FRANK LEAVES PARIS.
There was a letter from Mr. Craven to Sharpley, which came by the same
mail as those mentioned in the preceding chapter. It contained the
following paragraph:
"I suppose you will travel to Switzerland with Frank. I suppose
so, because in the summer it is very attractive to the tourist. As
accidents are very apt to happen to careless travelers, let me request
you to keep a good lookout for him, and not let him approach too near
the edge of precipices, or clefts in the mountains. He might easily
fall over, and I shudder, not only to think of his fate in that case,
but of the grief which would overwhelm his mother and myself. I beg
you will keep us apprised of his health, and should any accident
happen, write at once."
Sharpley read over this passage with attention. Then he folded the
letter, and muttered to himself:
"What a consummate hypocrite that villain Craven is! Any one, to
read this letter, would suppose that he was actuated by the warmest
attachment for his step-son; and all the while he is planning his
death, and coolly suggesting to me an easy way of bringing it about.
I am bad enough, or I would not lend myself to carry out his plans,
but I'm not such a miserable hypocrite as he is. However, I've seen
too much of the world to be shocked at anybody's depravity, having a
fair share of wickedness myself. As to the suggestion, I must confess
that it's a good one, and relieves me from a good deal of anxious
thought. I've been considering how best I could get rid of the young
incumbrance. It occurred to me that I could lock him up, and set some
charcoal to burning in his room; but, heating the room--it's too hot
already. Then, again, I thought of poison. But there's a chance of a
post-mortem examination. That won't do. But Craven's plan is best.
As far as I can see it will be effectual, and free from danger also.
As soon as I can decently get away from Paris, I'll take the boy to
Switzerland. I must stay here a week at least, especially as the
exhibition is open, or it might draw suspicion upon me. When I'm
rid of the boy I shall breathe freer. Then for America, and a final
reckoning with Craven. With ten thousand dollars--and more, if I can
extort it from him--I will set up for respectability, and develop into
a substantial citizen. Good-by, then, to the gambling table. It has
been my bane, but, with a fair competence, I will try to resist its
fascinations."
Sharpley and our hero met at the _table d'hôte_ dinner and at
breakfast. For the remainder of the day Frank was left to his own
devices; but for this he cared little. Either alone, or in company with
Mr. Tarbox, he went about the city, often as an outside passenger on
the street stages which ply from one end of Paris to the other, and in
this way he came to have a very good idea of the plan of the brilliant
capital.
On the sixth day, while they were at dinner, Sharpley said:
"Well, Frank, have you seen considerable of Paris?"
"Oh, yes, sir; I am getting to know my way around pretty well."
"I am sorry I have not been able to go about with you more."
"That is of no consequence, sir. I have got on very well alone."
"Have you written home?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am afraid you will be disappointed at what I am going to say."
"What is it, sir?"
"I have arranged for our leaving Paris to-morrow evening."
"Not to go back to England?" asked Frank, hastily.
"No. I propose to go to Switzerland."
"I should like that," said our hero, brightening up. "I have always
wanted to see Switzerland."
"I didn't know but you would be sorry to leave Paris."
"So I should be if I thought we were not coming back this way. We
shall, sha'n't we?"
"Yes."
"And we shall have time to stay here a little while then?"
"No doubt."
"Then I can defer the rest of my sight-seeing till then. What route
shall we take?"
"As to that, there is a variety of routes. It doesn't matter much to
me. I will leave the choice to you."
"Will you?" said Frank, eagerly. "Then I will get out my map after
dinner and pick it out."
"Very well. You can tell me to-morrow morning."
The next morning Sharpley put the question to Frank:
"Well, have you decided by what route you would like to travel?"
"Can't we go east to the Rhine, and go up that river to Mayence, and
thence to Geneva by rail?"
"Certainly, if you like. It will be quite a pleasant route."
"I always thought I should like to go up the Rhine. I have been up the
Hudson, which I have often heard compared to the Rhine."
"There is no comparison between them," said Sharpley, who, not being an
American, was not influenced by a patriotic prejudice in favor of the
Hudson. "The Rhine has ruined castles and vine-clad hills, and is far
more interesting."
"Very likely," said Frank. "At any rate, I want to see it."
"We will start to-morrow night, then. Morning will bring us across the
frontier. You will be ready, of course?"
"Yes, sir."
The next morning Frank went to the exposition to acquaint Mr. Tarbox
with his approaching departure.
"Are you goin'? I'm real sorry, Frank," said the Yankee. "I shall
kinder hanker arter you, boy. You seem like home. As to them
chatterin', frog-eatin' furriners, I can't understand a word they say,
and ef I could I wouldn't want to."
"I am afraid you are prejudiced, Mr. Tarbox. I have met some very
agreeable French people."
"I haven't," said Mr. Tarbox. "They don't suit me. There ain't nothin'
solid or substantial about 'em."
"You may get acquainted with some English people. You can understand
them."
"I don't like 'em," said Jonathan. "They think they can whip all
creation. We gave 'em a lesson, I guess, at Bunker Hill."
"Let by-gones be by-gones, Mr. Tarbox; or, as Longfellow says:
"'Let the dead Past bury its dead.'"
"Did Longfellow write that?"
"Yes."
"Then he ain't so smart as I thought he was. How can anybody that's
dead bury himself, I'd like to know? It's ridiculous."
"I suppose it's figurative."
"It ain't sense. But that aint to the point. Where-abouts in
Switzerland are you goin', Frank?"
"I don't know, except that we go to Geneva."
"Can you write me a letter from there?"
"Certainly. I will do so with pleasure, and shall be glad to hear from
you."
"All right. I ain't much on scribblin'. I can hold a plow better'n a
pen. But I guess I can write a few pot-hooks, jest to let yer know I'm
alive an' kickin'."
"It's a bargain, then."
"Jest give me your name on a piece of paper, so I shall know where to
write."
"All right. I happen to know where we are going to stop there. Mr.
Sharpley mentioned that we should stop at the Hotel des Bergues.
I haven't got a card with me, but I'll put the address on an old
envelope."
Frank took from his pocket what he supposed to be Mr. Craven's letter
to him, and on the reverse side wrote:
FRANK HUNTER,
_Hotel des Bergues_,
Geneva,
Switzerland.
Mr. Tarbox took it and surveyed it critically; then read it as follows:
"'Frank Hunter, Hotel dese Bugs.' Wal, that's a queer name for a
tavern," he said. "I s'pose that's French for bugs?"
"It means that the big bugs stop there," said Frank, jocosely.
"Some of the big bugs are humbugs," said Jonathan, laughing grimly at
his own wit.
When, after leaving Mr. Tarbox, Frank happened to examine his pockets,
he drew out the two letters he had received. This puzzled him. What
letter was that which he had given his Yankee friend, then? He could
not tell. We are wiser. Sharpley had incautiously left on the table
Craven's letter to him, and Frank had put it into his pocket, supposing
it to be his. This it was which had passed into the possession of Mr.
Tarbox.
Three days later Mr. Tarbox discovered the letter, and curiosity made
him unscrupulous. He read it through, including the paragraph already
quoted.
"By hokey!" he muttered. "That's queer. 'Should any accident happen,
write at once.' He seems to expect an accident will happen. I'll bet
that man is a snake in the grass. He's Frank's guardian, and he's
got up some plot ag'in him. I always disliked that Sharpley. He's a
skunk. I'll start for Switzerland to-morrow, and let the old plow go to
thunder. I'm bound to look out for Frank."
Mr. Tarbox was energetic. He went to his lodgings, packed his
carpet-bag, and early next morning started in pursuit of Frank and
Sharpley.