There is something rather peculiar about the fact that troubles of any
sort never seem to come singly. This has been noticed by almost every
person of wide experience, and the idea is crystallized in the proverb:
"It never rains but it pours." The adage certainly held true in Fred's
case.
Only a few days after the occurrence related in the preceding chapter,
and when Fred had begun to feel a little more at ease in his mind, he
was called up sharply one night by his employer, who said to him:
"Fred, what have you done with the twenty dollar bill that was in this
drawer?"
"I have seen no such bill there to-day, sir," replied the clerk.
"You have seen no such bill, do you say? I took a new twenty dollar bill
of James D. Atwood this afternoon, when he settled his account, and I
put it in this drawer," pointing to the open cash drawer before him.
"It seems queer, sir; but I am sure that I have not paid it out or seen
it. Didn't you give it to Woodman and Hardy's man when you paid him
some money to-day?"
"No!" replied the merchant nervously, "he was here early in the
afternoon, before I took the bill. There has been no one to the cash
drawer but you and myself--unless you neglected your business and
allowed some scoundrel in behind the counter while I was at tea."
Fred flushed up at this intimation that he might have been false to his
trust, and replied, with some show of injured feeling:
"Mr. Rexford, if any money has been lost, I am sorry for you; but as I
said, I know nothing about it. You say you took in a twenty dollar bill,
and that now it is gone. If a mistake has occurred in making change, I
don't know why it should be laid to me any more than yourself, for I am
as careful as I can be."
"Do you mean to say, young man, that I have made a mistake of this size
in making change?"
"I simply say, there must be a mistake somewhere. Have you figured up
your cash account to know just how it stands?"
Mr. Rexford had not figured it up, but on discovering that the bill was
missing, and noticing that there was little increase in the other money,
he jumped to the conclusion that the drawer was twenty dollars short.
But on carefully going over his cash and sales accounts, and reckoning
the money on hand, he found that there was just eighteen dollars
missing.
This discovery only added mystery to the already perplexing matter. It
certainly looked now as though some cunning method had been employed to
swindle him.
The merchant's brow contracted at the thought, and after a few moments
he said, in an excited and angry manner:
"Worthington, you know about that bill, and are trying to deceive me. I
can see no way but that you took it during my absence, and in trying to
cover up your act put two dollars in the drawer; but, young man, I'd
have you know that such tricks can't be played on me!"
The flush that had appeared upon Fred's face was now gone, and in its
stead appeared the paleness of anger. He stepped squarely up to his
accuser, and said, in a determined tone:
"Do you mean to say that I stole your money? If you mean that, sir, you
say what is false, and you shall----"
"No, no; I don't--er--er--I won't say that--but--but be calm and let me
see!"
"Do you withdraw your accusation, then?" demanded the youth, whose
manner was such that Rexford was glad, for the time being, to retract
his statement, or make any admission whatever, for he saw that in the
boy's eyes which warned him to adopt a more conciliatory policy and to
do it speedily.
He consequently retreated from his position, and assured Fred that he
had spoken too hastily in accusing him. He also moved cautiously
backward to another part of the store, doubtless feeling that the air
would circulate more freely between them if they were some distance
apart; then he added:
"But the bill is gone, and as I have not paid it out, I want it
accounted for."
"No doubt you do," said Fred. "I should like to know where it is myself.
As long as you put it on that ground I will not object, but you shall
not charge me squarely with committing a theft."
"No, I won't charge you directly with taking it, but I have my opinion
as to where it has gone," rejoined Rexford, with an insinuating air.
Fred knew well what that opinion was; but it was beyond his power to
challenge it while unexpressed, and he could not at that time change it
by proving his innocence, so he replied:
"Very well, you can think as you like, if that gives you any
satisfaction."
"Yes, yes; very good! But I will get my satisfaction, not in thinking,
but in acting! You were hired as my clerk, and it was your duty to work
for my interest, and look out for this store in my absence. As this bill
disappeared while under your charge, I shall hold you responsible for
it," said the merchant, as he rubbed his thin, bony hands together.
