Jack Kingsley's Dilemma
Mary Kingsley may be described as an eminently unfortunate woman.
Married at an early age, it was not long before her husband fell out of
employment, and found himself hard put to it to make a living. That was
in or about the year 1848; and presently, when a fever for gold digging
in California spread over the United States of America, Tom Kingsley
became badly bitten with the desire to try his own fortune. A town-bred
man, he fared but ill at first; but in a little while his fortunes
mended, so that he was able to send money to his wife. Then had come a
partnership, bringing great profit at first, and later on the disaster
with which the reader is acquainted.
Five years after the death of Tom Kingsley, Mary married again--a man of
uncertain temper, who quickly began to look upon his stepson Jack as an
encumbrance. There were quarrels between himself and his wife with
regard to the boy, and very soon Jack himself came in for ill-feeling
and frequent chastisement.
"I don't think I shall put up with it much longer, Mother," said Jack
one day when there had been an unusually stormy scene. "I learned last
year that when I was away from home, on a visit up the Hudson, you and
Father got on well together; but immediately I returned there were
quarrels, of which I was the cause. I think he's jealous of your care
for me."
"It seems so," admitted Mary with tears in her eyes. "I've noticed the
same, Jack. Phineas is a good and kind husband when things do not
disturb him, but when he's upset, matters are--well, unpleasant for all.
If he had had a son of his own perhaps things would have been different;
but he hasn't, and so one has to look facts in the face. You know, boy,
that your mother would not have you leave. But----"
"Just so, Mother," interrupted Jack. "There is always a but in these
affairs. I've talked it over with Uncle up the Hudson, and he thinks I
should cut from home and strike out for myself. I'm old enough. I'm
seventeen and a half."
"And big enough, bless you!" cried Mary. "Ah, if only the question had
never arisen! But I'm not a fool anyway, Jack, and I'm looking facts in
the face. I see clearly that it would be better for you, better for me,
and happier altogether. Though I shall miss you, boy. How I shall you do
not know. What'll you do?"
Jack thought for a moment; and while he stands there, his hands sunk
deep in his pockets, let us take a good look at him. Jack Kingsley was
of that peculiarly fair complexion which is generally, and too often
wrongly, associated with a hasty and hot temper. His hair was distinctly
red, not the lank red hair one often meets with, but crisp red curls
that clung closely to his head. Indeed the colour suited his general
complexion remarkably well, and Jack was by no means a bad-looking
fellow. For the rest, he was a typical American; well grown for his
age, in fact quite tall, though a little lanky, for he was too young to
have filled out yet. Still Jack was well covered with muscle, light and
active on his feet, with his head well set back on a pair of stout
shoulders. There was a deep white scar on his cheek, which seemed to set
off the good lines of his face as a patch sets off that of a lady. That
scar was the result of a determined struggle with an old school enemy,
whom Jack had fought three times in succession, suffering defeat on the
first two occasions. Eyes which looked at you frankly and steadily, a
firm chin and expressive lips, hiding a set of excellent teeth,
made up an appearance which was as decidedly attractive and
confidence--inspiring as Tusker Joe's had been the opposite.
"Yes, I'm old enough and big enough," said Jack, with that easy
assurance so common to young Americans. "And I ain't afraid of work."
"A good thing too," echoed his mother. "Because you will have to look to
yourself. Your father hasn't enough to be making you allowances, and
you've nothing else to look to. I'm not sorry either. A young man should
look at the world for himself. The fact that he has to make his way
should give him greater determination. If Tom had lived it might have
been different. But that rogue who murdered him stole all he possessed,
including his papers. But there--I'll not bother you with the tale. What
will you do?"
"I've talked it over twenty times, Mother, and Uncle has advised me to
go west, down to the camps."
"To dig! Gold prospecting!" exclaimed Mary Kingsley with horror in her
voice; for she thought of her first husband.
"Perhaps. But only if other things fail. I'm told that a smith is always
wanted down there. There are spades and picks to mend, ironwork to
prepare, and, in fact, lots of jobs for a handy man."
"But you don't----"
Mary threw her hands up in consternation. She knew that Jack had but
recently left school, and had as yet no knowledge of any trade. He had
done a great deal of amateur joinery at home; but then that was not
smith's work.
