THE PARTNERSHIP.
“WEE GATES?, Meester Harris?” said Dutch Jake, in a voice so loud that
Guy trembled in apprehension. “How ish dis pisness? You got mine
monish—mine eight tollars und vorty zents?”
“No,” said Guy, “I haven’t got it.”
Jake’s whole appearance changed in a second; his red face grew redder
than ever; he squared himself in front of the counter, planted his feet
firmly on the floor, and doubling up his huge fist, begun flourishing it
in the air above his head in readiness to emphasize the words he was
about to utter.
Guy saw that there was a crisis at hand, Jake was fairly boiling over
with fury, and unless he was appeased on the instant, something dreadful
would happen. Guy thought rapidly, and spoke just in time.
“Hold on!” said he, “and hear me out. I haven’t got the money now, but
I’ll get it as soon as the book-keeper is through with the cash account,
and on my way home I’ll drop in and hand it to you.”
These words produced another magical change in the angry German. The
fierce frown vanished and a genial smile overspread his face. The
sledge-hammer fist was opened and extended in a friendly manner across
the counter toward Guy.
“Dot’s all right, Meester Harris,” said he. “Dot’s _all_ right. Ven you
comes around ve has a glass of peer at mine exbenses, ain’t it? Oh,
yah!”
Jake departed, and then came the hatter, the livery stable keeper, the
jeweler, the man who had furnished the young spendthrift with the fine
shirts and neck-ties he wore, and lastly, the proprietor of the billiard
saloon—all of whom presented bills which greatly exceeded Guy’s
calculations. They all appeared to be satisfied with their debtor’s
promise to pay up at once. But some of them left him with the assurance
that if money were not speedily forthcoming, they would place their
accounts before Mr. Walker.
Guy was utterly confounded. He could not imagine what had caused all his
creditors to become so pressing in their demands. Like one in a dream he
went through his business with the book-keeper, and when it was
completed, hurried away to find his friend and counselor, Mr. Jones.
In the back part of the store was a small apartment which was used as a
wash-room, and to which light was admitted through a single pane of
glass set in the door. In this room Guy found Mr. Jones, busy performing
his ablutions. He had retreated there immediately on the entrance of
Mrs. Willis, and through the pane of glass before mentioned had watched
all that went on in the store. He could not hear what was said, but he
knew by the impatient gestures of some of the creditors and the
despairing expression that frequently overspread Guy’s face, that some
bitter things had been said and some alarming threats made.
“Great Scott!” whispered Guy as he entered and closed the door behind
him. “What does this mean, Jones? The whole city of St. Louis has been
here with bills against me.”
“It means, dear fellow, that these people want their rights,” returned
the commercial traveler in a tone of voice which led Guy to believe that
his friend deeply sympathized with him in his troubles.
“But do they imagine that I am made of money—that I can raise almost
nine months’ wages at a moment’s warning?” cried Guy, whose distress was
painful to behold. “I owe two hundred and seventy-five dollars. Jones, I
am ruined!”
“It certainly looks that way,” was the thought that passed through the
mind of the commercial traveler, but he looked down at the floor and
said nothing.
“If you have the least friendship for me suggest something,” continued
Guy in a trembling voice—“something—_anything_—no matter what it is if
it will only put two hundred and seventy-five dollars in my pocket. I
must have it, for these men have almost all threatened to call upon Mr.
Walker if I don’t settle up at once. If he should hear how I have been
going on he would discharge me.”
“Yes, I believe he would,” answered Mr. Jones, twirling his mustache and
gazing through the window into the store. “It would doubtless make him
angry, for merchants, you know, are very particular in regard to the
habits of their clerks. It is a hard case, Guy—a desperate case; and I
confess that it is one I cannot manage, although I am fruitful in
expedients. I have thought the matter over since I have been in here,
but have hit upon no honest plan to get you out of your difficulties. It
is true,” added Mr. Jones, speaking as if he were communing with
himself, “you handle considerable of the firm’s money, and might borrow
two or three hundred of it just to shut up the mouths of these impatient
creditors.”
“Oh, no,” exclaimed Guy quickly; “I can’t do that.”
“I didn’t suppose you would,” continued the commercial traveler, in his
oily tones, “but it is an expedient often resorted to by business men to
help them out of desperate straits like yours, and I can’t see that
there would be any danger in it in your case. A good many of our
customers are settling their business preparatory to going to war.
Suppose that one of them pays you four or five hundred dollars, goes
into the army and gets killed, and you use the money! Who would be the
wiser for it? Of course you would not be dishonest enough to steal the
money—you would only borrow it until such time as you could replace it
out of your salary; and if you felt any conscientious scruples about it,
you might pay interest for the use of it.”
“But how could I account for the money being in my possession when I got
ready to pay it over?” asked Guy.