This made the color again change in Fred's face, which, being noticed by
Rexford, influenced him to move a few paces nearer to the door, as he
possibly thought it still a little warm for his comfort, while young
Worthington exclaimed:
"You will never get a cent of my money for this purpose! Now you just
remember that!"
"Not so fast, young man! You forget that I owe you about fifteen
dollars, and I'll keep that amount in partial payment for this loss.
Don't think you are going to get ahead of me quite so easy!"
"I'm not trying to get ahead of you, but I want my rights and what is
due me, and I will have both. I don't more than half believe there was a
twenty dollar bill here at all! It is one of your mean tricks to beat me
out of my money. It is not much more, sir, than I have seen you do by
customers--adulterating goods, giving short weight and measures,
and----"
"Stop there! you vil--er--insinuating rascal," yelled the proprietor, in
a rage, his limbs and features twitching nervously. "Do you mean to say
that I cheat my customers, and----"
"Yes, that is just what I mean," replied Fred firmly.
"I'll have you arrested at once. I won't be insulted by such a scamp!"
"Be careful whom you call a scamp!" said Fred, while Rexford again edged
off. "I'd like to have you arrest me, for then I could tell things about
you and your store that would make a stir in this village! What if some
of the folks find out that the XXX St. Louis brand of flour, for which
they pay you ten dollars a barrel, is a cheap grade that you bought in
plain barrels and stamped yourself? Now do you want to arrest me? If you
do there are many other things I can tell, and I wouldn't pass your
accounts by either. I know something of what has been going on
here--more than you think, perhaps."
These rapid and earnest utterances from young Worthington wrought a
complete change in the merchant. They alarmed him, for he saw that the
boy had the advantage, and out of policy he must stop matters before
they became any worse. So he said, in a humble and subdued tone:
"Fred, it's no use for us to quarrel about this. You know it is not
proper for you to go outside and tell your employer's business, and----"
"I know it is not, and I would only do so to defend myself; but when you
threaten to keep my money, and to have me arrested, then I will show
what kind of a man is trying to take advantage of me."
"Very well, then, if I pay you your money, you will say nothing about
the business of this store, I suppose?"
"No, I will say nothing about what I have just mentioned, unless I
should be put on trial; then, of course, I should be obliged to
testify."
"You will not be put on trial. I take you at your word--your word of
honor," added the merchant impressively.
"Yes, my word of honor!" repeated Fred, "and that means that your
secrets are safe."
The wily Rexford had now gained his point--Fred's promise--and he
quickly changed front and cried:
"Well, there's your money--fifteen dollars--now consider yourself
discharged from my employ!"
"'Discharged,' did you say, sir?" ejaculated Fred, utterly taken aback
at this sudden turn of events.
"I said 'discharged,'" repeated the merchant, fidgeting about; "you know
what the word means, I presume?"
Fred did know what it meant. It meant more than Rexford's narrow spirit
could even comprehend. It meant disgrace, perhaps ruin.
Fred took the money, the few bills, the last he would earn in the old
store, and stood for a moment turning them over listlessly--evidently
not counting them, but as if to aid him in solving the problem that
rested heavily upon his mind.
X
"Isn't the money all right?" asked the merchant, finally.
"Mr. Rexford," said Fred, not noticing the inquiry, "I want you to tell
me if I lost my place on account of that missing bill."
"That is exactly why," replied the merchant, "for I have always been
satisfied with your work. Had you never got into that drunken scrape,
though, I probably should not have thought so much of it, even if I
could see no way in which to account for the mystery."
Fred felt it a cruel injustice that he should be discharged and
disgraced simply on the suspicion of a crime of which he was, in fact,
entirely innocent: still he could see that the merchant had some grounds
for his distrust, for when a boy once gets a stain upon his character it
is almost impossible to utterly efface it. It may be forgotten for a
time, but if any untoward circumstance afterward arises, the remembrance
of the old misdeed comes speedily to the surface and combines with later
developments to work injury to him. Thus my readers can see the great
importance of always doing what is right, thereby keeping their
reputations unsullied.