"I've tried it," said Jack sturdily. "Uncle sent me to the forge near
his house, and last holidays I did a month on end. I can use a hammer
now, and in a few months shall be able to do ordinary jobs, as well as
shoeing horses. The older I get the stronger I shall become, no doubt;
and strength is what is wanted, once one has the training and
knowledge."
"But for the moment you are useless to all intents and purposes,"
exclaimed Mary.
"I can earn my bread and butter and a trifle for spending in leisure
times," said George. "I stopped at Hopeville as I came through from up
the Hudson, and James Orring, the smith, will take me at a dollar a
week, with board and lodging thrown in. If you're willing I'll go at
once."
It may be imagined that Mary was thrown into a condition of unhappiness
at her son's news. True, she had begun to realize more and more that the
best thing for the boy was to leave home and strike out a career for
himself. But she had put the evil day as far from her as possible,
satisfied in her unselfishness to put up with her husband's tempers if
her son could be near her. And now to hear that he was prepared to go at
once, that the day was actually at hand for him to cut adrift from the
nest which had held him all these years, was a bitter blow. She shed
tears, and then, like the sensible woman she was, encouraged Jack to
carry out his determination.
She busied herself for the next two days with his clothes, and then bade
farewell to him bravely. So, in due course, our hero reached Hopeville,
and took up his residence with James Orring.
"You'll have to fetch and carry besides smithing," said James, a blunt,
kind-hearted fellow. "Labour's hard to get hereabouts. Mighty hard, I
tell you, and a chap who wants wages has to earn them. But I'll not be
stingy. Show us that you're a willing fellow, and the money'll be good
and plenty."
For a month Jack laboured steadily in the forge, his sleeves rolled to
the elbow, and his leathern apron round his waist. And, little by
little, James allowed him to undertake work at the anvil.
"He's shapin' well," he told his wife, "and since that's the case I'm
giving him jobs. It'll help to make him know his powers, besides giving
a body time for a smoke in his own parlour. He ain't no trouble, that
lad."
Three months later Jack had become so good at the work that James was
able to enjoy even more leisure. He began to take a holiday every now
and again, and left the little township with his wife in order to visit
friends. He felt he was justified in doing so, for his apprentice was
wonderfully steady, and easily earned the four dollars a week he was now
receiving.
"We're off for the day and night," he said when he came to the forge in
the early morning, his white cuffs and collar showing that he did not
intend to work. "You can manage any ordinary job that comes in. But if
it's something big, and you don't fancy tackling it, why, it'll wait
till to-morrow. Me and the missus is off to see her sisters, way back of
the forest, and we'll be here again by noon to-morrow."
Jack nodded, and stopped hammering for a moment. "There are plenty of
small jobs to keep me going to-day," he said. "I'll look to things. Go
and enjoy yourself."
Some two hours later he was disturbed at his work by the arrival of a
buggy. It was driven up to the door of the forge, and a man whose
clothing showed that he came from a town descended briskly.
"Mornin'," he said. "Busy?"
"Moderate," answered Jack, for he was not anxious to lose a job.
"Got time ter do a little bit for me?"
"Depends what it is," said Jack. "If it ain't big, reckon I'll tackle
it. But not now. I've a heap to get on with."
"Special money fer special work," exclaimed the stranger. "See here,
I've broke the key of my front door, and blest if I know how I'm ter git
in again. I could break a window, fer sure, but then that's more
expensive than getting another key. The puzzle is that the business end
is broken off in the lock, and I ain't got it."
He held up the shank of a big key, one which might have belonged to the
lock of a large front door, and handed it to Jack. The stem was broken
and twisted halfway up, and the most important item was missing. Jack
shook his head.
"I could forge an end to it easy," he said. "But then, what'd be the
use? It wouldn't open the lock unless you knew all about the wards. It
would be waste of money."
"So it would, so it would, siree," agreed the stranger, a man of some
thirty-five years of age, to whom, somehow or other, Jack took an
instant dislike. "But I ain't sich a fool as I look. I can give yer a
plan."
"Exact?" asked Jack.
"To a T; a wax impression. Thar's care for you! I'm fond of a bit of
modelling in wax, and sometimes try my hand at amateur sculpture. Guess
it was one of the first things I did ter take a wax impression of that
'ere key. And it's comin' in useful. I'd forgot it almost, and then
remembered it was in the drawer."
He stopped suddenly and looked keenly at Jack; for this individual had
overstepped himself. If he had broken the key of his own front door, and
so locked himself out, how had he been able to get the impression from
the drawer? Jack was no duffer, to be sure, but he had at the same time
no cause for suspecting anyone who came to offer work. Moreover, he was
pondering with all his youthful keenness how to set about the task.