“Easily enough. You could say to Mr. Walker some morning: ‘I received a
letter from Mr. So-and-So last night. He went into the service six
months ago, you know, without settling with us. Here’s the amount of his
bill with interest to date.’ That’s all fair and square, isn’t it?”
“But Mr. Walker or the book-keeper would want to acknowledge the receipt
of the money,” said Guy.
“Of course they would. You could give them some fictitious address, and
as you have all the letters to mail, you could easily see that that
particular letter did not go into the office.”
“But you said something about the man being killed. Suppose that happens
before I have had time to save enough out of my salary to replace the
money I have borrowed. Then what? He can’t pay his debt after he is
dead.”
“Of course not; and in that case you’ll be smart enough to say nothing
to nobody about it. Just keep mum. The amount of his bill will go on the
debtor side of the profit and loss account, but you’ll be just that much
ahead.”
As Mr. Jones said this he looked sharply at Guy, and told himself that
his specious arguments were beginning to have their effect. The shipping
clerk was gazing steadily at the floor, and there was an expression on
his face that had never been seen there before.
“I am afraid I couldn’t carry out that plan successfully,” said Guy,
after a few moments’ reflection. “It is somewhat complicated, and my
knowledge of business is so limited that I might make a mistake
somewhere. I would much rather go into partnership with you, as you
suggested last night.”
Mr. Jones hastily seized the towel and buried his face in it to conceal
his exultation. He had Guy under his thumb at last.
“I think myself that it would be the safer plan,” said he, as soon as he
had controlled himself so that he could speak with his usual steadiness
of voice, “and it is the surest way, too.”
“It is a way I don’t like,” said Guy. “It is swindling.”
“But it brings in the money by the handful, and money is what makes the
mare go in these times,” returned Mr. Jones. “We’ll go home and talk it
over.”
“You must be very particular in your explanations,” said Guy. “It is a
new business to me, you know, and I might spoil the whole thing.”
“Never fear. It is easily learned, and I will go over it so often that
you can remember everything I say and do. This is your last chance, you
know, for I leave the city on the eleven o’clock train to-night, to be
gone at least three weeks.”
The commercial traveler had already been more than a quarter of an hour
in making his toilet, and had got no further than the washing of his
hands and face; but now he begun to bestir himself. The most complicated
part of it all—the brushing of his perfumed locks and the adjusting of
his hat and neck-tie before the glass—occupied just one minute, about
one-tenth of the time Mr. Jones usually devoted to it. Then he was ready
to give Guy his first lesson in playing the part of confidence man.
In order that they might be free from all interruption, they went
directly home and locked themselves in their room, where they remained
in close consultation, coming out when the supper-bell rung, and
returning immediately after disposing of a very light meal. By that time
Guy had thoroughly mastered the part he was to perform, and all that
remained to be done was to hunt up somebody with plenty of money, and
try the effect of their scheme upon him. As soon as it begun to grow
dark they left the house, and sauntered away, arm-in-arm, as if they had
determined upon nothing in particular. Arriving at Fourth Street, they
stationed themselves in a dark door-way, and Mr. Jones, settling into an
easy position, closely scrutinized every man who passed, finally
singling out one as an object worthy of their attention.
There was nothing particularly noticeable about this man, either in his
clothing or manners, for he was as well-dressed as the majority of the
pedestrians who were constantly passing along the street, and there was
none of that “country air” about him which seems to be inseparable from
so many who live in the rural districts. From what Guy had learned of
the nature of the business in hand, he inferred that their act could be
practiced with safety and success only on green countrymen, and this
individual seemed to him to be a most unpromising object to operate
upon. But Mr. Jones thought differently.
“He’s the fellow we’re looking for,” said he, in a whisper. “The only
question is whether or not he is well fixed; but that is something we’ve
got to find out. Follow him up and speak to him at the first
opportunity. If he doesn’t give you a chance make one for yourself. Be
careful now.”
With a beating heart Guy stepped down from the door-way and set out in
pursuit of the gentleman; and before he had gone a block an opportunity
to accost him presented itself. When the gentleman reached a crossing he
stopped and looked up at the building, searching no doubt for the names
of the streets. Guy came up behind him and also stopped and looked about
with a bewildered air, as if he did not know which way to turn.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said he; “will you be kind enough to tell me
which way to go to find Robinson’s hardware store?”
“I should be glad to tell you if I knew, but I am a stranger here,” was
the reply.
“Are you, indeed?” said Guy. “So am I; and the worst of it is, I fear I
am lost.”
“I am in the same situation,” said the stranger. “I am trying to find my
hotel, and if I don’t succeed very soon I shall call a carriage.”
“Why, so you can. I never thought of that.”
“Where are you from?” asked the stranger.
