CHARLEY GROVE’S IDEA
“Hey, Tom!” hailed a voice, as our hero got off the street car, near
his home. “Where are you going?”
Tom turned, to behold his chum, Charley Grove, whom he had not seen
since going to work in the book store.
“Going home,” replied Tom. “Where are you going?”
“Same place. Haven’t seen you in over a week. Where have you been
keeping yourself?”
“I’ve got a new job,” replied Tom.
“Where?”
“Down in Townsend’s Book Emporium.”
“What doin’? Readin’ books?”
“Not much. Don’t get any time for that. We’re busy on account of the
holidays. What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’ve got a new job, and it’s fine.”
“What at?”
“I run the telephone switchboard in a broker’s office. Short hours and
good pay. I get ten a week. All I got was eight in my last place.”
“That’s what I got, before the firm failed. Now I only get five.”
“You ought to strike for more money.”
“Wouldn’t do much good. I’m only an extra hand during the holidays.
I’ll be lucky if I stay there after the first of the year.”
“That’s too bad. You ought to learn to be a telephone boy. I know two
or three who make more money than I do.”
“Is it hard to learn?”
“Well, it isn’t so very easy, and if you’re in a busy office like mine
it keeps you on the jump. It’s no fun to have all three members of the
firm trying to get connections at once, and half a dozen parties on the
outside wanting to talk to the partners to give orders to sell or buy
stocks. I couldn’t do it at first, and I got all mixed up, but I can
work it all right now.”
“I’d like to have a place like that,” said Tom. “I used to take orders
over the telephone in the grocery store.”
“Bein’ on a private exchange is a heap different from that,” said
Charley, as he walked along beside Tom.
“Do you think there’s a place in your office for another boy?” asked
Tom, rather wistfully, as he thought of the good salary his chum was
getting.
“I don’t believe so. But I’ll keep my ears open, and if I hear of
anything in that line, I’ll let you know.”
“I wish you would. I’ll have to look for something after Christmas, and
I’m afraid I’ll have a hard task finding anything.”
“Where were you when I saw you getting off the car?” asked Charley.
“I’d been over in the Back Bay section, to collect some money from a
Dr. Spidderkins.”
“Dr. Spidderkins! Why he used to be our doctor,” said Charley. “He’s
too old to practice now, but I remember my mother saying she had him
for me, when I was a baby.”
“He’s rather a queer character,” commented Tom. “He’s always forgetting
things.”
“I wish I had his rocks! He’s got slathers of money.”
“He doesn’t look rich. His clothes aren’t very good, but maybe that’s
because he spends so much on books.”
“Oh, he’s got lots to spend,” said the other boy. “I heard my dad say
Dr. Spidderkins was worth close to half a million. But I guess he
doesn’t have much fun out of it.”
“Why?”
“Well, he’s always studying some queer subject or other, or writing
books or papers for the scientific magazines. And then I guess his
sister-in-law doesn’t treat him any too good.”
“I believe you’re right there,” agreed Tom. “She seems to make fun of
him, because he’s so forgetful.”
“From what I hear, though,” went on Charley, “his short memory just
suits Mr. Sandow--that’s his sister-in-law’s second husband.”
“Suits him? How do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve got an idea,” went on Tom’s chum, “that Sandow would like
to get control of part of Dr. Spidderkins’ money. He’s got slathers of
it, as I said, and I don’t believe he knows where it all is. He’s as
careless about cash as he is about other things, dad says. Forgets what
he does with his rocks.”
“How do you know Sandow would like to get hold of it,” asked Tom.
“Well, Sandow does some business through our firm. Not much, though.
He’s a ‘piker.’”
“What’s a ‘piker’?”
“That’s what we call a chap that buys a few shares of stock at a time.
Small business, you know. Well, Sandow does a little business with us,
and I heard him telephoning to our junior partner one day, giving an
order for a few shares. Mr. Fletcher, that’s the junior partner, asked
him why he didn’t buy more, and I heard Sandow say he couldn’t, as he
didn’t have the money. Then I heard him laugh, sort of queer-like, and
he said he might have more soon. Mr. Fletcher asked him where he was
going to get it, and Sandow said he expected to get it from a friend
of the family. Mr. Fletcher asked him if he meant Dr. Spidderkins, and
Sandow only laughed. That’s all I heard.”
“Can you hear what both people say over the wire?”
“Sure, when you cut in on the switchboard. I have to keep listening, to
tell when they’re finished, ’cause there’s most always somebody waitin’
for our wire.”
“So you think Sandow is trying to get part of the old doctor’s money?”
asked Tom.
“That’s my idea,” replied Charley. “I guess it wouldn’t be so hard,
either, for the doctor’s so forgetful he might have a hundred or five
hundred dollars one minute, and not find it the next, and he wouldn’t
know what become of it.”
There came at once to Tom’s mind the scene he had witnessed that
evening in the doctor’s home--the confusion about the money, and the
puzzled air of the physician--when he could not find it in his wallet.
“Well, this is my street,” announced Charley, as he paused on a corner.
“Come on over some night and see a fellow.”
“I will, only I can’t until after the holidays. We’re going to keep
open evenings beginning next week.”
“That’s tough. You ought to be a telephone boy, and get done at three
o’clock. I went to a moving picture show this afternoon.”
“I wish I could go. But let me know if you hear of a chance for me,
Charley.”
“I will, Tom. Hope you keep your job.”
“I don’t know as I want to, since I’ve heard about yours,” replied Tom
with a laugh. “Good-night.”
Tom hurried on to his home. As he reached the steps, and felt for the
key of the door, he gave a sudden start. The envelope containing the
ten dollars which Dr. Spidderkins had given him, and which he had put
in his pocket, was gone!