JOE ACCEPTS A LOAN
The notion of calling up Jack and acquainting him with what had
happened came to him, but was dismissed after a moment’s reflection.
Jack was ill and the news would only worry and excite him. Instead, as
he hurried up Main Street, Joe decided to call up Aunt Sarah and excuse
himself from supper on a plea of business. Aunt Sarah wouldn’t like it,
for she still viewed the news-stand with suspicion. But perhaps Aunt
Sarah detected the anxiety in Joe’s voice when he telephoned, for she
asked no questions and was really quite pleasant, only informing him a
trifle wistfully that there was beefstew this evening and that Amanda
was making some of her delectable dumplings!
After that hurried talk over the wire Joe turned into Aspen Street,
walked three blocks west and finally rang the bell at the door of a
rather down-at-heels brick house that stood by itself almost in the
shadow of the frowning carpet mills. When a dejected and at the
same time suspicious-looking middle-aged woman answered the bell Joe
inquired if she were Mrs. Young.
“There’s no Mrs. Young lives around here,” was the reply. “My name’s
Bennett.”
“Does Chester Young live here, ma’am?”
“Are you a friend of his?” was the quick demand.
“My name is Faulkner, Mrs. Bennett. He worked for me in the Adams
Building.”
“He did, eh? Then maybe you’ll be payin’ me two weeks’ board he’s
owin’. Did he send you with the money?”
“No, I haven’t seen him since noon. That’s why I came over here. I
thought perhaps I’d find him.”
“Well, you won’t, then. He’s skipped!”
“Skipped?” exclaimed Joe. “Gone for good, you mean?”
“He’s gone owin’ me two weeks’ board, which is nine dollars, and fifty
cents he borrowed off me the day he came here. He was always promisin’
to pay it, but he never done it, and him bein’ out of work I didn’t
press him at first and then afterwards he kept sayin’ he’d pay me every
day. I’m a poor, hard-workin’ woman, and I need the money. Maybe
you’re after owin’ him wages, now?”
“I’m not. I wish I were, Mrs. Bennett. I’m sorry he left without
settling with you, ma’am. Could you tell me where he’s gone?”
“I can not. If I knew I’d be settin’ the police on him, never fear!
From the first I suspicioned him, the dirty rascal, but he had a smooth
tongue on him and was always promisin’ he’d pay tomorrow. If I knew
where he’d gone to I’d not be gabbin’ here in the doorway! ’Twas while
I was out to the store after dinner he sneaked in and packed his bag
and took it away with him, knowin’ I’d not stand for it if I was by.
Two weeks’ money and the half-dollar――――”
“And you can’t tell me whether he’s left town or just changed his
lodgings, Mrs. Bennett?”
“All I know is he’s gone, bad luck to him! Is he maybe owin’ you money,
too, sir?”
“A little, yes. I’m much obliged, ma’am. Good-night.”
“If you find him now, let me know, sir. That’s all I’m askin’ you.
Just you let me know, sir! The dirty scallawag! Cheatin’ a poor,
hard-workin’ woman out of her money!”
The door slammed and Joe stumbled back to the uncertain sidewalk and
retraced his steps along the ill-lighted street. When he reached
Indiana Street he unhesitatingly turned southward and five minutes
later saw the lights of the railroad ahead. His course had already been
determined and the visit to Mr. Chester Young’s lodgings had been made
with little hope of either finding the defaulting clerk or gaining
useful information. Chester had given Joe the impression that he lived
with his mother, which accounted for the latter mistaking the identity
of the woman at the door. Chester, it seemed, was a very tricky young
man.