“Brattleboro, Vermont,” replied Guy, “and I never before was so far away
from home. I have one friend here, a brother-in-law, if I could only
find him, who owns an extensive hardware store. Where do you live, sir?”
“A few miles from Ann Arbor, Michigan, and this is my first visit to St.
Louis. I am stopping at the Olive Street Hotel.”
“So am I; but, to tell the truth, I haven’t funds enough to pay for such
expensive lodgings, and that’s another reason why I am so anxious to
find Robinson. My father wouldn’t give me much money for fear I should
fall into the hands of—sharpers, I believe he called them.”
“Yes, that’s what they are,” said the stranger with an air of superior
wisdom. “Your father is a sensible man. It isn’t just the thing to trust
an innocent young fellow like you alone in a great city with plenty of
money in his pocket. He is almost sure to lose it.”
“Are you not afraid?” asked Guy.
“Me? No. I’ve traveled.”
“Then you will let me stay with you, won’t you? I shall feel safe in
your company.”
“Certainly, I will.”
“Well, suppose we go and see if we can find our hotel. I’d rather walk
than call a carriage. Your name is——”
“Whitney,” replied the stranger. “And yours?”
“Benjamin—Rufus Benjamin, at your service,” said Guy.
The embryo confidence man had the satisfaction of seeing that he was
making rapid headway, and when Whitney moved away with him he took his
arm, and the two walked along conversing as familiarly as though they
had been acquainted for years.
Guy seemed so innocent and confiding and made himself appear so ignorant
of city life, that Whitney wondered how his father came to trust him so
far away from home, and repeatedly assured him that it was a fortunate
thing for him that they met just as they did, for had Guy been left to
find his way back to his hotel alone, he would have been almost certain
to get himself into trouble of some kind.
Finally, as they were passing a beer-garden their attention was
attracted by the strains of music, and Whitney proposed that, as it was
yet early in the evening, they should step in and see what was going on.
Guy agreed, and when they had seated themselves at a table in a remote
corner of the garden, he called for cider. He never drank anything
stronger, he said, for his father didn’t allow it. But the German had no
cider, and Guy, after a great deal of persuasion, was at last prevailed
upon to indulge in a glass of soda-water, while Whitney solaced himself
with a mug of beer. For nearly half an hour they sat at the table
conversing upon different topics, smoking their cigars and sipping at
their glasses, and then the door opened and Mr. Jones came in.
“There’s the very man I have been looking for,” said Guy joyfully. “How
very fortunate! Robinson, come here.”
Mr. Jones approached the table at which his partner was sitting, and
after looking at him for a moment as if trying to recollect where he had
seen him before, suddenly seized him by both hands, and began pulling
him about over the floor as if he were overjoyed to meet him.
“Why, Rufus Benjamin, is this you?” he exclaimed. “You don’t know how
glad I am to see you.”
“And neither do you know how glad I am to see you,” returned Guy. “I
have been looking for you all the afternoon. Mr. Robinson, permit me to
introduce my friend, Mr. Whitney, from Ann Arbor, Michigan.”
“Happy to meet you, Mr. Whitney,” said Jones, extending his hand. “I am
always glad to make the acquaintance of any of Benjamin’s friends.”
“I never met him before this evening,” said Whitney, “but I think I have
acted the part of a friend in taking him under my charge. When I first
saw him he was as pale as a sheet, and trembling as if he had the ague.”
“Well, I was lost,” said Guy, who wondered what Whitney would think if
he knew the real cause of his nervousness and excitement. “I have never
been alone in a big city like this, you know.”
“I don’t suppose the boy has been outside of the State of Vermont half a
dozen times in his life,” said Jones. “How are things prospering in that
out-of-the-way part of the world anyhow, Rufus?”
“We’ve had a very good season in our parts, and the crops have done
well,” replied Guy. “But, Robinson, why didn’t you meet me at the
depot?”
“Why did you not write and tell me when to expect you?” asked Jones.
“I did.”
“Well, I have not received the letter. I have just returned from
Washington, and no doubt I shall find it waiting for me at home. Where
are you stopping, gentlemen? At the Olive Street House, eh? You must
permit me to take charge of you now, and to say that you shall not stop
at a hotel any longer. I will call a carriage presently and take you
home with me. I know that Mollie will be glad to have you come,
Rufus—she’s my wife, you know, Mr. Whitney, Benjamin’s sister—for it is
fully two years since she has seen you.”
The conversation thus commenced continued for a quarter of an hour. Mr.
Jones was in no hurry to begin his business operations, for Guy was
playing a part that was entirely new to him, and he was afraid to trust
him. In a few minutes, however, he had learned a good deal of Whitney’s
history and habits, and having satisfied himself that he was a good
subject to operate upon, he gave Guy the signal, and the latter prepared
for action.
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