GERALD IS RELEASED.
AT length the door was opened and Gerald was free to leave his place of
confinement.
There was a cunning smile on Tip’s weazened face.
“I say, boss,” he said. “Ain’t you goin’ to give me somethin’ for
lettin’ you out?”
Gerald was amused in spite of himself.
“I ought rather to punish you for getting me into such a scrape.”
“’Twasn’t me. ’Twas Uncle Sam that made me do it.”
“I know that, and for that reason I will forgive you. You were paid for
luring me in here, and ought to be satisfied with that. So Mr. Standish
is your uncle?”
“That is what _he_ says. I couldn’t swear to it.”
“Perhaps he will leave you some money in his will.”
“He ain’t got no money,” said Tip contemptuously. “He’s strapped most
of the time. Did you give him any?”
“No.”
“Didn’t he take your pocketbook?”
“No.”
Tip looked puzzled.
“Then what did he want you shut up for?”
“I had some papers that he wanted.”
“Did you give them to him?”
“Yes.”
“War they worth much?”
“He thought they were.”
Tip was silent a moment.
“I wish I’d known that,” he said, after a pause.
“Suppose you had?” inquired Gerald curiously.
“I’d have let you out before he came for five dollars.”
“That is very kind of you, Tip. What would your uncle have done to you?”
“He’d have licked me, but I’d stand a lickin’ any time for five
dollars.”
“I see, Tip, you are a sharp boy. I haven’t any hard feelings against
you. I hope you will grow up a good man.”
Tip shook his head.
“It ain’t likely,” he said. “There ain’t many good boys round here.
This ain’t a Sunday-school neighborhood.”
“I am afraid it isn’t,” thought Gerald. “I fear Tip isn’t likely to
turn out a good man or a model citizen. He is smart enough, but he
isn’t using his smartness in the right way.”
“Where have you been, Gerald?” asked Mr. Brooke, when his secretary
returned to the hotel. “You don’t often come back late to lunch.”
“I was unavoidably detained, Mr. Brooke. In other words, I was
imprisoned.”
“Is that true?” asked the English tourist in surprise. “Please explain
yourself.”
Gerald did so.
“So the papers were taken?”
“Yes, they are gone,” answered Gerald, smiling. “I should like to see
Mr. Wentworth when he discovers that he has been duped.”
“He and his agent will both be disappointed. Do you know if he is in
the city?”
“I believe he is at the Southern Hotel.”
“Waiting till his agent has secured the papers, I presume?”
“I suppose so.”
“Really, Gerald, this is an excellent joke. I don’t think he will make
any further attempt to rob you. We can afford to laugh, but it might
have been quite otherwise.”
Meanwhile Mr. Standish made his way slowly towards the Southern Hotel.
He was plunged in deep thought. Should he give up the papers to Mr.
Wentworth, or should he stand out for a larger sum? He had been
promised two hundred dollars, but his principal had repeatedly offered
a thousand dollars for them, and he persuaded himself that he ought to
receive at least half this amount. He could not quite make up his mind
what to do, and was still in a state of indecision when he reached the
handsome hotel where Mr. Wentworth was a guest.
He entered the office, and did not have far to look, for Bradley
Wentworth was standing at the news counter where he had just purchased
a Chicago paper.
“Well?” he said eagerly when he saw Standish enter. “What news?”
“I’ve got the papers,” nodded Standish.
“You have? Give them to me.”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Wentworth. I want to see you alone.”
“Oh, very well! Come up-stairs.”
They boarded the elevator and stopped at the second landing, where Mr.
Wentworth led the way to a front room, of which he unlocked the door
and bade Standish enter.
“Give me the papers,” he said, “and I will give you a check.”
Samuel Standish made no motion to get the papers. Wentworth eyed him in
some surprise.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
Standish cleared his throat.
“You agree to give me two hundred dollars,” he said, “while I find that
you have more than once offered the boy a thousand dollars for them.”
“Who told you that?”
“Gerald himself.”
“It is a lie,” said Wentworth harshly. “Do you think I am a fool?”
“No; I think you are a very shrewd man. The papers are worth all that
you offered for them?”
“How do you know? How can you judge?” demanded Wentworth hastily.
“I have read them, and the boy explained the circumstances.”
Bradley Wentworth turned red. He saw that his secret was exposed, and
that this man knew that he had once been a forger.
“You can’t depend upon what the boy told you,” he said.
“It is confirmed by the letters.”
“You had no right to read the letters. It was a breach of faith.”
“I don’t look at it in that light. I wanted to be sure that they were
the papers I was instructed to secure.”
“Very well. I will excuse you. Give me the papers and I will give you
two hundred dollars, as I promised.”
“I must have five hundred,” said Standish firmly. “Even then you will
save five hundred. If you had bargained with the boy you would have
been obliged to give him a thousand.”
Then ensued a wordy wrangle, not necessary to detail. Wentworth, after
trying in vain to keep Standish to the original agreement, finally
paid him three hundred and fifty dollars, two hundred in bills and one
hundred and fifty in a check payable to the order of Samuel Standish.
Though he had not secured as much as he desired, Mr. Standish was
reasonably satisfied, not for years having had so large a sum in his
possession.
Bradley Wentworth was about to examine the papers when a bell-boy came
up with a telegram. Wentworth tore it open hastily.
It was an urgent summons to return, as matters of importance demanded
his presence at the factory.
He thrust the papers into his pocket.
“I am called home to Seneca,” he said. “I must catch the next train for
Chicago, if possible. I will not detain you any longer, as I have no
time to give you.”
“All right, Mr. Wentworth! I don’t want to interfere with your plans.
My acquaintance with you has been very agreeable, and, as I trust, for
our mutual advantage. I hope you may some time have further occasion to
employ my services. Good day, sir!”
Bradley Wentworth was already packing his valise, and did not think it
necessary to notice his agent’s farewell greeting.
“Three hundred and fifty dollars!” soliloquized Standish. “Did I ever
have as much money before? I can’t remember the occasion. Mr. Samuel
Standish, you can afford to live comfortably for a time. Did I do well
to part with the papers, or should I have stood out for a larger sum?
It is hard to tell. They must be worth more to the boy than this, but
it is not likely he had money enough to buy them. On the whole, Samuel,
you have probably done as well as you could.”
It will be remembered that Mr. Standish had a room at the Lindell. As
he entered the hotel he met Gerald in the corridor.
“So you have got back?” he said with a pleasant smile.
“Yes,” answered Gerald.
“I thought Tip could be relied upon. I prefer you won’t cherish any
hard feelings on account of the events of the morning.”
“Have you still got the papers, Mr. Standish?” asked Gerald abruptly.
“No.”
“Then I suppose you have given them to Mr. Wentworth?”
“Yes; I would much rather have given them back to you, but I judged
that you had not money enough to purchase them.”
“Mr. Standish,” said Gerald composedly, “I wouldn’t give five dollars
to have the papers back.”
“But,” stammered Standish, “you said Mr. Wentworth offered you a
thousand dollars for them.”
“For the originals, yes. _Those I delivered to you were copies._”
Standish seemed transfixed with amazement.
“But the originals? Where are they?” he asked.
“Where neither you nor Mr. Wentworth can get hold of them.”
When Standish had recovered from his astonishment he burst into a
hearty laugh.
“The old man’s been fooled,” he said. “Serves him right for being so
mean.”