It may be well imagined that Harry was in a thrill of excitement as he
walked home. He had just witnessed what was undoubtedly an attempt to
conceal the proceeds of a burglary. He, and he alone, outside of the
guilty parties, knew where the booty was deposited, and he asked
himself what was his duty under the circumstances.
Of course he had no sympathy with Temple and Vernon. They had made
themselves the enemies of society, and he was in duty bound to defeat
their criminal plans, if possible, and restore the property to its
legal owner or owners.
Here a difficulty stared him in the face. He didn’t know to whom the
tin box and its contents belonged, for not a word had been dropped by
the two thieves which could inform him. They had made up their minds,
however, to wait till a reward should be offered, and then come forward
and claim it, or, at any rate, open negotiations through others looking
to that result.
Why could not Harry learn, in like manner, who had been robbed, and
communicate with them? This seemed to him the most sensible course.
Here, again, there was another difficulty. In the little country
village he was not in a position to see any such notice, for they took
no daily paper, and, though Mr. Mead did, his inquiry for it would
excite curiosity and lead to questionings. It seemed necessary for him
to go to New York.
“Shall I tell mother, or not?” he asked himself.
On the whole, he thought it better not to do so. So far as he was
concerned, his mother was timid, and she would be anxious lest he
should incur the hostility of the two lawless men of whose crime he had
come into the knowledge. Yet he wanted to consult somebody, for he felt
that the matter was one of no little importance, and that he needed a
man’s counsel.
“I’ll speak to Uncle Obed about it,” he said to himself. “He isn’t used
to cities, to be sure, but he has had a long life, and must have
considerable experience. At any rate, he will be better qualified than
I to know what ought to be done.”
He had scarcely come to this conclusion before he reached the cottage.
His mother, with a troubled expression of countenance, was sitting at
the table, not sewing or mending, as usual, but with her hands clasped
in her lap, while near her sat Uncle Obed, also looking sober.
“I am sure something has happened to Harry,” she had just been saying.
“I never knew him to stay out so long without telling me.”
“Boys will be boys,” answered the old man, not knowing what else to
say. “He’s gone off on some lark with some of his playmates.”
“But he never does that without telling me, Mr. Wilkins. He’s always so
considerate.”
“He’ll be coming home safe and sound, depend upon it,” said Uncle Obed,
with a confidence greater than he actually felt.
“Perhaps he has fallen from a tree—he was always fond of climbing—and
broken his leg,” suggested Mrs. Gilbert, dolefully.
“He’s too smart for that,” said Uncle Obed.
“What should I do if he never came home?” exclaimed the poor woman,
with a shudder.
Mr. Wilkins was hardly prepared to answer this question, and, luckily,
it was not necessary, for just then the latch was lifted and Harry
walked in.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Uncle Obed, triumphantly.
“Oh, Harry, I’m so glad to see you! Where have you been so long?”
“It’s lucky you came just as you did,” said Mr. Wilkins. “Your mother
had made up her mind that you had met with an accident.”
“I wanted to come home, but I couldn’t,” answered Harry. “I was in the
woods.”
“Lost your way?” asked Uncle Obed.
“Not exactly. Two boys played a trick upon me.”
Of course Harry had to explain what sort of a trick it was. Mrs.
Gilbert was very indignant, and denounced Philip and his confederate in
no sparing terms.
“You ought to go and complain to Colonel Ross,” she said. “Philip ought
not to be allowed to do such things.”
Harry smiled. He had no idea of following this advice. It would have
been an acknowledgment of weakness, and he felt able to defend himself
against Philip Ross and his machinations.
“Mother,” he said, “I’ve got very particular reasons for not doing
this, and for not even mentioning that I was in the wood. Now, I want
you to promise me not to say a word about it, for a week at least.”
“But if I see Philip,” said his mother, “I can’t keep silent.”
“You must, for my sake, mother. You don’t know how much depends upon
it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Gilbert, thoroughly bewildered.
“No, I suppose not; but I have a strong reason that I can’t mention
just yet.”
“I hope there’s nothing wrong going on,” said his mother, alarmed.
“If there is, it isn’t anything that I’m to blame for. Only there’s a
secret that I can’t tell just yet. You’ll know it in good time. I want
to consult Uncle Obed to-night about it, and you won’t mind if I don’t
tell you just yet?”
“Give the boy his way, ma’am,” said Mr. Wilkins. “If there is anything
very bad about it he wouldn’t tell me.”
His mother was somewhat reassured, and left the two to themselves. Then
Harry began and told his story. Mr. Wilkins listened with attention,
and not without surprise.
“Really, Harry, it’s quite an adventure, I call it,” he said. “Do you
know this man Temple?”
“I know that he’s a sort of tramp. I didn’t suppose he was a thief
before.”
“You never saw this other man before?”
“No; never heard of him.”
“They’re a pair of rascals, I reckon. Now, what have you thought of
doing?”
“Of going to New York to-morrow to find out what I can about the
burglary, or whatever else it was. If I can find out who has been
robbed, I’ll go and tell them about it, and where the bonds are hid.”
Uncle Obed nodded approvingly.
“That’s a good idea,” he said.
“What puzzles me,” continued Harry, “is how to explain to mother why I
go to the city. I can’t tell her, and she’ll feel nervous.”
“I can manage that,” said Mr. Wilkins. “I’ll tell her you have gone on
business for me.”
“But will it be true?” asked Harry.
“Yes; I’ve got some cowpons”—that’s the way the old man pronounced the
word—“that you can get the money for.”
“Shall I have any difficulty about it, Uncle Obed?”
“No; you can go to a broker, and he’ll give you the money for it,
taking out his commission. How much does it cost to go to New York?”
“The price of an excursion ticket is a dollar.”
The old man took from his pocket a two-dollar bill.
“There,” said he; “that’ll pay your ticket and get you some dinner.”
“But, Uncle Obed, you ought not to pay my expenses.”
“Why not? Ain’t you going on my business?”
“I’m going principally on my own,” said Harry.
“Well,” replied the old man, smiling, “then you must take it because I
am your uncle.”
“I know I call you so.”
“You seem a good deal more kin to me than Philip. He’s ashamed of his
old uncle, and so is his mother; but you are not.
“No, no, Harry; it’s all right. I ain’t exactly poor, but I’d rather my
niece would think so. So don’t you say anything to them about the
cowpons.”
“I’m not likely to, Uncle Obed.”
The old man went up to his room and brought down ninety dollars’ worth
of government coupons, which, as gold was then ruling at a dollar and
twenty, would bring about a hundred and eight dollars in currency.
Mrs. Gilbert was much surprised when Harry told her that he intended to
go to New York the next day on business for Uncle Obed; but, of course,
had no idea that he had still more important business of his own.