HUCK JONES.
This sort of talk had become far too sentimental to suit Merry, and he
was relieved when the waiter brought their orders. Over the oysters and
soup he chatted as brightly as he could, seeking to divert her mind, but
though she smiled at his bright sayings and jokes, he could see she was
still thinking of other things. Giving up trying to amuse her that way,
he suddenly asked:
“Miss Dugan, do you mind telling me how you happened to be here in New
York? I do not wish to seem inquisitive, but——”
“Perhaps you hadn’t better ask,” she said.
“Of course you need not tell, but it seems strange that you are so far
from Maine. Are you alone in the city?”
“At present—yes.”
“You came here alone?”
“Yes.”
“When will you return to Maine?”
“Never, I hope!” she almost fiercely exclaimed. “Why should I go back
there? My father is dead, and I have no home now. Back there I am still
known as the daughter of old Dugan, the smuggler. Here I am not known at
all. I can be anything I please.”
Even as she said this a look of anxiety came to her face, and she added:
“That is, I might be if poor Tom Stevens had not somehow traced me
here.”
“Tom Stevens?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“I fear he is a lunatic.”
“Do you mean the man who attacked me on Broadway this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“What is the matter with him? Who is he? and where did he come from?”
“He was a schoolmaster in the town of Danforth, up in Maine.”
“You knew him well?”
“Yes, I met him in Danforth. He fell in love with me. I never gave him
encouragement, Mr. Merriwell. That is, I never encouraged him after I
found how crazy he was about me. I am afraid I smiled on him a little at
first, and flirted with him, thinking I was doing no harm. But I soon
found out that I had made a mistake, for he began to write to me, and
his letters were full of love. I answered one of them, and told him
frankly that I did not care for him, but that seemed to make him all the
more determined to have me.
“He dared my father’s wrath and came to the island to see me. He tried
to plead with me, but I told him plainly I could never be anything to
him save a friend. Even then he would not give me up, and he swore to
win me. After that he haunted the lake, having given up his school. In
the fall some Boston sportsmen came down and camped in the woods on the
mainland opposite the island. Father acted as guide for them, and they
came to the cabin. I played for them on the piano, and they sang the
latest songs. They were afraid of father, and not one of them ventured
to be impolite or familiar, but Tom Stevens became insanely jealous, and
he actually attacked two of them one day.
“For all that they were two to his one, he gave them a severe beating
and vowed he would kill them if they did not go away immediately. They
considered him a madman, and they did not stay much longer. I think he
always believed I had met them in Boston while taking music-lessons, and
invited them to come down and see me. After that Tom was worse than
ever, roaming the woods day after day with his gun. I saw him often
standing on some point of the mainland and watching the island, and I
became afraid of him. Father swore he would shoot the poor fellow, but I
made him promise not to do him harm. Now you understand all about Tom
Stevens.”
Frank nodded.
“And I think you are right in fancying him daffy, Miss Dugan. He must
believe me one of the Boston sportsmen, and he is determined to kill
me.”
Then he told her all about his two encounters with Stevens on Brooklyn
Bridge.
“He’s surely crazy as a loon!” she exclaimed. “You must be on your
guard, Frank—Mr. Merriwell. Don’t let him harm you. Have him locked up.”
“I may do so more for your sake than for my own, as he must annoy you
greatly.”
“He has frightened me once or twice. I was frightened to-day when he
flew at you on Broadway. When I saw you had struck him down, I hastened
away.”
“Yes, you ran away from me. That was strange. I do not think I
understand your action even now.”
“Perhaps I do not quite understand it myself. I have tried to explain
why I did not speak in the first place.”
“But you have not been entirely frank with me, Miss Dugan,” he asserted.
“You have not told me everything. I know you have a right to be
reserved, but I am your friend, and you say you are alone in this great
city. You must need a protector. You have not told me how you happened
to come here, or if you are seeking work. You say your father left you
no money. What can you do here?”
Frank was astounded to see her dark eyes fill with tears.
