BEN MEETS WITH A LOSS.
Ben lost no time in calling at Simpson’s and redeeming his watch. He
felt very fortunate in recovering it so soon.
Mr. Snodgrass dropped a hint that he should be glad to have Ben redeem
_his_ watch too, but the young actor did not feel that his prosperity
was sure to be permanent, and ignored the suggestion. In fact his
engagement continued but four weeks, as at the end of that time Mr.
Wilkins’s play had to give place to another attraction at the People’s
Theater.
“I hope, Ben,” said Mr. Wilkins, “that the piece may go on the road
soon, but just at present we have not been able to find a capitalist
willing to advance the necessary sum. If a new company is organized I
shall try to get your old part for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilkins. Of course I should like it. But the four weeks
I have played have been of great service to me. Besides paying a debt
and getting my watch out of pawn, I have been able to save up sixty
dollars, which are safely deposited in the Union Dime Savings Bank.”
“That is good. And what do you propose to do, Ben?”
“I shall go back to my old business.”
“Selling papers on the Bowery?”
“Yes.”
“It must be slow after being a popular favorite on the stage.”
“It will be, but I don’t want to be idle.”
“Perhaps you are right. I will be on the look-out for you, and if I
find something more congenial I will inform you at once.”
Ben did find it slow work following his old business. He missed the
nightly applause, and the pleasant consciousness that he was earning
three times his necessary expenses.
But it was agreeable to think that he had some money in the savings
bank to fall back upon. Mr. Snodgrass urged him to use a part of it,
and even hinted that he should be glad to borrow ten dollars, but Ben
knew the novelist too well to feel that it would be a safe investment.
It was about this time that a young man of twenty took an unoccupied
room at Mrs. Robinson’s house. He professed to be earning twelve
dollars a week in a counting house on Pearl Street as assistant
bookkeeper.
He was dressed in quite a pretentious style, and had a large stock of
flashy neckties. He had seen Ben on the stage at the People’s Theater,
and this led him to cultivate his acquaintance.
“You must have saved up a lot of money while you were acting,” he said
one day.
“A little, Mr. Grayson,” Ben admitted. “I have sixty dollars in the
Union Dime Savings Bank.”
“Humph! I don’t think much of savings banks.”
“What do you consider better?”
“I’ve got a friend doing business in Wall Street. Give it to me and
I’ll get him to buy a few shares of stock for you on a margin.”
“I think I would prefer to leave the money where it is.”
“All you will get there is a paltry four per cent.”
“The interest doesn’t amount to much, to be sure, but the money is
safe.”
George Grayson did not press the matter, but invited Ben out to play
pool at a place on Sixth Avenue.
“I never played the game,” said Ben.
“No matter; you’ll pick it up directly.”
“But I can’t afford to play it.”
“It only costs five cents.”
Knowing nothing of the game, Ben accepted this as true, and curiosity
led him to accompany his new acquaintance.
“I’ll coach you,” said Grayson.
They made choice of tables and commenced playing. Two other young men,
friends of Grayson, joined them.
The game occupied only about ten minutes. Ben succeeded in pocketing
one ball, and naturally stood last.
“Well, Ben, you’re beaten!” said Grayson. “The rule is to pay at the
end of each game.”
Ben took a nickel from his pocket and handed it to the attendant.
“What’s this for?” he asked.
“My friend told me that the game cost five cents.”
“Yes, five cents a cue.”
“Well, I only used one cue.”
“Come, young feller, no fooling! There were four played, and as you
were beaten you pay for the whole. Fifteen cents more.”
“That’s straight, Ben,” said Grayson.
“But you told me it would be only five cents.”
“Don’t argue the matter or all the boys will be laughing at you.”
Ben saw that he had been deceived, but took the advice of his tricky
companion.
“Now for another game!” said Grayson.
“You can count me out,” said Ben.
“What! Does it worry you so much to get beaten?” sneered his companion.
