THOMAS BROWNING'S SECRET
Warner Powell had learned wisdom and prudence with his increasing
years, and, instead of inquiring for the best hotel, was content to
put up at a humbler hostelry, where he would be comfortable. He made
the acquaintance on the cars of a New York drummer, with whom he
became quite sociable.
"I suppose you have been in Milwaukee often," said Warner.
"I go there once a year--sometimes twice."
"Where do you stay?"
"At the Prairie Hotel. It is a comfortable house--two dollars a day."
"Just what I want. I will go there."
So, at quarter-past six. Warner Powell found himself in the office of
the hotel. He was assigned a room on the third floor.
After making his toilet, he went down to supper. At the table with him
were two gentlemen who, from their conversation, appeared to be
residents of the city. They were discussing the coming municipal
election.
"I tell you, Browning will be our mayor," said one. "His reputation as
a philanthropist will elect him."
"I never took much stock in his claims on that score."
"He belongs to all the charitable societies, and is generally an
officer."
"That may be; how much does he give himself?"
"I don't know. I suppose he is a liberal subscriber."
"He wants to give that impression, but the man is as selfish as the
average. He is said to be a hard landlord, and his tenants get very
few favors."
"I am surprised to hear that."
"He is trading on his philanthropy. It would be interesting to learn
where his wealth came from. I should not be surprised if he were more
smart than honest."
Warner Powell found himself getting interested in this Browning. Was
he really a good man, who was unjustly criticised, or was he a sham
philanthropist, as charged?
"After all, it doesn't concern me," he said to himself. "The good
people of Milwaukee may choose whom they please for mayor so far as I
am concerned."
After supper Warner stepped up to the cigar stand to buy a cigar.
This, as the reader will remember, was kept by Jack King, an old
California acquaintance of Thomas Browning, whose first appearance in
our story was in the character of a tramp and would-be burglar.
"Is business good?" asked Warner, pleasantly.
"It is fair; but it seems slow to a man like myself, who has made a
hundred dollars a day at the mines in California."
"I have been in California myself," said Powell, "but it was recently,
and no such sums were to be made in my time."
"That is true. It didn't last with me. I have noticed that even in the
flush times few brought much money away with them, no matter how lucky
they were."
"There must become exceptions, however."
"There were. We have a notable example in Milwaukee."
"To whom do you refer?"
"To Thomas Browning, the man who is up for mayor."
Jack King laughed.
"I've heard a lot of talk about that man. He's very honest and very
worthy, I hear."
"They call him so," he answered.
"I am afraid you are jealous of that good man," said Warner, smiling.
"I may be jealous of his success, but not of his reputation or his
moral qualities."
"Then you don't admire him as much as the public generally?"
"No, I know him too well."
"He is really rich, is he not?"
"Yes, that is, he is worth, perhaps, two hundred thousand dollars."
"That would satisfy me."
"Or me. But I doubt whether the money was creditably gained."
"Do you know anything about it? Were you an acquaintance of his?"
"Yes; I can remember him when he was only a rough miner. I never heard
that he was very lucky, but he managed to take considerable money East
with him."
Warner eyed Jack King attentively.
"You suspect something," he said, shrewdly.
"I do. There was one of our acquaintances who had struck it rich, and
accumulated about ten thousand dollars. Browning was thick with him,
and I always suspected that when he found himself on his deathbed, he
intrusted all his savings to Butler----"
"I thought you were speaking of Browning?"
"His name was Butler then. He has changed it since. But, as I was
saying, I think he intrusted his money to Browning to take home to his
family."
"Well?"
"The question is, did Browning fulfill his trust, or keep the money
himself?"
"That would come out, wouldn't it? The family would make inquiries."
"They did not know that the dying man had money. He kept it to
himself, for he wanted to go home and give them an agreeable surprise.
Butler knew this, and, I think, he took advantage of it."
"That was contemptible. But can't it be ascertained? Is it known where
the family lives? What is the name?"
"Walton."
"Walton!" repeated Warner Powell, in surprise.
"Yes; do you know any family of that name?"
"I know a boy in Chicago named Luke Walton. He is in the employ of my
aunt. A part of his time he spends in selling papers."
"Mr. Browning told me that Walton only left a daughter, and that the
family had gone to the Eastern States."
"Would he be likely to tell you the truth--supposing he had really
kept the money?"
"Perhaps not. What more can you tell me about this boy?"
Powell's face lighted up.
"I remember now, he told me that his father died in California."
"Is it possible?" said Jack King, excited. "I begin to think I am on
the right track. I begin to think, too, that I can tell where Tom
Butler got his first start."
"And now he poses as a philanthropist?"
"Yes."
"And is nominated for mayor?"
"Yes, also."
"How are your relations with him?"
"They should be friendly, for he and I were comrades in earlier days,
and once I lent him money when he needed it, but he has been puffed up
by his prosperity, and takes very little notice of me. He had to do
something for me when I first came to Milwaukee, but it was because he
was afraid not to."
Meanwhile Warner Powell was searching his memory. Where and how had he
become familiar with the name of Thomas Browning? At last it came to
him.
"Eureka!" he exclaimed, in excitement.
"What does that mean? I don't understand French."
Warner smiled.
"It isn't French," he said; "but Greek, all the Greek I know. It means
'I have discovered'--the mystery of your old acquaintance."
"Explain, please!" said Jack King, his interest be coming intense.
"I have a friend in Chicago--Stephen Webb, a nephew of your
philanthropist--who has been commissioned by his uncle to find out all
he can about this newsboy, Luke Walton. He was speculating with me why
his uncle should be so interested in an obscure boy."
"Had his uncle told him nothing?"
"No, except that he dropped a hint about knowing Luke's father."
"This Luke and his family are poor, you say?"
"Yes, you can judge that from his employment. He is an honest, manly
boy, however, and I have taken a fancy to him. I hope it will turn out
as you say. But nothing can be proved. This Browning will probably
deny that he received money in trust from the dead father."
Jack King's countenance fell.
"When you go back to Chicago talk with the boy, and find out whether
the family have any evidence that will support their claim. Then send
the boy on to me, and we will see what can be done."
"I accept the suggestion with pleasure. But I will offer an amendment.
Let us write the boy to come on at once, and have a joint consultation
in his interest."