At the station Joe examined the time-table in the waiting-room. Chester
had left the building somewhere about a quarter to five. At five-two
a train had left for Fostoria, Fremont and Sandusky, connecting at
Fremont for Toledo. There was no train between that and a quarter
to five and none afterwards until twenty minutes to six, when the
south-bound express had left for Columbus. Everything indicated the
five-two as the train Chester had taken if, as Joe suspected, he had
really left Amesville. The ticket window was closed, but a rap on the
door gained him admittance to the little room wherein the agent was
seated at the telegraph instrument. He looked up inquiringly, nodded,
worked the key a moment, listened to the reply, and then swung around
in his swivel chair.
“Well, sir, what’s troubling you?” he asked gaily.
“I wanted to ask if you remembered selling a ticket to a fellow for the
five-two train,” stated Joe.
“Maybe. What sort of a fellow? There were only nine passengers from
here on Number 14, so far as I know. What did he look like?”
Joe’s description was clear and concise and the agent nodded again. “I
remember the chap,” he said. “He bought to――Hold on, now. What business
is it of yours, my boy? Is he a friend of yours, or what’s the game?”
“He worked for me at the news-stand in the Adams Building and left
suddenly about a quarter to five. I went to his house and the landlady
said he’d taken his baggage and gone. I――I want to see him and ask him
something.”
“Do, eh?” The agent grinned. “How much did he touch you for?”
Joe smiled non-committingly.
“Well, that’s not my business, eh?” laughed the agent. “All right, son,
I’ll tell you what I know about the lad. He bought a ticket to Upper
Newton. I remember it distinctly because he called for a Fostoria
ticket first and changed his mind just as I stamped it. I asked him if
he was quite sure this time and he said he guessed he was. Yep, Upper
Newton, that was it. He carried a yellow suit-case. I noticed that as
he went out to the platform just before I closed the window.”
“And where’s Upper Newton?” asked Joe. “Is it very far?”
“About twenty-four or -five miles.”
“When does the next train go there?”
“Seven-thirty-six. But, say, if you’re thinking of going after him I
wouldn’t count a whole lot on finding him at Upper Newton. That’s not
much more than a flag station. I wouldn’t wonder if he bought for there
just to throw folks off the track. Dare say he’ll pay his way on to
Fostoria or, maybe, Fremont. At Fremont he could get east or west as
he liked. There’s a through train connects there for Toledo and beyond
and one going east about eleven tonight. Take my advice and stay where
you are, son. You’ll never catch him unless you want to put the police
after him. If you care for that I’d advise you to go back up-town and
tell your story to the chief. How much did he pinch from you?”
“I didn’t say he’d stolen anything,” said Joe.
“I know you didn’t. But, if he had, how much would it have been?”
Joe hesitated. Then, smiling: “About seventy-five dollars,” he said.
“But I’d rather you didn’t say anything.”
“I’m dumb. Say, where does he live when he’s at home?”
“I don’t know. He worked in Columbus before he came here.”
“Well, he’s headed straight away from Columbus, hasn’t he? I guess
he’s maybe going to Sandusky and take a boat. Still, seventy dollars
won’t take him far.” The agent was silent a moment, rapping a pencil
thoughtfully on the desk in front of him. Then: “Tell you what I’ll
do,” he exclaimed, sitting up with a thump of his chair. “I’ll wire
Harris on Fourteen and ask him if the fellow got off at Upper Newton or
paid his fare on the train to Fostoria or beyond! How’s that?”
“I wish you would! It’s very kind of you. I suppose I couldn’t catch
him if he’s gone on, though.”
“Well, we’ll find out, anyhow.” The agent flicked a time-table to
him, ran a finger down a column, glanced at the clock and then began
jabbing the telegraph key. “I’ll get Tiverton to give him the
message,” he explained as he waited a reply. “Fourteen gets there in
seven minutes if she’s on time. Here we are!” The sounder in its little
box ticked rapidly and stopped and the agent busied himself again with
the key. Joe, who had seated himself in a chair, watched and waited.
Presently the agent’s hand left the key and he faced around again.
“Twelve minutes late, he says. I’ve asked Harris to answer from
Mittenton. We ought to get a reply in about twenty-five minutes.”