Had Fred not fallen a victim to De Vere's revengeful plot, he would have
been saved the shame that caused him so much misery; he would have
retained the good opinion of the people of Mapleton; he would not have
forfeited a certain very desirable friendship; and he would, in all
probability, have held his position with Mr. Rexford, regardless of the
mysterious disappearance of the bill.
Our young friend left the store where he had worked hard and faithfully,
and where he was gaining an insight into a business, the knowledge of
which, he hoped, would some day enable him to become an active and
prosperous merchant. But now, alas! he had been discharged and sent away
in disgrace.
Fred started for home with a more sorrowful heart than he had ever known
before. His last chance of success seemed, for a time, to be gone. The
villagers would now lose all faith in him, he would have no friends, and
even his father and mother might doubt his honesty. It would be useless
for him to try for a situation in another store, when it became known
why he was discharged from John Rexford's.
It was not surprising that young Worthington was so cast down, while the
shock was fresh upon him, for there seemed now to be no way by which he
could build himself up. But in this country there is always a chance for
an honest, ambitious, and determined boy to succeed by careful thought,
patient endurance, and hard work. Sometimes, to be sure, one can see
very little ahead to encourage him to push on and hope to come out
victorious. This is the very point at which many fail. They cannot stand
up "under fire," but fall back when by sufficient will force they might
win a decisive victory in the battle of life.
When Fred reached home, wearing a most dejected look, Mrs. Worthington
exclaimed:
"Why, my son, what brings you home so early? I hope you are not ill!"
"No, I'm well enough, mother, but I'm tired of trying to amount to
anything."
"What has happened now?" exclaimed the mother, with an alarmed
expression on her face.
"I have been discharged by Mr. Rexford, on suspicion of having stolen
money from the store."
"Stolen money!" uttered both parents simultaneously, as they grew pale
at the terrible thought.
"Yes, that is what I am charged with, though I know nothing about the
missing money. That is what makes it so hard to bear."
"Tell me the particulars," said the anxious father; whereupon his son
related all that had taken place between himself and the merchant--all
save that which related to Rexford's sharp practices, of which he had
promised to say nothing.
After the story was finished, all were silent for a time. Both mother
and boy looked heart sick, and gazed wistfully into the blaze that
burned brightly in the open grate, as if they might discover there the
secret of the mystery, while the father sat with knitted brows, studying
carefully the statements which Fred had made.
At length he broke the silence, and said:
"My son, you have never deceived me. You came to your mother and me with
true manhood, and told us of your first disgrace, while many boys would
have tried hard to keep it from their parents. Though I never had reason
to suspect you of wrong doing, yet that voluntary act upon your part
proved to me that you had the courage to do right and own the truth. Now
something has taken place that seems worse than the other; but as you
say you are innocent, I believe it, and think that some great mistake
has been made. I don't know where it can be, but we must try to clear it
up."
Though these were welcome words to Fred, he was much cast down
notwithstanding.
"But, father," he replied, "the people will all believe me guilty when
they see I am out of the store, and learn the circumstances."
"It is far better for you, my boy, that they should suppose you guilty,
when you are conscious of your innocence, than that the whole world
should believe you innocent, if you were really guilty."
"Well, I don't see how we can show that I did not take the money."
"Neither do I, at present; but time will straighten this matter, as it
does almost everything. Don't expect that we can accomplish much while
we are sitting here and talking about it."
"What shall we do, then, father?"
"Wait until we can see how to proceed."
"Well, I don't see any way; and, besides, I am about discouraged, now
this is added to the other disgrace; and to think that I am not
responsible for either!" exclaimed Fred, with deep emotion.
"I think you were responsible, to a certain extent, for the first," said
his father.
"How was I responsible when De Vere led me into it, and had my drink
adulterated?"
"You were to be blamed for going to the bar at all. You should not have
been influenced by such a fellow as that scamp."
