Luke Walton

  "If you find it isn't true you can let me know."

  "I am sorry that you think so much more of Luke than of me,"complained Harold.

  "How do you know I do?"

  "Mother thinks so as well as I."

  "Suppose we leave Luke out of consideration. I shall think as much ofyou as you deserve."

  Harold rose from his seat.

  "As you have no errand for me, Aunt Eliza, I will go," he said.

  Mrs. Merton unlocked a drawer in a work table, took out a pocketbook,and extracted therefrom a ten-dollar-bill.

  "You have asked me a favor, and I will grant it--for once," she said."Here are ten dollars."

  "Thank you," said Harold, joyfully.

  "I won't even ask how you propose to spend it. I thought of doing so,but it would imply distrust, and for this occasion I won't show any."

  "You are very kind, Aunt Eliza."

  "I am glad you think so. You are welcome to the money."

  Harold left the room in high spirits. He decided not to let his motherknow that he had received so large a sum, as she might inquire to whatuse he intended to put it; and some of his expenditures, he feltpretty sure, would not be approved by her.

  He left the house, and going downtown, joined a couple of friends ofhis own stamp. They adjourned to a billiard saloon, and betweenbilliards, bets upon the game, and drinks, Harold managed to spendthree dollars before suppertime.

  Three days later the entire sum given him by his aunt was gone.

  When Harold made the discovery, he sighed. His dream was over. It hadbeen pleasant as long as it lasted, but it was over too soon.

  "Now I must go back to my mean allowance," he said to himself, in adiscontented tone. "Aunt Eliza might give me ten dollars every weekjust as well as not. She is positively rolling in wealth, while I haveto grub along like a newsboy. Why, that fellow Luke has a great dealmore money than I."

  A little conversation which he had with his Uncle Warner made hisdiscontent more intense.

  "Hello, Harold, what makes you look so blue?" he asked one day.

  "Because I haven't got any money," answered Harold.

  "Doesn't your mother or Aunt Eliza give you any?"

  "I get a little, but it isn't as much as the other fellows get."

  "How much?"

  "Two dollars a week."

  "It is more than I had when I was of your age."

  "That doesn't make it any better."

  "Aunt Eliza isn't exactly lavish; still, she pays Luke Waltongenerously."

  "Do you know how much he gets a week?" asked Harold, eagerly.

  "Ten dollars."

  "Ten dollars!" ejaculated Harold. "You don't really mean it."

  "Yes, I do. I saw her pay him that sum yesterday. I asked her if itwasn't liberal. She admitted it, but said he had a mother and brotherto support."

  "It's a shame!" cried Harold, passionately.

  "Why is it? The money is her own, isn't it?"

  "She ought not to treat a stranger better than her own nephew."

  "That means me, I judge," said Warner, smiling. "Well, there isn'tanything we can do about it, is there?"

  "No, I don't know as there is," replied Harold, slowly.

  But he thought over what his uncle had told him, and it made him verybitter. He brooded over it till it seemed to him as if it were a greatoutrage. He felt that he was treated with the greatest injustice. Hewas incensed with his aunt, but still more so with Luke Walton, whomhe looked upon as an artful adventurer.

  It was while he was cherishing these feelings that a great temptationcame to him. He found, one day in the street, a bunch of keys ofvarious sizes attached to a small steel ring. He picked it up, andquick as a flash there came to him the thought of the drawer in hisaunt's work table, from which he had seen her take out the moroccopocketbook. He had observed that the ten-dollar bill she gave him wasonly one out of a large roll, and his cupidity was aroused. He rapidlyconcocted a scheme by which he would be enabled to provide himselfwith money, and throw suspicion upon Luke.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  HAROLD'S THEFT

  The next morning, Mrs. Merton, escorted by Luke, went to make somepurchases in the city. Mrs. Tracy went out, also, having an engagementwith one of her friends living on Cottage Grove Avenue. Harold wentout directly after breakfast, but returned at half-past ten. He wentupstairs and satisfied himself that except the servants, he was alonein the house.