“Is Tiverton beyond Upper Newton?” inquired Joe.
“Yes, about six miles. Harris will know if your man got off there,
because there wouldn’t be more than two or three for a small station
like that. If he didn’t he’d have to buy to some place further along
and Harris would remember making out his check.”
“I see. What did you say to that agent?”
“I said, ‘Harris, Conductor Number 14. Did slick guy about twenty-two
old leave train at Upper Newton? If not, what’s his destination?
Important. Reply from Mittenton. CHASE, Agent, Amesville.’”
“Thanks,” said Joe. “Then we’d ought to get an answer about twenty
minutes past seven. What time does that train go? Seven-thirty?”
“Thirty-six. Mittenton will shoot that right back. So you’ll have
plenty of time to get Number 49 if you want it.”
“Fostoria is the first big town, isn’t it?”
“Yep. He might be stopping off there. Anyway, he asked for Fostoria
first. That might be his home. I guess, though, he wouldn’t be fool
enough to go home. He’d know folks would look for him there right away.”
“How much is the fare to Fostoria, please?”
“One-twenty-four.”
“And how much is it to that other place where you said he might change?”
“Fremont? Fremont’s a dollar and forty-five.”
Joe looked thoughtful. He had, as he knew, only something like a dollar
and eighty cents in his pocket, which would come very far from being
sufficient. If he went back to the house he might borrow enough from
Aunt Sarah and he might not. Aunt Sarah seldom kept more than a dollar
or two on hand, and it would be folly to start out for Fremont or
Sandusky with less than six or seven dollars in his pocket. He tried to
think of some other place to get the money. There was Mr. Strobe, but
Joe had a dim idea that Jack had said something about his father going
to Chicago the day before. Perhaps the agent would know whether Mr.
Strobe was out of town. He looked across to find that person viewing
him smilingly.
“Not enough, eh?” he asked.
Joe grinned and shook his head. “Not nearly enough. I guess I ought to
have six or seven dollars. Do you know whether Mr. Strobe’s in town?”
“I know he left for the West yesterday morning. Whether he’s back or
not I can’t say. He carries mileage, so I don’t know where he started
for. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Yes. His son, Jack, and I run that news-stand together. I thought if
he was at home I’d run up there while we’re waiting and ask him to lend
me about five dollars.”
“I guess you wouldn’t find him. Where’s the son?”
“He’s at home, but he’s ill with quinsy. I wouldn’t want to trouble
Jack with the business right now.”
“What’s your name?”
“Joseph Faulkner.”
“All right, son, I’ll be your banker.” The agent thrust a hand in his
pocket and brought out some crumpled bills and a lot of silver. “Five
enough? You’d better have more, hadn’t you?”
“Oh, no, thanks; five is quite enough. It’s mighty good of you,
Mister――Mister――――”
“Chase. Don’t mention it. Pay it back some time in a week and I shan’t
miss it. Here you are.”
Joe accepted the crumpled bills and repeated his thanks. At that moment
the assistant came in and the agent, greeting him, introduced Joe.
“Faulkner,” he explained, “is waiting for a message from Harris on
Fourteen. It’ll probably come in from Mittenton before I get back, Jim.
Get it straight, will you, and give to him?” He turned to Joe as he
reached for his coat and hat behind the door. “Had your supper yet?” he
asked. “No? Well, you don’t want to start off without something inside
you. Come on over to the Palace and coal-up.”
The Palace proved to be the identical small restaurant which had
exhaled that enticing fragrance of coffee the morning of Joe’s arrival
in Amesville. The repast, though simple, was well cooked, and Joe, who
had forgotten all about supper, now discovered himself to be extremely
hungry. Under the benign influence of a cup of steaming-hot coffee he
confided the whole story to Mr. Chase and the latter gave flattering
attention.