"It's a longish job," he said, scratching his head.
"How much?" demanded the man quickly.
"I don't know for sure. Depends on how long it takes. Besides, I've
other work, which can't be left."
"Ten dollars if it's ready in two hours," came from the stranger, making
Jack open his eyes.
"Right!" he said promptly. "I'll do it. Leave the shank and the
impression. I'll get at the job at once."
As a matter of fact it took our hero rather less than two hours to
complete the task, for he was a quick workman, and this was a
straightforward matter. In a very little while he had welded a piece of
iron on to the broken shank, and had shaped it roughly to form the wards
of the key. Then he placed it in the vice, and used a hack saw and file
till all was completed.
"And I wonder why he's in such a hurry, and ready to pay such a figure
for it," he wondered, as he put the finishing strokes. "Ten dollars
would pay for more than window and key, and--jimminy!"
He gave vent to a shrill whistle, and stood looking out of the
smoke-grimed window, his hand supported on a file. He was thinking of
the stranger, and for the first time felt suspicious. What his
suspicions were he could not say for the life of him. They were entirely
intangible. But why did the man need that key? Was it actually for his
front door, and, if so, how did he obtain the wax impression? Jack
picked up the piece of wax and examined it.
"Certainly not old," he said emphatically. "This was moulded perhaps
yesterday, or the day before. I wonder if----"
"Got it ready, youngster?" came a voice from the door, and looking there
Jack saw the stranger. He had not come in his buggy on this occasion,
but afoot; and as he spoke was gingerly stepping round the puddle and
soft mud which existed near the door.
"Ready, sure," exclaimed Jack, reddening. "And I hope it'll do. You said
it was for the front door?"
"Yes. Ye're right in one guess. It's the front door. That's a good job,
lad. Let's see if it'll stand the pressure."
Placing the wards in the vice, the stranger tested the strength of the
key by twisting with all his might.
"A strong job too," he exclaimed. "Here's the ten dollars. Four in
notes, and the rest cash. Good day!"
He was gone almost before Jack had finished counting the money, and,
having stepped again gingerly across the mud, disappeared along the road
which led through the town. He left our hero staring after him, and
unconsciously examining the wax impression which he still held in his
hand.
"It's queer," he said. "Wish James was back home to discuss the matter.
Now, if I was older, or had more experience, I suppose I should get to
thinking that that fellow wanted the key for some other purpose. That it
was not his own front door he wished to open with it. He told me a fib,
I'm sure. He made a mistake when he talked about the impression being in
his drawer. Well, there's the money, and James will be glad."
At six o'clock our hero shut the forge, took his tea in the house
closely adjacent, and, having washed himself and put on a suit of
respectable clothes, he went down into the town and out to the other
side. He was fond of a sharp walk after being cooped up in the forge all
day long, and often went off into the country. It was dark when he had
covered six miles, and by then he was almost in the wilderness. The road
had almost ceased to exist, while there was forest land on every side.
On the left, however, as he faced home again, the country was divided by
the Hudson River, beside which the road wound, but elevated from its
surface. Indeed, it stood three hundred feet above the water.
"A fine place for a house," thought our hero, as his eyes were attracted
by lights ahead and to the left. "The man who selected that site had an
eye to beauty. They say he started without a dollar, and made all he has
by hard work. I wonder if I shall ever be able to do anything like that.
It doesn't seem possible, and yet I dare say he thought the same. It
would be grand to have a big house overlooking the Hudson, and give
mother a home there."
Jack was not above the building of castles in the air, and as he trudged
along, his busy brain conjured up a future for himself, a future in
which hard work and care would bring him riches and a rise in the world.
For America was the home of numbers and numbers of men who had made
wealth from nothing, aided by a strong arm, a firm purpose, and
continuous application. Why should he, Jack Kingsley, not be able to
follow in their footsteps? What if he were to own a big forge one of
these days, and, leaving it to a manager, opened others elsewhere. That
would be doing business. That would be rising in the world, and, if the
thing were managed properly, money would be gained and would accumulate.
Jack was so entirely lost in the brilliant scenes he was conjuring up
that he was barely conscious of his surroundings. He had strayed from
the road now, and was traversing a strip of moorland which ran between
it and the river. Then of a sudden something attracted his attention.
