JACOB WINTER.
Leaving Ben for a time, we go back to his old home to inquire how his
mother and stepfather were faring. Mr. Winter seemed to grow meaner
as he grew older. His wife often asked herself how she could have
been so foolish as to marry him. All she had gained by it was a home
for herself, but her clothing she was obliged to purchase at her own
expense.
One day Mr. Winter went to her with a smile upon his face. Some one had
handed him a copy of a New York paper in which an account was given of
the robbery of an employer by a boy named Bruce.
“You see now what your model boy has come to,” he said triumphantly.
Mrs. Winter read the paragraph carefully.
“That boy isn’t Ben,” she said decisively.
“Oh, no,” sneered Jacob Winter, “of course it isn’t Ben.”
“Certainly not. Don’t you see that the age of this Bruce is given at
nineteen.”
“No doubt that is a mistake. Mistakes are often made about ages.
Besides Ben is tall and well grown, and could easily pass for nineteen.”
“Ben isn’t filling any such position as that mentioned.”
“How do you know? When did you hear from him last?”
“Four weeks ago.”
“A good deal may happen in four weeks, Mrs. Winter.”
“That is true, but you won’t make me believe Ben has taken money.”
“None so blind as those that won’t see. I knew no good would ever come
to Ben when he ran away from a good home.”
“I shan’t borrow any trouble, Mr. Winter. You always were ready to
believe anything bad of Ben.”
“Just wait and see, Mrs. W. You’ll find out that I am right, before
long.”
And Mr. Winter with a smile of superiority left the kitchen and went
out to the barn.
He had hardly gone out when Albert Graham came into the house.
“How do you do, Mrs. Winter?” he said. “Have just heard from Ben.”
“Have you? Oh, I am so glad. Look at this paragraph, Albert, and tell
me if it is true.”
Albert read attentively the paragraph about the young defaulter.
He said indignantly: “You don’t think that was Ben, do you, Mrs.
Winter.”
“No, I didn’t think so, but Mr. Winter insists that it was Ben.”
“Then Mr. Winter is mistaken. How could Ben steal money in New York
when he is in England?”
“What!” ejaculated Mrs. Winter, dropping her rolling-pin on the floor
in her surprise.
“Look at that letter, Mrs. Winter! You see it is mailed in London.”
“Ben in London!” exclaimed the astonished mother. “How did it happen?”
“I will read you the letter:
“You will be as much surprised to hear that I am in London,
as I was when I found myself on board the Etruria, and was
told by Mrs. Harcourt, my patroness, that we were bound for a
voyage across the Atlantic. She has traveled a good deal in
Europe, but her start seems very sudden. Well, we had a fine,
smooth voyage, which I very much enjoyed. I must tell you that
my most intimate friend on board was the son of an Earl, and
furthermore that I am invited to make a visit to Bentley Hall,
the seat of the Earl. When you get this letter I expect to be
the guest of the Earl. I might feel awkward, like a cat in a
strange garret, as the saying is, but for my being so intimate
with Cyril. When I used to read the stories of high life in
England in some of the New York story-papers, I never imagined
that it would be my lot to become acquainted with any of the
English aristocracy, but it has come about.
“I wish you could see me, Albert. I am dressed in the style,
I assure you, for Mrs. Harcourt, who considers me her adopted
son, wishes me to do her credit. Still, Albert, I am the
same boy at heart that I have always been, and nothing would
please me more than to spend an evening at your house and
play checkers. I believe you beat me the last game we played
together. It may interest you to know that I played a game on
board ship with the Earl of Bentley, and I am glad to say that
I won. I don’t think his lordship plays as good a game as you.
“Please show this letter to my mother, and say that I will soon
write her under cover to you.
“Your affectionate friend,
“BEN BRUCE.”
“There, Mrs. Winter, what do you say to that?” asked Albert.
“Ben is getting on wonderfully,” said his mother. “I can hardly believe
it. It seems like a romance.”
“At any rate it shows that Ben couldn’t have been stealing in New York.”
“I am thankful for that, though I did not for a moment believe it
possible.”
At supper time Mrs. Winter seemed so bright and cheerful that her
husband was not only surprised but annoyed.
“It seems to me, Mrs. W.,” he said, “that you are unusually chipper,
considerin’ that Ben has got into such a scrape.”
“I told you, Mr. Winter, that I had no faith in the story--that is,
applied to Ben.”
“You say that, but I have no doubt that you believe it.”
“I have positive proof that Ben did not steal any money in New York.”
“Oho, you have positive proof, have you?” sneered Jacob. “S’posin’ you
tell me what your proof is.”
“I will, with pleasure. Ben is not in New York.”
“Isn’t in New York, hey? Likely he isn’t. He is probably in Sing Sing.”
“Ben is not in this country.”
“What? Did he escape and go to Canada?”
“No; he is in England.”
Jacob Winter paused as he was raising a cup of tea to his mouth, and
stared at his wife with open mouth.
“Say that again,” he ejaculated.
“Ben is in England.”
“How do you know?”
“Albert Graham has been over here and told me.”
“That Graham boy has probably lied.”
“He has received a letter from Ben mailed in London.”
“I won’t believe it till I see the letter.”
“Then I will show you the letter,” and Mrs. Winter drew it from the
pocket of her dress.
Jacob Winter put on his spectacles and read the letter slowly, for he
was not much of a scholar.
“Do you believe that, Mrs. W.?” he asked when he had finished and laid
it down on the tea-table.
“Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t believe it. It ain’t probable.”
“I agree with you, Mr. Winter, that it is very strange. Still it is
possible, and as Ben has written it I believe it.”
“If you want my opinion of it I’ll give it to you right now. I believe
it’s about the biggest lie I ever read or heard of.”
“Ben doesn’t lie, Mr. Winter.”
“Oh, no, of course not. Well, there’s your letter. When you write to
him send my respects to the Earl, whatever his name is,” and Mr. Winter
laughed heartily at what he thought to be a very witty remark.
But Mrs. Winter’s mind was greatly relieved. She fully believed in the
truth of Ben’s statements, and was glad to think that he was so happily
situated.
That evening Mr. Winter had a call from a nephew, a man of about
thirty-five, who had been a rolling stone ever since he had reached
the age of discretion. Mr. Winter received him coldly, as he was
apprehensive that Ezra would be asking him for money.
“How have you been a-doin’, Ezra?” he asked cautiously.
“I’ve been doing finely, Uncle Jacob,” replied Ezra in an airy manner.
“You don’t say so,” returned Jacob, considerably surprised. “What kind
of a business be you in?”
“Mining business, Uncle Jacob.”
“You ain’t diggin’ for gold, be you?”
“No; but I am the agent of some Western mines. I have an office in New
York. How much money do you think I made last month?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Six hundred dollars.”
“Do tell! How’d you make it?”
“By selling mining shares. I get a commission. But what I made wasn’t
a circumstance to what some of my customers made. Why, one man bought
five hundred shares of stock of me, and in three weeks the stock went
up four dollars a share. That’s two thousand dollars.”
“You don’t say? Was the stock high priced?”
“Only four dollars a share. It just doubled.”
This was the beginning of a conversation which finally ended in Jacob
Winter’s giving his nephew an order to buy a thousand dollars’ worth
of shares in the Muddy Gulch Mining Company of Nevada. The purchase
represented five hundred shares at two dollars a share.
“You think it’s safe, Ezra?” asked Jacob anxiously.
“Uncle Jacob, you’ll double your money in three months, perhaps in one.
Give me a power of attorney and I’ll sell for you at the top of the
market.”