“I remember reading in the paper about that cigar-stand of yours,” he
said. “You had a box and let folks put their money in it, didn’t you?
Did it work?”
“Yes, but sometimes folks didn’t have the right change and then we lost
a sale. So Jack and I decided we’d better hire someone to be there when
we couldn’t. We neither of us liked the looks of Young very much, but
we put in a cash register and thought it would be all right.”
“What you needed, I guess, was a safe,” replied the agent drily.
“Well, I hope you catch him, but, to be honest about it, Faulkner, I
don’t believe you will. If he gets off at Upper Newton you’ll be able
to trace him, I dare say, and you may if he goes on to Fostoria or
Fremont; they’re smallish towns; but if he reaches Sandusky or Toledo
it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack! What I’d do if I were
you is go right to the police and put it up to them.”
“Maybe that would be the best way,” agreed Joe doubtfully. “But,
somehow, I don’t like to. Everyone would know about it, you see, and
if――if Young didn’t exactly mean to pinch the money――――”
“Didn’t mean to! You don’t suppose, do you, that it got stuck to his
fingers and he couldn’t get it off?” asked the agent ironically.
“No.” Joe flushed faintly. “What I mean is that it would be too bad to
have him arrested, because he might never do a thing like that again.”
“Well, please yourself. I don’t think he deserves much consideration,
though.” He chuckled. “It would be a good plan to get him back here and
let that landlady you told about get at him! I’ll bet that would be
worse than a year in jail! If you’re through we’ll hike across and see
if that answer has come.”
There was some discussion as to who was to pay for Joe’s repast, but
the agent finally silenced protest by agreeing to accept a handful of
cigars if Joe’s mission succeeded. It was twenty minutes past seven
by the waiting-room clock when they got back to the station and the
message was awaiting them.
“Passenger held ticket to Upper Newton, but stayed on and bought to
Fremont. Made inquiry about east-bound trains tonight. If you want him
pinched say the word. HARRIS.”
“Fremont, eh?” Mr. Chase seized the time-table and studied it a moment.
“He can’t get an east-bound until ten-fifty-five. There’s a local to
Norwalk, though, at nine-forty-seven. He might take that. Or he may
have asked about the east-bound trains just to throw us off the track!”
He looked thoughtfully at Joe a moment. Then, decisively: “That’s
his game all right! He means to take the eight o’clock express to
Toledo! If he does――Hold on, though! Jim, ask how late Fourteen was at
Fostoria. That express doesn’t wait but five minutes for connections
and Fourteen was twelve minutes late at Mittenton. She might make that
up, but she makes all stops and I don’t believe she will. If he misses
the eight o’clock he can’t get west until ten-four.”
“Fourteen was nineteen minutes late at Fostoria,” announced the
assistant. “Left there at twenty-two.”
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Chase. “That’ll bring her to Fremont about
eight-seventeen if she doesn’t lose any more time, and she’s likely to
keep on losing now. If you take the thirty-six”――he glanced swiftly at
the clock――“you’re due in Fremont at nine-forty-eight. That’ll give you
sixteen minutes there before the west-bound pulls out. If he means
to take that he will be waiting around the station and you’ll catch
him.” He swung around toward the assistant. “Jim, send this to Harris
at Fremont: ‘Did passenger get off at Fremont? If so, do you know his
destination? CHASE.’ If Harris wires back that he got off this side
or has gone on to Sandusky I’ll telegraph you at Fostoria. If you
don’t get any message it’ll mean that your party got off at Fremont
and Harris doesn’t know where he’s headed for. You’d better loosen
up now and get your ticket. Your train will be here in four minutes.
Forty-nine’s on time, isn’t she, Jim?”
“O. T. at Fountain,” was the reply. “There she whistles now.”
Five minutes later, having set Aunt Sarah’s mind at rest by telephone,
Joe was seated in a day-coach and Number 49 was leaving the Amesville
lights behind her on her northward journey.