Ebenezer Graham had taken no stock in his son's charge against Herbert.
He was not prejudiced in favor of Herbert, nor did he feel particularly
friendly to him, but he was a man of shrewdness and common sense, and he
knew that Herbert was not a fool. When Eben made known to him the fact
that the stamps and money were missing, he said keenly: “What has become
of 'em?”
“I don't know,” answered Eben, “but I can guess well enough.”
“Guess, then,” said his father, shortly.
“You know Herbert Carr took my place last evening?”
“Well?”
“There's no doubt that he took the stamps and money.”
“That isn't very likely.”
“I feel sure of it--so sure that I mean to charge him with it.”
“Well, you can see what he says.”
Ebenezer did not understand that Eben intended to have the boy arrested,
and would not have consented to it had he known. But Eben slipped out of
the store, and arranged for the arrest without his father's knowledge.
Indeed, he did not learn till the trial had already commenced, Eben
having made some excuse for his absence.
When Eben returned his father greeted him in a tone very far from
cordial.
“Well, Eben, I hear you've gone and made a fool of yourself?”
“I have only been defending your property, father,” said Eben, sullenly.
“I thought you'd appreciate it better than this.”
“You've charged an innocent boy with theft, and now all his friends will
lay it up agin' us.”
“Were you going to be robbed without saying a word?” asked Eben.
“No, I'm not, Eben Graham; I'm goin' to say a word, and now's the time
to say it. You can't pull wool over my eyes. The money's gone, and the
stamps are gone, and somebody's got 'em.”
“Herbert Carr!”
“No, it isn't Herbert Carr. It's somebody nearer to me, I'm ashamed to
say, than Herbert Carr.”
“Do you mean to say I took them?” asked Eben.
“I won't bring a charge unless I can prove it, but I shall watch you
pretty closely after this.”
“In that case, I don't wish to work for you any longer; I throw up the
situation,” said Eben, loftily.
“Verv well. When are you going to leave town?”
“I ain't going to leave town at present.”
“Where are you going to board, then?”
Eben regarded his father in dismay.
“You're not going to send me adrift, are you?” he asked, in
consternation.
“I'm not going to support you in idleness; if you give up your situation
in the store, you'll have to go to work for somebody else.”
“I wish I could,” thought Eben, thinking of the rich young man at the
hotel, from whom he had sought a position as companion.
“Then I shall have to leave Wayneboro,” he said; “there's nothing to do
here.”
“Yes, there is; Farmer Collins wants a hired man.”
“A hired man!” repeated Eben, scornfully. “Do you think I am going--to
hire out on a farm?”
“You might do a great deal worse,” answered Ebenezer, sensibly.
“After being a dry-goods salesman in Boston, I haven't got down to that,
I beg to assure you,” said Eben, with an air of consequence.
“Then you will have to work in the store if you expect to stay at home,”
said his father. “And hark you, Eben Graham,” he added, “don't report
any more losses of money or stamps. I make you responsible for both.”
Eben went back to his work in an uneasy frame of mind. He saw that
he had not succeeded in imposing upon his father, and that the
clear-sighted old gentleman strongly suspected where the missing
articles had gone. Eben might have told, had he felt inclined, that
the five-dollar bill had been mailed to a lottery agent in New York in
payment for a ticket in a Southern lottery, and that the stamps were
even now in his possession, and would be sold at the first opportunity.
His plan to throw suspicion upon Herbert had utterly failed, and the
cold looks with which he had been greeted showed what the villagers
thought of his attempt.
“I won't stay in Wayneboro much longer,” Eben inwardly resolved. “It's
the dullest hole in creation. I can get along somehow in a large place,
but here there's positively nothing. Hire out on a farm, indeed! My
father ought to be ashamed to recommend such a thing to his only son,
when he's so well off. If he would only give me two hundred dollars, I
would go to California and trouble him no more. Plenty of people
make money in California, and why shouldn't I? If that ticket draws a
prize--”
And then Eben went into calculations of what he would do if only he drew
a prize of a thousand dollars. That wasn't too much to expect, for
there were several of that amount, and several considerably larger. He
pictured how independent he would be with his prize, and how he would
tell his father that he could get along without him, displaying at the
same time a large roll of bills. When he reached California he could buy
an interest in a mine, and perhaps within three or four years he could
return home twenty times as rich as his father. It was pleasant to think
over all this, and almost to persuade himself that the good luck had
actually come. However, he must wait a few days, for the ticket had not
yet come, and the lottery would not be drawn for a week.
The ticket arrived two days later; Eben took care to slip the envelope
into his pocket without letting his father or anyone else see it, for
unpleasant questions might have been asked as to where he got the money
that paid for it, Mr. Graham knowing very well that his son had not five
dollars by him.
For a few days Eben must remain in Wayneboro, until the lottery was
drawn. If he was unlucky, he would have to consider some other plan for
raising money to get away from Wayneboro.
It was not till the day after the trial and his triumphant acquittal,
that Herbert saw Eben. He came to the store to buy some groceries for
his mother.
“Good-evening, Herbert,” said Eben.
“Eben,” said Herbert, coldly, “except in the way of business, I don't
want to speak to you.”
“You don't bear malice on account of that little affair, do you,
Herbert?” said Eben, smoothly.
“That little affair, as you call it, might have been a very serious
affair to me.”
“I only did my duty,” said Eben.
“Was it your duty to charge an innocent person with theft?”
“I didn't see who else could have taken the things,” said Eben.
“Probably you know as well as anybody,” said Herbert, contemptuously.
“What do you mean?” demanded Eben, coloring.
“You know better than I do. How much do I owe you?”
“Thirty-three cents.”
“There is your money,” said Herbert, and walked out of the store.
“I hate that boy!” said Eben, scowling at Herbert's retreating figure.
“He puts on too many airs, just because a city man's taken him in
charity and is paying his expenses. Some time I'll be able to come up
with him, I hope.”
Herbert was not of an unforgiving nature, but he felt that Eben had
wronged him deeply, and saw no reason why he would not repeat the injury
if he ever got the chance. He had at least a partial understanding of
Eben's mean nature and utter selfishness, and felt that he wished to
have nothing to do with him. Ebenezer Graham was very “close,” but he
was a hard-working man and honest as the world goes. He was tolerably
respected in Wayneboro, though not popular, but Eben seemed on the high
road to become a rascal.
A week slipped by, and a circular containing the list of prizes drawn
was sent to Eben.
He ran his eyes over it in a flutter of excitement. Alas! for his hopes.
In the list of lucky numbers the number on his ticket was not included.
“I have drawn a blank! Curse the luck!” he muttered, savagely. “The old
man needn't think I am going to stay here in Wayneboro. If he won't give
me money to go out West, why, then--”
But he did not say what then.