  "The coast is clear," he said, joyfully. "Now if the key only fits."

  He went to his aunt's sitting room, and, not anticipating anyinterruption, directed his steps a once to the small table, from adrawer in which he had seen Mrs. Merton take the morocco pocketbook.He tried one key after another, and finally succeeded in opening thedrawer. He drew it out with nervous anxiety, fearing that thepocket-book might have been removed, in which case all his work wouldhave been thrown away.

  But no! Fortune favored him this time, if it can be called a favor.There, in plain sight, was the morocco pocketbook. Harold, pale withexcitement, seized and opened it. His eyes glistened as he saw that itwas well filled. He took out the roll of bills, and counted them.There were five ten-dollar bills and three fives--sixty-five dollarsin all. There would have been more, but Mrs. Merton, before going out,had taken four fives, which she intended to use.

  It was Harold's first theft, and he trembled with agitation as hethrust the pocketbook into his pocket. He would have trembled stillmore if he had known that his mother's confidential maid andseamstress, Felicie Lacouvreur, had seen everything through thecrevice formed by the half-open door.

  Felicie smiled to herself as she moved noiselessly away from her postof concealment.

  "Master Harold is trying a dangerous experiment," she said to herself."Now he is in my power. He has been insolent to me more than once, asif he were made of superior clay, but Felicie, though only a poorservant, is not, thank Heaven, a thief, as he is. It is a veryinteresting drama. I shall wait patiently till it is quite playedout."

  In his hurry, Harold came near leaving the room with the table draweropen. But he bethought himself in time, went back, and locked itsecurely. It was like shutting the stable door after the horse wasstolen. Then, with the stolen money in his possession, he left thehouse. He did not wish to be found at home when his aunt returned.

  Harold had sixty-five dollars in his pocket--an amount quite beyondwhat he had ever before had at his disposal--but it must be admittedthat he did not feel as happy as he had expected. If he had come by ithonestly--if, for instance, it had been given him--his heart wouldhave beat high with exultation, but as it was, he walked along withclouded brow. Presently he ran across one of his friends, who noticedhis discomposure.

  "What's the matter, Harold?" he asked. "You are in the dumps."

  "Oh, no," answered Harold, forcing himself to assume a more cheerfulaspect. "I have no reason to feel blue."

  "You are only acting, then? I must congratulate you on your success.You look for all the world like the Knight of the SorrowfulCountenance."

  "Who is he?" asked Harold, who was not literary.

  "Don Quixote. Did you never hear of him?"

  "No."

  "Then your education has been neglected. What are you going to doto-day?"

  "I don't know."

  "Suppose we visit a dime museum?"

  "All right."

  "That is, if you have any money. I am high and dry."

  "Yes, I have some money."

  They went to a dime museum on Clark Street.

  Harold surprised his companion by paying for the two tickets out of afive-dollar bill.

  "You're flush, Harold," said his friend. "Has anybody left you afortune?"

  "No," answered Harold, uneasily. "I've been saving up money lately."

  "You have? Why, I've heard of your being at theaters, playingbilliards, and so on."

  "Look here, Robert Greve, I don't see why you need trouble yourself somuch about where I get my money."

&n
bsp; "Don't be cranky, Harold," said Robert, good-humoredly, "I won't sayanother word. Only I am glad to find my friends in a healthy financialcondition. I only wish I could say the same of myself."

  There happened to be a matinee at the Grand Opera House, and Haroldproposed going. First, however, they took a nice lunch at Brockway &Milan's, a mammoth restaurant on Clark Street, Harold paying thebill.

  As they came out of the theater, Luke Walton chanced to pass.

  "Good-afternoon, Harold," he said.

  Harold tossed his head, but did not reply.

  "Who is that boy--one of your acquaintances?" asked Robert Greve.