“I am going to explain just why I am in New York and how I came to be
here. I told you that father persisted to the last in trying to force me
to marry that man Jones, and I also told you that I suspected my father
left money which fell into the hands of Jones. After father died that
man——”
She stopped with a little gasp, her face turned very pale, and she sat
rigid in her chair, staring with fear-filled eyes at a man who was
advancing hastily across the room toward the table.
That man was—Jones!
Frank recognized the fellow at once as the smug-faced rascal whom he had
first seen in the guise of a country parson in company with Hilda Dugan
on the little lake steamer far away in Maine.
There was a look of triumph and exultation on the face of the man, whose
eyes were fastened upon Hilda Dugan as he rapidly approached the table.
She shrank back and seemed about to utter a cry of fear, which, however,
she repressed.
Merry started to rise quickly and step between her and Jones, but she
caught him by the arm, whispering:
“Sit still! He has found me, but he will not dare touch me. Don’t make a
scene, please!”
Scenes were quite as offensive to Merry as they could be to her, and so
he remained seated, though on the alert and ready to defend her
instantly if necessary.
Jones, dressed from head to heels in black, came up to the table and
stopped, never taking his eyes off the girl.
“So I have found you at last, have I, Miss Dugan?” he said in a low
tone, as he coolly sat down at the table. “A nice trick you played me,
but it was foolish of you to think you could lose me so easily.”
“Pardon me, sir,” said Frank, “I will not permit you to address a lady
in my company in such an insulting manner. If you do not retire at once
and cease to annoy her, I’ll call an officer, and have you arrested.”
Jones actually smiled.
“I hardly think you will,” he said sneeringly.
Frank longed to knock him down.
“I swear I will!” he said, ready to keep his word.
“If you do,” said Jones easily, “she will spend to-night in a cell.”
The girl shuddered, and shrank away. Merry was startled and set back,
all at once struck by the fear that this girl had done something
criminal, else how dared the man speak in such a manner.
“If she has,” thought Frank, “she will stop me.” And he turned as if to
call a waiter and ask for an officer.
Again Hilda clutched his arm, panting:
“Please don’t do it. It will do no good!”
Jones stood by, triumphant, smiling, sneering.
“Why don’t you call an officer, sir?” he asked.
“I ought to, you miserable whelp!” muttered Merry, baffled. “I ought to
call one and demand that you be arrested for an attempt to murder me in
the Maine woods three years ago.”
This gave the man a start, and he stared at Merry in astonishment.
“You?” he said. “Why, who the dickens are you? Hanged if I don’t believe
you are the chap Dugan planned to blow up with powder! Yes, you are!”
“Right! And you are the miserable dog who aided him in that little piece
of work. I am very sorry we met here. Had it been elsewhere, it would
have given me great satisfaction to thrash you till you begged like a
cur at my feet!”
Jones showed his teeth.
“That might not prove such an easy thing to do,” he snarled, in a low
tone. “So she fled to you, did she? And I suppose she is blowing you to
this feed off the boodle? Well, I’ve found her, and now she’ll have to
give it up! I’ve fooled with her for the last time. If she won’t marry
me, she can go; but first she must give me my doll.”
Frank wondered if he had understood correctly. What could the man want
of a doll? Was it slang of some sort?
The girl sat staring at Jones, as if in doubt about what she would do.
Frank longed to aid her in some way, but her fears had made him hesitate
about moving.
“Where is it?” hissed Jones, fixing her with his eyes. “Give it to me!
If you do that I’ll leave you and trouble you no more. I shall be glad
to get rid of you, for you cannot be trusted.”
She leaned forward.
“You deceived me—or tried to,” she declared accusingly. “You told me
there were nothing but private papers hidden in her.”
“So you have investigated?” he returned. “I knew it! It belongs to
me—every bit of it!”
“I do not believe it.”
“I swear it does!”
“Even so, you are a criminal whom I might turn over to the officers.”
“And you would turn yourself over to them at the same time, for you are
my accomplice.”
This talk was very puzzling to Merriwell, who wondered what it could all
be about.
“We are attracting attention,” said the girl. “Go away. I will meet you
to-morrow at ten o’clock.”
