PETER GREENLEAF AGAIN
Notwithstanding he was receiving a salary larger than is usually paid
boys of his age, Herbert felt cramped for the want of money. Six dollars
a week would have paid his expenses comfortably, if he had been well
provided to begin with. But all the clothing he had, besides what he
wore, he had brought with him in a small bundle, the greatest part
having been left in his trunk at the house of Abner Holden. He often
wished that he could have them with him, but, of course, this wish was
vain. Indeed, Mr. Holden, when the conviction was forced upon him that
there was no chance of recovering his bound boy, quietly confiscated the
trunk and its contents; and this, to some extent, consoled him for the
departure of the owner.
Herbert found himself sadly in need of underclothing; and, of course,
his only suit, from constant wear, was likely to deteriorate rapidly. He
saved all the money he could from his weekly wages toward purchasing
a new one, but his savings were inconsiderable. Besides, he needed a
trunk, or would need one, when he had anything to put in it.
“If I only had that money Greenleaf stole from me, I should be all
right,” he said to himself, after long and anxious thought on the great
question of ways and means. “I don't see how I can save up more than two
dollars a week out of my wages, and it will take a long time for that to
amount to much.”
There certainly did not appear to be much chance of saving more. His
boarding place was as cheap as he could obtain, or, if there were
cheaper anywhere, they would probably be also poorer, and our hero felt
that Mrs. Morgan's was as poor as he should be able to endure.
He was rather mortified, too, at the poverty of his wardrobe. Mrs.
Morgan asked him one day, “When is your trunk coming?” and Herbert was
obliged to own, with some shame, that he had none. The landlady looked
surprised, but he had no explanation to offer.
“I suppose I shall have to wait till my wages are raised,” thought
Herbert, with a little sigh. This, he reflected, would not be very soon,
as he had started with a salary greater than he was likely to earn, as
Mr. Godfrey had said.
But relief was nearer than he anticipated.
One day, as he was walking up the Bowery, he saw, at a little distance
in front of him, a figure which he well remembered. The careless, jaunty
step and well-satisfied air were familiar to him. In short, it was Peter
Greenleaf, who had played so mean a trick upon him at the hotel.
Herbert's heart beat quick with excitement, mingled with pleasure. He
felt a natural indignation against this young man, who had cheated
him so remorselessly, and left him, indifferent to his fate, alone and
almost penniless in a strange city.
What should he do?
Close behind him was a policeman slowly pacing his regular round.
Herbert went up to him, and, pointing to Greenleaf, rapidly recounted
his grievances.
“It was a mean trick,” said the policeman, who was a favorable specimen
of his class. “Is this the first time you have seen him?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you want to do.”
“I want to get my money back.”
“Probably he has spent it. How long since he robbed you?”
“Three weeks.”
“Not much chance, then. Probably his pocket's empty, unless he's fleeced
somebody else in the meantime. However, it's as well to see what can
be done. Now, I'll tell you how to act. Go up to him boldly, and demand
your money. If he bluffs you off, call me.”
“All right,” said Herbert.
He hastened his step, and, advancing, tapped Greenleaf on the shoulder.
Greenleaf turned. When he recognized Herbert, he looked surprised and
disconcerted. But he had plenty of assurance, and quickly determined
upon his course. Assuming a stolid look, he said: “Well, my lad, who are
you; and what do you want?”
“You know who I am, well enough,” said Herbert, angrily.
“Do I? Then I'm uncommonly forgetful. I haven't any recollection of your
interesting countenance,” he said, with a sneer.
“I suppose you don't want to remember me, Mr. Greenleaf,” said Herbert.
“Greenleaf! You are thinking of somebody else. My name's Thompson.”
“Your name was Greenleaf when you stopped with me at French's Hotel,”
said Herbert, sturdily.
“You're crazy, I fancy,” said Greenleaf, shrugging his shoulders. “I
never stopped at the hotel you mention, in my life.”
“Where's the money you took from me?” demanded Herbert, who felt
convinced of Greenleaf's identity, in spite of his denial.
“What are you talking about?” said Greenleaf, assuming a look of
surprise.
“You went off before I was awake, with more than fifty dollars of mine.”
“Do you mean to insult me?” said Greenleaf, drawing himself up. “I've a
great mind to knock you over!”
“Mr. Greenleaf,” said Herbert, firmly, “either return my money, or as
much as you have got left, or I will call a policeman.”
“Just what I shall do, myself, unless you stop this nonsense,” said
Greenleaf, angrily; but not without a sensation of uneasiness, as it
struck his mind that Herbert might really intend to do what he had said.
“Once more, will you give up that money?” said Herbert, firmly.
“Stand out of the way,” said Greenleaf, “if you know what is best for
yourself!”
He was about to push by, thrusting Herbert roughly out of the way, when
our hero turned, and his look summoned the policeman, who hastened to
the spot.
“Give this boy his money,” he said, authoritatively. “I know all about
your little game. It's up now. Unless you hand over your plunder, you
must go with me.”
Greenleaf changed color, and was evidently alarmed.
“I've got nobody's money, except my own,” he said.
“Come along, then,” said the officer, taking him by the arm.
“Stop a minute,” said he, hurriedly, finding that matters had come to a
crisis. “If I give up what I have, will you let me go?”
“Well, that depends on how much you have.”
“I've got twenty dollars.”
Herbert was about to say that this would do, but the policeman shook his
head.
“Won't do,” said he. “Come along.”
After a little haggling, Greenleaf produced forty dollars, which Herbert
pocketed, with much satisfaction.
“Now go along, and mind you don't try any more such games.”
Greenleaf needed no second permission to be gone. He feared that the
officer might change his mind, and he might, after all, be consigned to
the station house.
“Thank you,” said Herbert, gratefully. “I needed the money badly. I
shouldn't have recovered it but for you.”
“Take better care of it next time,” said the officer, not unkindly.
“Take care not to trust a stranger too easily. Better take my advice,
and put it in a savings bank.”
“I shall be obliged to use most of it,” said Herbert. “What I don't
need, I will put in the bank.”
The recovery of so much of his lost money seemed to Herbert quite a
lucky windfall. He went at once to a trunk store, and, for five dollars,
purchased a good, durable trunk, which he ordered sent home to his
lodgings. Fifteen dollars more he invested in necessary underclothing,
and this left him one-half of the money for future use. Besides this
he had six dollars, which, in three weeks, he had saved from his wages.
With this sum, and the articles he had purchased, he felt quite rich,
and returned to the counting-room--this happened during the hour given
him for dinner--in unusually good spirits. He had other reasons
for encouragement. He was getting accustomed to his duties at the
counting-room. Mr. Godfrey always treated him kindly, and had called
upon him again that very morning to assist him in translating a French
letter, complimenting him, at the same time, upon his scholarship.
“I'll do my best,” thought Herbert. “'Try and Trust,' that's my motto. I
think it will bring me success.”
But even while he spoke, an unforeseen danger menaced him.