  "He works for my aunt," answered Harold. "It is like his impudence tospeak to me."

  "Why shouldn't he speak to you, if you know him?" said Robert Greve,who did not share Harold's foolish pride.

  "He appears to think he is my equal," continued Harold.

  "He seems a nice boy."

  "You don't know him as I do. He is a common newsboy."

  "Suppose he is; that doesn't hurt him, does it?"

  "You don't know what I mean. You don't think a common newsboy fit toassociate with on equal terms, do you?"

  Robert Greve laughed.

  "You are too high-toned, Harold," he said. "If he is a nice boy, Idon't care what sort of business a friend of mine follows."

  "Well, I do," snapped Harold, "and so does my mother. I don't believein being friends with the ragtag and bobtail of society."

  Luke Walton did not allow his feelings to be hurt by the decidedrebuff he had received from Harold.

  "I owe it to myself to act like a gentleman," he reflected. "If Harolddoesn't choose to be polite, it is his lookout, not mine. He looksdown upon me because I am a working boy. I don't mean always to be anewsboy or an errand boy. I shall work my way upwards as fast as Ican, and, in time, I may come to fill a good place in society."

  It will be seen that Luke was ambitious. He looked above and beyondthe present, and determined to improve his social condition.

  It was six o'clock when Harold ascended the steps of the mansion onPrairie Avenue. He had devoted the day to amusement, but had derivedvery little pleasure from the money he had expended. He had verylittle left of the five-dollar bill which he had first changed at thedime museum. It was not easy to say where his money had gone, but ithad melted away, in one shape or another.

  "I wonder whether Aunt Eliza has discovered her loss," thought Harold."I hope I shan't show any signs of nervousness when I meet her. Idon't see how she can possibly suspect me. If anything is said aboutthe lost pocketbook, I will try to throw suspicion on Luke Walton."

  Harold did not stop to think how mean this would be.Self-preservation, it has been said, is the first law of nature, andself-preservation required that he should avert suspicion from himselfby any means in his power. He went into the house whistling, as if toshow that his mind was quite free from care.

  In the hall he met Felicie.

  "What do you think has happened, Master Harold?" asked the Frenchmaid.

  "I don't know, I'm sure."

  "Your aunt has been robbed. Some money has been taken from her room."

  CHAPTER XXX

  LUKE WALTON IS SUSPECTED OF THEFT

  Harold was prepared for the announcement, as he felt confident hisaunt would soon discover her loss, but he felt a little nervous,nevertheless.

  "You don't mean it?" he ejaculated, in well-counterfeited, surprise.

  "It's a fact."

  "When did Aunt Eliza discover her loss, Felicie?"

  "As soon as she got home. She went to her drawer to put back somemoney she had on hand, and found the pocketbook gone."

  "Was there much money in it?"

  "She doesn't say how much."

  "Well," said Harold, thinking it time to carry on the programme he haddetermined upon, "I can't say I am surprised."

  "You are not surprised!" repeated Felicie, slowly. "Why? Do you knowanything about it?"

  "Do I know anything about it?" said Harold, coloring. "What do youmean by that?"

  "Because you say you are not surprised. I was surprised, and so wasthe old lady and your mother."

  "You must be very stupid not to understand what I mean," said Harold,annoyed.

  "Then I am very stupid, for I do not know at all why you are notsurprised."

  "I mean that the boy Aunt Eliza employs--that boy Luke has taken themoney."

  "Oh, you think the boy, Luke, has taken the money."

  "Certainly! Why shouldn't he? He is a poor newsboy. It would be agreat temptation to him. You know he is always shown into Aunt Eliza'ssitting room, and is often there alone."

  "That is true."

  "And, of course, nothing is more natural than that he should take themoney."

  "But the drawer was locked."

  "He had some keys in his pocket, very likely. Most boys have keys."

  "Oh, most boys have keys. Have you, perhaps, keys, Master Harold?"