“Don’t think me such a fool! I’ll never leave you again for a single
moment till that doll is in my hands.”
The girl’s dark eyes flashed.
“You may have to,” she said.
“Oh, not much! You can’t slip me, for I know you now, and I’ll never
trust you again.”
She began to tap her foot, while he stood there, cool and triumphant,
grinning down upon her.
“Where is the money my father left?” she demanded, still in a repressed
voice, in order not to attract attention. “When you give me that you
shall have your old doll and its contents.”
“He left nothing.”
“I know better!”
“Very well. It is folly to argue with a woman who has made up her mind
in advance. I will not contradict you.”
“I want that money.”
“I have no objections; want it as much as you like.”
“You knew where it was hidden.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“That is news to me.”
“While he was alive you dared not touch it, for you knew he would hunt
you down and kill you if you did. He had confidence in you, and so when
he died he left you to turn the money over to me. Not one dollar of it
have you ever given me.”
“You have been dreaming dreams. But, perhaps, if you obeyed your father
and married me some of your dreams would have come true.”
“That’s enough!” she said. “That is a confession that there was money!
You shall not rob me! When you give it to me you shall have your doll.”
He remained calm and self-confident.
“It is not a confession. There was no money, but I might have given you
some of my own, for I did care for you once, till I discovered how
treacherous you could be.”
Frank felt more than ever like shaking the man, but was forced to remain
quiet and listen to his insolence.
“Don’t talk to me of treachery!” breathed the girl, her face crimson
once more. “Why, I have understood you from the first, and I knew you
for just what you are—a two-faced scoundrel and a craven! You fawned at
the feet of my father, tempted many times to rob him of his ill-gotten
gains, yet prevented from doing so by the picture of him upon your
track, gun in hand. When he died, your fears ended, and you did not
hesitate to break your oath to him and rob his child. You are a
scoundrel all the way through! There is not one manly streak in you!”
Still she had kept her voice down, but now Frank had observed that the
manner of the speakers and their earnest tones were causing curious eyes
to be turned in that direction. Had the restaurant been well filled such
a conversation must have been impossible without others to overhear it.
Jones laughed shortly.
“More of your dreams, young woman. It is useless to argue. All I want is
my property, and then I will leave you to this gallant youth, of whom
you have raved ever since the day he jumped into the water for you on
Grand Lake. Perhaps he will marry you, as you have hoped, but I have my
doubts.”
It was with the greatest difficulty that Merry refrained from leaping up
and knocking the wretch down at once.
“If the opportunity comes,” said Frank, looking Jones in the face, “I
shall make you beg the lady’s pardon for your insults.”
Jones made a motion as if to snap his fingers, but refrained from doing
so.
“Better not try it when the opportunity comes,” he advised. “You know
the occupation in which I have been engaged for some years, and it has
been my habit to carry a gun or knife where it will always be easy to
draw. I promise you to return your blows with bullets or cold steel.”
“The threat of a coward!” said Frank. “But I am looking for the
opportunity just the same. If you pull a pistol or knife on me, it will
give me all the better excuse to thrash you within an inch of your
life.”
Now, Merriwell knew Hilda Dugan must have talked of him often. Frank
also knew she had entertained wild hopes of meeting him again, and this
sneering creature beside the table had betrayed that she must have
sometimes told him she would never marry anybody but a youth like the
Yale man.
Hilda was covered with mortification, knowing full well that Merry must
understand—must comprehend the secret love she had carried in her heart
ever since that day on Grand Lake three years before.
“Let’s go!” she entreated, beginning to tremble all over. “I am afraid I
cannot stand it longer. I shall make a scene of some sort.”
“And the dinner is spoiled already,” said Merry, motioning to a waiter.
“We’ll go.”
“And I’ll go with you!” muttered Jones.
Merry paid the check, assisted Hilda to don her coat, quietly tipped the
waiter who aided him into his, and turned with the girl to leave the
restaurant.
Curious eyes followed them as they passed out.
Jones was at their heels.
------------------------------------------------------------------------