OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
“NOW, what have you to say about Bradley Wentworth?” asked Hastings
abruptly, as they walked slowly up the road.
“First, let me ask you how long you have known him?”
“How long have I known him? Before you were born, youngster—a matter
of twenty years, I should say.”
“Did you know a man who was in the employ of Wentworth’s uncle at the
same time—Warren Lane?”
Hastings started.
“What do you know of Warren Lane?” he asked abruptly.
“He was my father,” answered Gerald.
“Your father! But I heard that he had died, leaving no son.”
“My poor father is dead, but I am as much alive as you are. Who told
you that I was dead?”
“Bradley Wentworth wrote me to that effect.”
“Bradley Wentworth would not be sorry to hear that I was dead, but he
knows better. He has seen and spoken with me more than once during the
last six months. He was at our cabin in Colorado when my poor father
died.”
“He is false and treacherous as he always was!” said Hastings bitterly.
“I can believe that. I consider him to be my bitter enemy, as he was my
father’s.”
“Then you know—the secret?”
“You refer to the forgery? Yes. How much do you know about it?”
“Everything,” answered Hastings emphatically.
“You know then his compact with my father?”
“I know of it. I was the only one that did know of it outside of your
father and Bradley Wentworth himself.”
“Then you probably know how basely he refused to pay my father the sum
agreed upon for his sacrifice of reputation.”
“I know that, too. The sum was twenty thousand dollars, was it not?”
“Yes, it was a debt of honor, or should have been considered such. I
don’t care so much for the money, but it was the price of my father’s
sacrifice, and in justice to his memory and his ruined life, I want
this man to pay it.”
“That’s sentiment, youngster. I should want the money for itself.”
“I can earn my own living. I am earning it now.”
“Where are you working?”
“In St. Louis. I am traveling for Gilbert Sandford, of that city. He is
a well-known merchant.”
“Never heard of him. You are young to travel for such a firm,”
continued Hastings, eying Gerald curiously.
“Yes, he engaged me as a favor, but I think that he has found my
services satisfactory, or he would not have taken me from the store and
sent me out on the road.”
“You must be smart, youngster. Did your father leave you anything?”
“A cabin and a few acres of land among the foothills of Colorado.”
“Have you any evidence of the agreement made by Bradley Wentworth?”
“I have two letters written by him on the subject, in which the matter
is plainly referred to.”
“Does he know that you have them?”
“Yes; he tried to buy them from me.”
“What did he offer?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“Then he considers your claim good. And you refused?”
“Of course!” answered Gerald indignantly. “Do you think I would
compromise such a thing?”
“I don’t know. A thousand dollars would be a mighty convenient sum to
handle.”
“I am not willing to pay so high a price for it. You must have been in
Mr. Wentworth’s confidence or you would not have known of the forgery.”
“Why shouldn’t I know it? I was the paying teller of the bank, and I
cashed the check in the ordinary course of business.”
“And the check—who presented it?” asked Gerald eagerly.
“Bradley Wentworth himself.”
“Then you knew all the while that it was he that was the forger and not
my father?”
“Yes.”
“Then what kept you silent?”
“Bradley Wentworth’s money,” answered Hastings significantly.
“Yet you tell me.”
“Because he has thrown me off. I wrote him ten days since for a
beggarly fifty dollars, and he refused to send it to me. In fact he
defied me, writing that there was no one alive to feel an interest in
the secret I had to sell. That is the sort of man Bradley Wentworth is.
Stay, I will show you the letter,” and he began to explore his pockets.
“I can’t find it,” he said, after an ineffectual search, with an
expression of perplexity, “and yet I had it when I went to the hotel an
hour since.”
“Is this it?” asked Gerald, producing the torn letter already referred
to.
“Yes, yes! How came you by it?”
“I found it on the floor of the hotel where you dropped it. You must
excuse my reading it. I should not have done so if I had not seen the
name of Bradley Wentworth signed to it. Everything that relates to him
has an interest for me, and when I read it I felt that it must relate
to my father.”
“Yes, it does. I am glad to meet you, boy. I forget your first name.”
“Gerald.”
“I remember now. Why, I was in the church when you were baptized.
There’s some difference between now and then.”
“I suppose I must have changed some,” said Gerald smiling.
“Yes; you have become a fine, manly boy. You don’t look like your
father, but you remind me of your mother. My wife would like to see
you. She always liked your mother. Can’t you come round and take supper
with us,” and then he hesitated and looked embarrassed; “but I am
afraid we can’t offer you much that is inviting,” he added.
“I will come with pleasure, Mr. Hastings,” said Gerald, “and as I am
afraid you have been out of luck, will you allow me to lend you a small
sum?”
Hastings took the ten dollars extended to him and his face brightened.
“Now I am not afraid to have you come,” he said. “My wife’s a good
cook when she has the wherewithal. We’ve been reduced to short-commons
lately.”
“Well,” said the clerk, as Gerald returned to the hotel, “did you call
on Tom Hastings?”
“Yes; I found him at home. I am going there to supper to night.”
“You don’t say so!” ejaculated the clerk in astonishment. “Did Tom
Hastings invite you?”
“Yes; he and his wife used to know my father and mother.”
“You will excuse my suggesting it, but it might be wise for you to eat
something here before you go over. Hastings isn’t much in the habit of
entertaining strangers, and I don’t think he sets a very good table.”
“I think there will be a good supper to-night,” said Gerald. “At any
rate I will risk it.”
He proved to be right. Mrs. Hastings was a good cook when she had the
wherewithal, as her husband expressed it, and she did her best, going
herself to the village market for supplies. It is safe to say that
Gerald fared better than he would have done at the hotel.
He was very cordially received by Mrs. Hastings, who indulged in
reminiscences of his mother, to which he listened eagerly.
“She was a good woman,” said Mrs. Hastings, “and I was grieved to hear
of her death. I am sure she would have lived longer but for the wicked
plot of Bradley Wentworth against your father.”
“You knew about it?”
“Yes; and I could not bear to think that my husband was aiding and
abetting him in his wicked scheme. I hope the time will come when his
injustice will be repaired.”
“I think it will, Mrs. Hastings. To that end I have been working ever
since my father’s death. I think Providence directed me to your husband
as the man who could help me. His testimony will be most important.”
“And it will be forthcoming, Gerald,” said Mr. Hastings. “I have stood
by Bradley Wentworth long enough. I never liked him as well as your
father, and I am prepared to help you because you are the son of Warren
Lane.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hastings.”
“I am a poor man. Still I make no condition. When you come to your own
you will not forget that I helped you to it.”
“I shall not forget it, Mr. Hastings. Do I understand that you will be
ready to give your testimony whenever I may call upon you?”
“I promise it. When do you leave Brentwood?”
“To-morrow morning, but it will not be long before you will hear from
me.”