When Bruce returned to New York after his short vacation in the country,
he received such a hearty welcome from every member of the company, that
he realized the fact that it is a good thing for one to go away now and
then if only to indicate the value of one’s services.
He had not only enjoyed himself during his absence and gained new health
and strength from the clear lake air but he had also proved to the chief
and his subordinates that he was a decidedly useful boy. The many little
duties which he performed about the quarters had been done so quietly
and unostentatiously as well as effectively that it was not until he was
out of the city that the others realized how much trouble he saved them.
As it was, the men had to burden their minds with a number of small
details which had previously been left entirely in Bruce’s hands, and
every time that one of them was called upon to feed the horses or
perform some small duty for the chief he thought of Bruce and wondered
how much longer that boy was going to stay away.
On his return he found awaiting him a letter bearing no signature and
written in an unformed, girlish hand telling him what he already knew
about the interest which Mr. Dexter had felt in him, and although there
was nothing in the note to indicate its origin, Bruce knew that it must
have been inspired by Laura herself. And a very delightful thing it was
to believe that this young girl had taken so much trouble on his account
as to ask somebody in America to give him this information. But why did
she not write to him herself? That is what puzzled him, for of course he
knew nothing about Mr. Van Kuren’s reason for breaking off the intimacy.
He had scarcely recovered from the glow of satisfaction which suffused
him, as he read his anonymous letter, and thought of the young girl to
whose kindly interest he owed it, when Chief Trask approached him and
informed him that he was to sleep in the quarters with the men in
future, in order to be on hand in case of a night alarm.
“You see, my boy, you’re growing older every day now, and I want you to
learn this business through and through, so as to be ready to take a
man’s place when the time comes.”
And, in accordance with the Chiefs orders, which he was only too glad to
obey, Bruce established himself in the dormitory above the truck
quarters, and as he placed his head on the pillow that night, and saw
that his turnout was lying on the floor beside him, he realized that,
although his name was not on the pay-roll of the department, he was
really a fireman at last, and would be expected to respond to an alarm
as readily as any of the men in the company.
The next morning as soon he had finished feeding the horses, and
attended to the other small duties required of him, he took his
particular friend, Charley Weyman, aside and told him of his experiences
in the little graveyard at Rocky Point. He told him how Skinny had been
sent there by the man whom the newsboy called “Scar-faced Charley,” and
who was, he was positive, none other than the mysterious stranger that
Charley Weyman himself had first told him about.
At the mention of this man, Weyman’s face assumed an expression of
intense interest, which deepened as Bruce continued with his account of
how Skinny had been employed to visit the grave in the little burying
ground and ascertain if possible the whereabouts of any living member of
the Decker family.
“And so this ugly-faced chap is taking all this trouble to find out
whether you were ever burned, and if so, whether you are alive or dead?”
exclaimed the fireman. “Well, if it’s worth anything to him to find out
about you, my opinion is that it’s worth just as much to you to find out
why he is so much interested. He was just as much concerned about your
father that’s dead and gone, and he don’t seem inclined to lose sight of
the family. If I were you, I’d lose no time in finding out what it all
means. But let me tell you one thing, that fellow never brought good
luck to anybody. Your father was never the same man after he had a visit
from him, and if you get him coming around here after you, you may have
cause to be sorry for it.”
“You know he’s living in the same house where I went to call on Mr.
Dexter,” said Bruce, “and I’ve been thinking of going up there to pay
him a visit and put it to him fair and square, ‘what do you want of me,
and why are you so interested in the Decker family?’”
For a moment, Weyman remained silent, evidently thinking over what the
boy had said to him. Then he made answer: “Yes I think on the whole
that’s the quickest and surest-way of finding out what you want to know.
There’s nothing like suddenly facing a man of that sort and putting your
question to him before he has time to frame some answer that might suit
his own purpose. Likely as not if he knew you were coming he’d cook up
some reply that would throw you off your scent but when you come upon
him unexpectedly he is apt to tell the truth even when it’s contrary to
his usual practice. Yes I’d go up there if I were you because if he’s
hunting up for the son of Frank Decker he’s bound to come across him
sooner or later. It’s funny he never came around here to ask the Chief
or any of us about him, and it’s just as strange to me that he didn’t
find out at headquarters that you were drawing a pension. However, I’ve
noticed that these very smart and tricky fellows often over-reach
themselves by trying to be too smart when they might accomplish some
thing by being straightforward and honest.”
Bruce, having slept on the matter, determined to take his friend’s
advice, and although it was more difficult for him to obtain leave of
absence now that he had become a more useful member of the company than
formerly, he soon found an opportunity to make the long journey to the
upper part of the city where Mr. Dexter’s house was situated. Leaving
the elevated railroad, he walked a few blocks out of his way in order to
pass the gate of the great mansion in which Harry and Laura Van Kuren
had lived. The house was closed now, and it was evident from the unkempt
appearance of the lawn and shrubbery that its master had been away for
some time.
For several minutes he stood leaning sadly upon the gate and thinking of
the kind friends whom he had known there, and from whom he was now
separated not only by the trackless waste of ocean, but also by
something he knew not what, but which was nevertheless an invisible and
impassable barrier. It was with a sad heart that he finally turned his
back on the Van Kuren mansion and walked rapidly along the same highway
which he had last trodden in company with the Van Kuren children and
their tutor on that day when he discovered that Mr. Dexter had departed
for Europe.
Once more he entered the broad gate and made his way along the winding
road through the dense shrubbery to the door of the stately old colonial
mansion. A servant answered his ring of the bell and said in response to
his inquiry that Mr. Korwein lived there nominally but spent most of his
time down town, the woman did not know where. Sometimes she did not see
him for a week, and then he would appear suddenly, remain with them
three or four days without quitting the house, and then disappear to be
gone perhaps a week or two longer. She had no idea where his office was
and did not know when Mr. Dexter would return. Having vouchsafed this
information, she closed the door, and as her young visitor departed, he
heard the bolt sharply snap behind him.
Before leaving the grounds, Bruce walked to the corner of the house and
refreshed his memory with another long look at the old vine-clad porch
which had attracted his attention on the occasion of his first visit and
had suggested to his mind the long search upon which he was still
engaged. There it was just as when he had last seen it, just as it was
when he saw it in those long gone by childish days.
He returned in a rather disconsolate mood to the quarters and told
Weyman the result of his visit.
“Never mind,” said the latter, “you mustn’t expect to learn every thing
all in a hurry. Go up again there the next time you can get away for an
afternoon and you may find him. Anyhow while there’s life there’s hope,
and if you can’t find him there you may run across him down town some
time. Keep your eyes open whenever you go about the streets, and you’ll
find him some day when you’ll least expect him. I never go out without
looking for him myself.”
Bruce paid two more visits to the Dexter mansion without learning
anything further, and it was then that he sat down and wrote the letter
to Skinny asking him how soon he expected to be back in town again, the
effect of which has been shown in a preceding chapter.