“No, but I can’t afford to play.”
“You say that with sixty dollars in the bank!”
“I shouldn’t have it there long, if I played pool every evening.”
Grayson whispered some words in the ear of the next player and he
laughed rather derisively. Ben thought he caught the word “miser.” At
any rate he had had enough of pool playing, and soon after left the
hall.
He did not feel very cordial towards Grayson, but the latter made
friendly advances, and as he said no more about pool Ben gradually
admitted him to companionship.
Two or three times he asked Grayson the street and number of the
business firm which employed him, but only received an evasive answer.
There came a dull time, so far as news was concerned, and Ben found
that the sale of papers fell off, so that he was no longer able to
earn seventy-five cents a day. This was the very smallest sum on which
he could live even with the strictest economy, and, reluctant as he was
to do it, he found that he must draw some money from the savings bank.
During Ben’s career as an actor he had increased his stock of
underclothing, and, having only a gripsack, had invested in a small
sized trunk, which he found much more convenient.
In the tray of this trunk he had placed his savings bank book. He
opened the trunk and looked confidently for the book. But to his
surprise it was not to be found.
“Perhaps I put it in the lower part of the trunk,” he said to himself,
though he felt sure it had been in the tray. He continued his search,
but it proved to be vain.
Ben sat down before the open trunk and tried to recall all the
incidents connected with the last time of opening it. But the more he
thought the more puzzled he became.
Then it flashed upon him that the book might have been stolen. He went
at once to the room of his literary friend, Sylvanus Snodgrass, and
told him of his discovery.
“It has been stolen!” said Sylvanus instantly. “I introduced an
incident like this into my last serial story for the _Bugle_.”
“But who could have stolen it?” asked Ben, perplexed. “The servant
wouldn’t do it I am sure.”
“No, she is an honest Swedish girl. She wouldn’t be capable of it.”
“I agree with you, but some one must have taken it from the trunk.”
“Of course! Let me think,” and the novelist leaned his head on his hand
and wrinkled up his forehead in the throes of mental speculation.
“I have it!” he exclaimed suddenly.
“What! the bank book!”
“No; I begin to understand the mystery.”
Ben regarded him patiently. He knew that Sylvanus would soon impart to
him his suspicions.
“Last evening I took a walk with Grayson,” said the novelist. “I
noticed a new and handsome ring upon his finger. I asked him where
it came from. He said, ‘It was given me by a friend,’ but he spoke
hesitatingly. ‘It must have cost as much as ten dollars,’ I said.
‘Fifteen!’ he answered. ‘That is, I saw a ring like it in a shop window
for fifteen dollars.’
“Depend upon it, Ben, that ring was bought with your money, and George
Grayson opened your trunk and stole your bank book.”
“I don’t like to think so,” said Ben, troubled.
“I feel sure of it.”
“What would you advise me to do?”
“Go to the bank, give notice of your loss, and find out whether any
money has been drawn from the bank on your account.”
This seemed to be sensible advice, and Ben acted upon it the next
morning. Mr. Snodgrass accompanied him to the banking house at the
junction of Broadway and Sixth Avenue at Thirty-second Street.
Ben went up to one of the windows--the one where the paying teller pays
over the money--and gave notice of the loss of his book--giving the
number.
“When did you see the book last?” asked the official.
“Wednesday.”
“And to-day is Friday.”
“I should like to know if any money has been drawn on it?” asked Ben.
The books were referred to, and the answer came, “Forty dollars were
drawn day before yesterday. Didn’t you sign the order?”
“No.”
The receipt was looked up, and the signature examined.
“Isn’t that your signature?”
“No, sir.”
“Then it must have been imitated. The resemblance is very close.”
Ben was forced to admit that it was.
At this moment Sylvanus, who had been looking out of the front window,
came up and said hurriedly, “Grayson is coming, and he has a bank book
in his hand.”