A LETTER FROM PORTVILLE
GERALD followed the reporter to the nearest station-house, and gave an
account of the robbery. Notes were taken and he was asked, "If we arrest
this man will you appear against him?"
"I want to leave town to-morrow, if possible."
"You will have to stay longer than that. However, we will hurry up the
trial."
By this time Gerald was hungry.
"Is there a restaurant near by?" he said.
"Yes. I am going out to lunch myself; you can accompany me."
The reporter led the way to Fourteenth Street, where Gerald found a neat
and satisfactory restaurant. The robbery had not spoiled his appetite,
and he did justice to a generous meal.
When they left the restaurant the reporter asked: "Where are you going
now?"
"I don't know. I have no particular plans."
"Then come with me. There has been a fire on Third Avenue, and I am
commissioned to inquire particulars of the losses and insurance. It will
give you an insight into city life."
"I shall be glad to go with you."
They visited the scene of the fire, and half an hour was consumed by the
reporter in gathering the needed information. Then they walked down the
avenue toward Fourteenth Street.
All at once Gerald clutched his companion's arm.
"Look, Mr. Brown," he said; "there is the man that robbed me!"
A few rods in advance, walking with his usual sauntering gait, was
Turner, known to Gerald as William Brand.
"You are right. That's the man."
"What shall I do?"
"Keep him in sight till you see a policeman. Then ask to have him
arrested."
Usually it is said that a policeman is never in sight when he is wanted;
but in this case there was an exception. One of the bluecoats turned
into Third Avenue from a side street. Gerald darted forward and touched
him on the arm.
"What's wanted, sonny?" asked the officer.
"I have been robbed of fifty dollars, and there's the man that robbed
me."
"Are you sure about this? I don't want to make a mistake."
By this time the reporter came up.
"It's all right, officer," he said. "I know the man."
"And who are you, sir?"
"A reporter on the Evening——"
The policeman regarded him with respect. He felt that it was well for
him to keep in with reporters on the daily papers.
"All right, sir," he answered. "You will accompany me to the
station-house?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll make the arrest. Keep close at hand."
Increasing his pace, the officer caught up with Brand and tapped him on
the shoulder. He turned quickly, and when he recognized who it was that
had touched him, his face underwent a quick change. But he put on a bold
front.
"How are you, captain?" he said, with assumed nonchalance. "You are
Officer Benson, are you not?"
"No."
"I thought you were. Benson is a fine fellow, and an old-time friend of
mine."
"That's all very well, but I have business with you. You are charged
with the robbery of a wallet containing fifty dollars."
"This must be a joke!" said Brand, in assumed surprise. "Who makes the
charge?"
The officer pointed out Gerald.
"Never saw him before in my life!" he exclaimed.
"Perhaps you never saw me, Mr. Turner?" struck in the reporter.
"Yes; you live in the same house with me."
"Exactly. You lured this boy to your room, and, after robbing him,
locked him in. I released him."
"Was this the story he told you?"
"Yes."
"All I can say is, that if he got into my room it was for the purpose of
robbery."
Gerald was about to make an indignant denial, when the officer said:
"You'll have to go with me, Mr. Brandon Turner, or whatever your name
is. I am not running a police court. You can defend yourself in the
court-room."
"But this is an outrage!" blustered Brand. "To be arrested on a false
charge made by a young rascal!"
"Come along! I didn't recognize you at first, but I believe you are Jim
Hayden, whose picture is in the Rogues' Gallery, in Mulberry Street."
In spite of further remonstrance, Brand was taken to the police station,
and, at Gerald's request, was searched. The missing wallet was found in
his pocket, and proved to contain the lost money with the exception of
five dollars, which had probably been spent.
He was tried the next day, and sentenced to three years in State's
prison. Altogether Gerald was delayed three days. Then, with his
restored money in his pocket, he started for Chicago. His new friend the
reporter accompanied him to the depot of the Pennsylvania Railroad at
Jersey City.
"I wish you good luck, Gerald," he said. "If you triumph over obstacles
as you have done here, there is little doubt that you will come out
successful in the end. I shall be glad if you will write me a line
occasionally."
"I will do so, Mr. Brown. You have done me a great service, which I
shall not readily forget."
Gerald remained two days in Chicago. By Mr. Nugent's advice he put up at
the Palmer House, and devoted a part of his time to looking about the
city. He was very much impressed by the bustling activity and energy of
the Chicago people. He felt that life there and in New York was very
different from the hum-drum existence of Portville. Yet there was no
lack of attachment for his native village; and when, on the second day,
the clerk handed him a letter with the familiar postmark, he opened it
eagerly. The letter, as he surmised, was from Richard Childs, to whom
alone he had said anything of his destination.
This was the letter:
"DEAR GERALD—It seems odd for me to sit down to write you a letter
in Chicago. I cannot realize that you are so far away. What a lot
you must have seen already! I only wish I were with you, instead of
standing behind the counter in Mr. Tubbs' grocery store.
"You will ask how I like it. Well, I don't like it. It is hard work
and long hours, and I don't find much interest in selling butter,
sugar and other groceries over the counter. Still, we have had a
share of excitement. You will be surprised to hear that your old
friend Brandon has been discharged, and a new clerk hired from Dana.
You remember the trouble you had, and the charge of stealing which
was brought against you. I believe that up to the time of your going
away Mr. Tubbs still believed you to be a thief. You can't wonder at
it so much, for Brandon was constantly talking against you. But you
were not without friends. Mr. Barton, from the savings bank, had an
interview with Mr. Tubbs, and persuaded him to lay a trap for
Brandon. Two marked bills—fives—were placed in the drawer, and
presently one disappeared. I don't know whether Tubbs thought that I
had taken it or not, but a day or two later Mr. Sullivan, who keeps
the livery-stable, handed one in payment of his grocery bill.
"'Where did you get this five-dollar note?' asked Tubbs.
"'Why, isn't it good?' asked Sullivan.
"'Yes; but I have a reason for asking. I hope you haven't forgotten
who gave it to you?'
"'No; I don't have so many fives handed in that I can't remember.
That bill was given me by your clerk Brandon. He hired a team to go
to Sherborn last Sunday and paid me with this bill.'
"'You could swear to that?'
"'Yes; certainly.'
"Of course this was convincing, and Brandon was summoned. When
confronted with the charge he turned pale, and tried to brazen it
out, saying that Sullivan was mistaken. But the livery man persisted
in his assertion, saying that he noticed a cross in red ink on the
bill when he took it. Upon that Brandon was discharged, and I
understand his father has agreed to pay Mr. Tubbs fifty dollars to
save him from arrest and prosecution. His successor, Mr. Toner, is a
great improvement on him, and is much more satisfactory to me.
"I see your dear stepbrother Abel now and then. He asked me if I had
heard from you, knowing our intimacy; but I answered 'No.' He was
wondering whether you were still in New York. I could have told him,
but I didn't. He isn't very popular in the village. He tries to boss
the other boys, but doesn't succeed very well. The boys are getting
up a baseball club. He wanted to be captain, but only received one
vote—his own. The captain chosen is my honorable self. What do you
think of Captain Childs? Sounds great, doesn't it? Write as soon as
you can, and let me know what has happened to you.
"Your true friend,
"RICHARD CHILDS."
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