It was a dusky outline right ahead, which presently took on the shape of
a buggy. Jack halted when he was within ten paces of the cart and
listened. He was no sneak at any time, but a familiar note caught his
ear. Someone was speaking, and, since he could not settle the doubt in
his mind at that distance, he stepped even closer, making not a sound as
his feet trod the soft green carpet beneath them.
"Jest ten o'clock," he heard the voice say, while someone on the far
side of the buggy struck a match, shielded it with his hand, and
evidently examined his watch with the aid of the flame.
"Jest ten, and Jem Bowen's away down in New York city. That's good."
"Fer us. Guess it ain't fer him," responded someone else. "'Cos, seeing
as he ain't here, and don't have need fer certain things, we'll make
free with 'em. Did yer get the key?"
"Yer bet," and Jack instantly recognized that this was undoubtedly the
voice of the man who had accosted him at the forge. "I ain't lived a
while fer nothing. I've been down here for two weeks past lordin' it in
Hopeville, and getting ter know the ropes. Thar's a young chap down at
James Orring's forge as is a good workman, and soft."
Jack flushed in the darkness at this allusion to himself, and stood
undecided how to act. His idea of common fairness bade him decamp at
once, and no doubt he would have done so had not the words he had
already heard, and others which followed immediately, persuaded him that
he ought to stay.
"Soft?" queried the other man with a giggle which roused Jack's
indignation. "Perhaps he's made a mistake."
"No fear of that. He's more simple than soft. That's jest what I meant.
He's jest mighty keen on his work, and don't give a thought to other
matters. I guessed he was the man fer us, so I cleared old man James out
with a call from his wife's sisters. Then I went down ter the forge, and
the young chap asked no questions. I jest stuffed him with a yarn, and
he swallowed it. At any rate, thar's the key. A fine job."
"And it's like the impression?"
An oath escaped the first man. He remembered now for the first time that
he had left the wax model behind him.
"'Tain't no matter after all," he said after a while. "The model ain't
no use to him, and ten to one he's tossed it into the fire. At any rate
I compared the thing he made with the model, and I guess it was exact.
Thar ain't a doubt but what it'll fit."
"Then thar's no use in waitin'. The lights yonder has been out fer the
last three hours, save in the servants' quarters, and we know the old
man who's in charge is as deaf as any adder. The sooner we break the
place the better chance of getting clear. How's that?"
"Sense! Nothing more and nothing less. Let's git right now. Thar ain't
no need ter exert ourselves. We'll drive pretty close, and walk right
in."
The two figures appeared from the far side of the buggy, while Jack slid
to the ground and crouched behind a bush. He caught the whiff of
someone's pipe, and saw the red end of the barrel. Then the men sprang
to their places, the whip cracked, and in a moment the buggy was moving
away.
"Ought he to follow? Should he cling to the back of the buggy and give
the alarm when they reached the house? Should he leave the matter? It
was no affair of his."
The questions raced through Jack's mind, and for a few seconds he was
undecided. Care for his own safety prompted him to pursue the easier
course, to let matters drift, and not interfere himself. Then his
duty--the common duty we owe one another--pulled him in the other
direction. He would go and give the alarm. But those few seconds of
indecision had altered the complexion of affairs. The buggy was already
some yards away, and, though Jack ran, it rapidly increased its distance
from him. Then the house to be burgled by these rascals was a good mile
and a half away, and before he could arrive their purpose might be
carried out.
"Not if I can stop them," said Jack stubbornly. "It's clearly for me to
do something. I'll put a spoke in their wheel."
He took to his heels at once and cut straight across towards the house,
at that moment hidden from him by a rise in the land. However, he soon
sighted the light which had been referred to, and within a little while
was at the gates which shut in the surroundings of the park attached to
the mansion. They were open, and the buggy stood just within, the reins
being secured to the ironwork. Jack stepped boldly through into the
park, and ran along on the grass border. In a little while he reached
the drive, and, skirting that--for to have stepped into it would have
been to make a noise--he presently came to the large front door. It was
open.
"And the thieves have gone in. I'll follow, and then kick up a rumpus,"
he said. "They shall not get away with any booty if I can avoid it."
He stepped across the threshold, and was within the mansion immediately.
Listening for a moment, he heard sounds in the distance, and set off in
that direction.
"Better catch them red-handed than not," he thought. "Guess this'll be a
surprise for 'em."