  "It seems to me you are asking very foolish questions, Felicie. I havethe key of my trunk."

  "But do newsboys have trunks? Why should this boy, Luke, have keys? Ido not see."

  "Well, I'll go upstairs," said Harold, who was getting tired of theinterview, and rather uneasy at Felicie's remarks and questions.

  As Felicie had said, Mrs. Merton discovered her loss almost as soon asshe came home. She had used but a small part of the money he took withher, and, not caring to carry it about with her, opened the drawer toreplace it in the pocketbook.

  To her surprise the pocketbook had disappeared.

  Now, the contents of the pocketbook, though a very respectable sum,were not sufficient to put Mrs. Merton to any inconvenience. Still, noone likes to lose money, especially if there is reason to believe thatit has been stolen, and Mrs. Merton felt annoyed. She drew out thedrawer to its full extent, and examined it carefully in every part,but there was no trace of the morocco pocketbook.

  She locked the door and went downstairs to her niece.

  "What's the matter, Aunt Eliza?" asked Mrs. Tracy, seeing, at aglance, from her aunt's expression, that some thing had happened.

  "There is a thief in the house!" said the old lady, abruptly.

  "What!"

  "There is a thief in the house!"

  "What makes you think so?"

  "You remember my small work table?"

  "Yes."

  "I have been in the habit of keeping a supply of money in a pocketbookin one of the drawers. I just opened the drawer, and the money isgone!"

  "Was there much money in the pocketbook?"

  "I happen to know just how much. There were sixty-five dollars."

  "And you can find nothing of the pocketbook?"

  "No; that and the money are both gone."

  "I am sorry for your loss, Aunt Eliza."

  "I don't care for the money. I shall not miss it. I am amply providedwith funds, thanks to Providence. But it is the mystery that puzzlesme. Who can have robbed me?"

  Mrs. Tracy nodded her head significantly.

  "I don't think there need be any mystery about that," she said,pointedly.

  "Why not?"

  "I can guess who robbed you."

  "Then I should be glad to have you enlighten me, for I am quite at aloss to fix upon the thief."

  "It's that boy of yours, I haven't a doubt of it."

  "You mean Luke Walton?"

  "Yes, the newsboy, whom you have so imprudently trusted."

  "What are your reasons for thinking he is a thief?" asked the old ladycalmly.

  "He is often alone in the room where the work table stands, is henot?"

  "Yes; he waits for me there."

  "What could be easier than for him to open the drawer and abstract thepocketbook?"

  "It would be possible, but he would have to unlock the drawer."

  "Probably he took an impression of the lock some day, and had a keymade."

  "You are giving him credit for an unusual amount of cunnin
g."

  "I always supposed he was sly."

  "I am aware, Louisa, that you never liked the boy."

  "I admit that. What has happened seems to show that I was right."

  "Now you are jumping to conclusions. You decide, without any proof, oreven investigation, that Luke took the money."

  "I feel convinced of it."

  "It appears to me that you are not treating the boy fairly."

  "My instinct tells me that it is he who has robbed you."

  "Instinct would have no weight in law."

  "If he didn't take it, who did?" asked Mrs. Tracy, triumphantly.

  "That question is not easy to answer, Louisa."

  "I am glad you admit so much, Aunt Eliza."

  "I admit nothing; but I will think over the matter carefully, andinvestigate."

  "Do so, Aunt Eliza! In the end you will agree with me."

  "In the meanwhile, Louisa, there is one thing I must insist upon."

  "What is that?"

  "That you leave the matter wholly in my hands."

  "Certainly, if you wish it."

  "There are some circumstances connected with the robbery, which I havenot mentioned."

  "What are they?" asked Mrs. Tracy, her face expressing curiosity.

  "I shall keep them to myself for the present."

  Mrs. Tracy looked disappointed.

  "If you mention them to me, I may think of something that would helpyou."