"Yes, I know I didn't do right in that respect, but I had no reason to
suppose that such a result would follow."
"One hardly ever does when he is being led on to do some wrong act by a
crafty villain."
"Matthew probably would have had his revenge in some other way, if he
had not succeeded in his first trial."
"Very true; but had it been in some other form, it might have been shown
that he was the guilty party; whereas now it would seem that you were
the author of your own misfortune, while the real agent of the
occurrence goes unsuspected, and exults in your downfall."
"I thought he wanted to be friends with me, so I tried not to displease
him."
"Well, I hope that affair will be a valuable lesson to you. It has
certainly proved itself a costly one. You should learn to look at the
motives of people, and not trust them too far, simply because they smile
upon you once and seem friendly. I don't think that your judgment was
very keen, or you would have seen through De Vere's sudden change of
manner when you had reason to suppose he would maintain a more hostile
attitude than ever."
"Don't be too hard upon him, Samuel," interrupted Mrs. Worthington, who
saw that Fred was growing restive under his father's rebukes.
"I am not trying to be hard upon him," replied her husband, "but simply
wish to bring this matter before him in a way that will enable him to
make the most of this experience. I want to teach him to avoid such
errors in the future; for this is an almost fatal mistake in his case,
which will follow him for years, and will, so far as I can see, change
his whole life's career."
"Why, how is that, father?" inquired Fred, in a half frightened voice.
"It is simply this: your mother and I always intended that you should
become a merchant. We instilled that idea into you from a child, and as
you grew older, to our satisfaction you showed a decided taste for such
a life. At last I got you a place in a store where I thought you could
build yourself up, and, in course of time, go into business for
yourself. You showed an aptitude for the work, and Mr. Rexford assured
me that you were one of the very best clerks that ever worked for him.
This, however, was before he was led to suspect you because of the De
Vere affair. Now you have been discharged by him on the suspicion of
having stolen money from his drawer. Under these circumstances, no one
in town would take you into his store as clerk; so you may as well give
up, first as last, the idea of becoming a trader."
"Couldn't I get a place in Boston, or somewhere else?"
"I think not; and if you could, I should not be willing to have you go
away from home."
"Why not, father? Wouldn't it be better than for me to stay here, where
I can get nothing to do?"
"No, my son; you are too young to go away from home, where you would
have no one to look after you, and where you would be subject to many
evil influences."
"Here every one will think I am a thief, and probably my friends will
not speak to me," added Fred, in a more sorrowful tone than ever.
"So much the more reason why you should remain here. Were you to go away
now, the people would surely think you guilty. No, no, my son! You must
stay here, where circumstances have conspired against you, and show by
your life that you are innocent. Then, too, by living here, you can
gather evidence that may be of value to you."
"Where can I get any evidence?"
"You can give it, if you can't get it," replied his father, "by going to
work tomorrow morning, and thus showing your good intentions."
"There is nothing to do in this dull town that I know of."
"There is always something to be done. But work won't come to you; you
must look it up. The important thing with you now is to find something
to do; for nothing so injures a boy or man in the sight of others as
loafing."
"Can't I be with you in the shop, father?"
"No, I don't want you to learn a shoemaker's trade. If I had been in
some other business, I might, perhaps, have been rich now. Shoemaking
doesn't afford one much chance to rise, however hard he works. You will
have to give up the idea of being a merchant, for the present, at least,
and perhaps forever; so I want you to engage in something where your
opportunities for advancement will not be limited as mine have been. No
matter if you have to commence at the very bottom of the ladder; you can
build yourself up by hard and intelligent work."
Fred now began to brighten up a little, and after some further
conversation with his father and mother, in which they tried to
encourage him as much as possible, he said:
"Father, you know I have always had an ambition to be somebody. When I
saw that De Vere was trying to turn my friends against me, because I was
a poor man's son, I made up my mind that I would push ahead harder than
ever; but now"--he spoke with a good deal of determination and force for
a boy--"I will succeed if I have to work day and night to accomplish
it."