A PUSH DOWNWARD
"He digged a pit, he digged it deep,
He digged it for a brother;
But oh, alas! he fell into
The pit he digged for another."
_Old Saw._
Page was a little late at the office the next morning and Frye was there
ahead of him.
"I was out with young Nason last evening," he explained, as the old
lawyer bade him a rather crusty good morning, "and I overslept."
"Oh, that is all right," responded Frye, in an instantaneously sweetened
tone, "I am glad you were, and, as I told you, you are wise to cultivate
him. I suppose," he continued with a leer, "that you were buying wine
for some of the gay girls?"
Page looked confused. "Well, we went to the theatre, and after that had
a late supper," he explained, "and it was after one before I returned to
my room."
"I don't care how late you are out, or what you did," said Frye, still
eyeing Page, "so long as you were with young Nason and kept out of the
lockup. His father pays me a salary to look after his law business, and
his son is the pride of his heart. I trust you understand my meaning. If
you don't feel like work this morning," he continued suavely, "mount
your wheel and take a run out to Winchester and see if that mortgage on
the Seaver estate has been satisfied. The exercise and air will do you
good."
Page was nonplussed.
"He has some deep-laid plot in his mind," he thought as he looked at
Frye, who, having delivered this amazing pat, turned at once to his
mail. It was all the more amazing because at the start he had been
assured that punctuality and good conduct on his part were obligatory.
Now he was to all intents and purposes not only told he might lark it
with young Nason all he chose, but even urged to do so. He was glad to
escape the office, however, for his head felt full of bees, and thanking
his employer for the permission, he quickly left the city behind him.
The crisp October air and exercise soon cured his headache, and in a
measure drove away some of the self-reproaches at his own foolish
conduct of the night before.
The errand at Winchester was attended to, and then, after taking a glass
of bromo-seltzer, he headed back for the city, taking another course. By
the time he reached town he was faint from hunger, for he had eaten no
breakfast. A good dinner restored him to his natural self-possession,
and then he went to the office.
For a week he reproached himself every time he thought how much his
escapade had cost, and felt too ashamed to answer Alice's letter. When
he did he assured that innocent sister that he was saving all he could
and should send more money as soon as possible. Frank called twice, and
the second time urged him to join the club, to which Page assented.
"It will serve as a place to spend a lonesome evening," he thought. It
was a wise step, for it is during lonesome hours, if ever, that one's
steps are turned toward evil associations.
Several times Frye had made casual inquiries as to the progress of his
intimacy with young Nason, all of which led Page to wonder what his
object was and why it concerned him. At last, one day just at closing
time, and after he had told the office boy he might go, Frye let a
little light into that enigma.
"Sit down a moment, Mr. Page," he remarked, as the latter was preparing
to leave; "I have a proposition of an important nature to make to you,"
and then as he fixed his merciless eyes on his clerk and began to slowly
rub his hands together, he continued: "You have been nearly three months
in my employ, Mr. Page, and have fulfilled your duties satisfactorily. I
think the time has come when I may safely enlarge them a little. As I
told you, John Nason pays me a yearly retainer to attend to all his law
business. I have reason to feel he is not entirely satisfied to continue
that arrangement, and I am forced to find some way to bring a little
pressure to bear on him in order that he may see it is for his interest
to still retain me. Now I believe John Nason is not entirely happy in
his home relations and is leading a double life, and that a certain Miss
Maud Vernon, a cashier in his store, receives a share of his attentions.
She and a supposed aunt of hers occupy a flat in a block owned by Nason,
and while they are never seen in public together, gossip links their
names. What I want is for you to find out, through your acquaintance
with the Nasons, just what bond there is between the elder Nason and
this Miss Vernon, and report to me. I do not intend to use the knowledge
for any illegal purpose, but merely as a leverage to retain Nason's
business. I am aware that to prosecute your inquiries discreetly by
means of your intimacy with young Nason will require more money than I
am paying you, and therefore, if I can depend on you to do a little
detective work, I shall from now on increase your salary from
seventy-five to one hundred and seventy-five dollars. What do you say?"
The first impulse that Page felt was to absolutely refuse, there and
then, to have anything to do with Frye's nefarious scheme, but the
thought of his situation, the unpaid debt at home, and the certainty
that a refusal would mean a loss of his position conquered his pride and
kept him silent. For a moment he reflected, trying hard to see a way out
of the dilemma; and then said:
"It is rather a hard task you ask, Mr. Frye, for I am not accustomed to
the role of detective, but I am in your employ, and as long as I am I
will do the best I can for your interests."
It was a temporizing reply, and Frye so construed it at once.
"I must insist, if you accept my offer," he said, "that you give me your
promise to do your best to earn the money. It doesn't pay to be too
squeamish in this world," he continued, in a soothing tone; "all
business is to a certain extent a game of extortion--a question of do
the other fellow or he will do you." Then arising, and holding out a
skinny hand to grasp Page's, as if to bind the bargain, he added: "I
shall expect you to keep faith with me, Mr. Page," and the interview
ended.
When Albert entered the dining-room at his boarding-place that night he
felt as if his face must show guilt, and when later he met Frank at the
club that feeling increased. He was preoccupied and morose, and Frank,
noticing his frame of mind, tried to cheer him.
"You look as if you had been given a facer, old man," he said. "What is
the matter? Has Frye been calling you down for something?"
Page looked at his friend a moment, and the impulse to make a clean
breast of it, and relieve his feelings, was strong, but he did not.
"I do not like Frye," he said instead, "and the more I see of him the
less I like him. At times he makes me feel as if he was a snake ready to
uncoil and strike. Did you ever notice his eyes, and the way he has of
rubbing his hands when talking?"
"I have," was the answer, "and he has the most hideous eyes I ever saw
in a human being. They look like a cat's in the dark. Dad told me once
he saw Frye look at a witness he was cross-examining in such a way that
the poor fellow forgot what his name was, and swore black was white.
Those eyes are vicious weapons, they say, and he uses them to the
utmost when he wants to scare a witness."
"They make me feel creepy every time I look at them," said Albert, and
then, as if anxious to change the subject, he added, "Let's leave here,
Frank, and you come with me to my room, where we can have a quiet talk
together. I am in the dumps to-night, and want to unbosom my troubles to
you."