Ha!" exclaimed the store-keeper suspiciously. "If Squire Marlowe has
discharged you, I don't want to hire you."
"You are mistaken, Mr. Jones, about the cause of my discharge. He had
no fault to find with me."
"So _you_ say," returned Jones, in evident skepticism. "Boys don't get
discharged for nothing."
Bert felt inclined to be angry, but he controlled his temper.
"I am a pegger, and the squire has introduced a pegging machine, so he
has discharged all the peggers."
"Oh, that's different. Well, I'm sorry for you, but I have no vacancy."
"If Herman should change his mind again, will you think of me?"
"Yes, I will. I think you are a good boy, and you look strong for your
size."
Bert felt a little encouraged by this promise, though it was very
doubtful if it would ever amount to anything.
Day after day passed, and no employment offered. But one morning a
bright idea came to Bert. Blueberries were just coming into the market,
and he knew of a large pasture a little over a mile away.
"Mother," he said, "if you'll give me a large tin pail, I'll go after
some berries. I may be able to sell them at the hotel."
"If you can't, we can use them ourselves," rejoined Mrs. Barton.
"It will be better to sell them, for I hear they are bringing fifteen
cents a quart. They won't stay long at that figure, so we will put off
having them ourselves till they are cheaper."
It was with a light heart that Bert set out for the berry pasture. He
had become tired of having nothing to do. Any sort of employment seemed
desirable. Besides, they were very much in want of money, and here
seemed a chance of earning some.
Bert spent five hours in the pasture. Berries were high, because they
were scarce, and it took fully twice as long to gather a quart as it
would two weeks later. But he kept steadily at his task, and at length
the pail--which held four quarts--was full. He was tired enough and his
back ached, but still he felt happy as he left the field and trudged
toward the Lake House, which was the name of the village hotel. There
were a few summer boarders there from New York and Philadelphia, who
were glad to exchange the brick walls and crowded city streets for the
verdure and pure breezes of the country.
Fortunately Bert found the landlord on the piazza, and to him he
preferred his request.
"Would you like to buy some blueberries?"
"Go round to the side door, Bert," said Mr. Holbrook, the good-natured
landlord. "I leave all such matters to Mrs. Holbrook."
"Blueberries?" exclaimed the landlady.
"Why, it's just what I wanted. Mrs. Casewell, from Philadelphia, has
been teasing me for some blueberry pudding. What do you ask?"
"Fifteen cents a quart," answered Bert. "You know they have just come
into the market."
"That's true. Well, I will pay you your price," said Mrs. Holbrook, who
received a good income from her boarders, and was willing to be liberal
to others. "How many have you got?"
"I think there are four quarts, but you can measure them."
There proved to be four quarts, and Bert was made happy by receiving
sixty cents in silver.
"It is almost as much as I made in the shop," he reflected complacently.
"And perhaps I can sell some more to-morrow."
Bert continued to pick berries, but the price fell rapidly until it
touched six cents, and it was not so easy to sell the berries at all,
for many others engaged in picking them, and the market was overstocked.
Bert occasionally fell in with Percy Marlowe, but the manufacturer's
son usually took very little notice of him. This did not trouble Bert,
however, who felt independent, and cared little for the opinion or
notice of his wealthy cousin.
In one respect, however, Percy resembled Bert. He was always short of
money. His father allowed him two dollars a week for spending money,
more than any other boy in Lakeville received, but Percy felt that it
was too little. He had formed an intimacy with Reginald Ward, a young
man from New York, who was boarding at the hotel, and with him he used
to play pool, which he found rather an expensive game; and still worse,
he played poker with him in his own room, locking the door carefully, as
this game was not looked upon with favor in Lakeville. The young man
from the city was much sharper than the country boy, and steadily won
his money till Percy found himself in debt to him in the sum of ten
dollars. For this Percy gave his note, but no one knew better than
Reginald Ward that it was not valid in law, and he resolved to secure
the money, if possible.
"Percy, you owe me ten dollars," he said one afternoon.
"I know it," admitted Percy, rather ruefully.
"When are you going to pay me?"
"I don't know," answered Percy.
"But that won't do, don't you know," returned Reginald frowning. "I may
go away next week, and I want my money."
"I would pay it to you if I had it," said Percy; "but you know I have
only my allowance of two dollars a week."
"Stuff and nonsense! Do you think you are going to put me off that way?"
demanded Reginald angrily. "I must have my money."
"Then I don't see how you're going to get it," said Percy doggedly. "I
can't pay what I haven't got."
"Go to your father and ask for it."
"As if he would give it to me! You don't know him."
"Doesn't he ever leave money lying round?" asked Reginald significantly.
"What do you mean?" asked Percy, reddening.
"I see you understand. I was only suggesting a way to get the money."
"I am not a thief."
"Who said you were? I see I shall have to take the matter into my own
hands."
"How? What do you mean?" asked Percy nervously.
"I will go to your father, show him this I O U of yours, and ask him
for the money."
"You wouldn't do that, Reginald? He would be awful mad with me, and you
wouldn't get your money, either."
"I must do something. I can't afford to lose the money."
"Just wait a day or two. I'll see what I can do."
"Mind you do something, then."
Percy regretted that he had ever made the acquaintance of Reginald Ward,
or consented to play poker with him, but the regret came too late. The
mischief was done, and he saw from Ward's determined look that he must
do something. He was just in that frame of mind when temptations have
the most power.
In the evening he went to the village store to purchase a fishing-line,
for he had made an arrangement to go out fishing with Reginald Ward the
next day. He made the purchase, and was about to go when his eye caught
sight of a twenty-dollar bill lying on the desk. Mr. Jones had gone to
the other end of the store, and no one was looking. On the impulse of
the moment he seized the bill, and with his heart beating quickly, he
left the store. As he passed through the door Bert Barton entered with a
kerosene can in his hand, and walked up to the counter, taking his
stand near the desk.