When they reached the house on Prairie Avenue, they met Mrs. Tracy onthe steps. She had been out for a short call.
"Did you have a pleasant morning, Aunt Eliza?" she asked, quiteignoring Luke.
"Yes, quite so. Luke, I won't trouble you to come in. I shall not needyou to-morrow. The next day you may call at the same hour."
Luke turned away, but was called back sharply by Mrs. Tracy.
"Boy!" she said, "you are taking away my aunt's bundle. Bring it backdirectly."
"Louisa," said the old lady, "don't trouble yourself. That bundle ismeant for Luke's mother."
"Something you bought for her?"
"Yes, a dress pattern."
"Oh!" sniffed Mrs. Tracy, eying Luke with strong disapproval.
CHAPTER XVI
THOMAS BROWNING AT HOME
In one of the handsomest streets in Milwaukee stood a privateresidence which was quite in harmony with its surroundings. It lookedlike the home of a man of ample means. It was luxuriously furnished,and at one side was a conservatory. It was apt to attract theattention of strangers, and the question was asked: "Who livesthere?"
And the answer would be: "Thomas Browning. He will probably be mayorsome day."
Yes, this was the residence of Thomas Browning, formerly ThomasButler, the man to whom the dead father of Luke Walton had intrustedthe sum of ten thousand dollars to carry to his wife and children. Howhe fulfilled his trust, or, rather, did not fulfill it, we alreadyknow. But in Milwaukee, where Mr. Browning had become a leadingcitizen, it was not known. It was entirely inconsistent with what wasbelieved to be his character. For Mr. Browning was president of onecharitable society and treasurer of another. At the annual meetings ofthese societies he was always called upon to speak, and his allusionsto the poverty and privations of those who were cared for by thesesocieties never failed to produce an impression.
It was popularly supposed that he gave away large sums in charity.Indeed, he admitted the fact, but explained the absence of his namefrom subscription papers by saying: "All my gifts are anonymous.Instead of giving my name, I prefer to put down 'Cash,' so much, or 'AFriend,' such another sum. I don't wish to influence others, but itjars upon me to have my name ostentatiously paraded in the publicprints."
Now, in all subscriptions there are donations ascribed to "Cash" and"A Friend," and whenever these occurred, it was generally supposedthey represented Mr. Browning. But, to let the reader into a littlesecret, this was only a shrewd device of Mr. Browning's to have thereputation of a philanthropist at little or no expense, for, as amatter of fact, he never contributed at all to the charities in whichhe seemed to take such an interest!
In a pleasant room on the second floor sat the pseudo-philanthropist.The room was furnished as a library. At a writing table, poring overwhat looked like an account book, he looked the picture of comfort andrespectability. A few well-chosen engravings adorned the walls. Apleasant light was diffused about the room from a chandelier suspendedover the table.
Thomas Browning leaned back in his chair, and a placid smileoverspread his naturally harsh features. He looked about him, and histhoughts somehow ran back to a time when he was very differentlysituated.
"Five years ago to-night," he said, "I was well-nigh desperate. Ihadn't a cent to bless myself with, nor was the prospect of gettingone particularly bright. How I lived, for a considerable time, Ihardly know. I did have a notion at one time, when I was particularlydown on my luck, of committing suicide, and so ending the struggleonce for all. It would have been a great mistake!" he added after apause. "I didn't foresee at the time the prosperous years that laybefore me. Frederick Walton's money changed my whole life. Tenthousand dollars isn't a fortune, but it proved the basis of one. Itenabled me to float the Excelsior Mine. I remember there were ahundred thousand shares at two dollars a share, all based upon a fewacres of mining land which I bought for a song. With the ten thousanddollars, I hired an office, printed circulars, distributed glowingaccounts of imaginary wealth, etc. It cost considerable foradvertising, but I sold seventy thousand shares, and when I hadgathered in the money I let the bottom fall out. There was a greatfuss, of course, but I figured as the largest loser, being the ownerof thirty thousand shares (for which I hadn't paid a cent), and soshared the sympathy extended to losers. It was a nice scheme, andafter deducting all expenses, I made a clean seventy-five thousanddollars out of it, which, added to my original capital, madeeighty-five thousand. Then I came to Milwaukee and bought this house.From that time my career has been upward and onward. My friends saysome day I shall be mayor of the city. Well, stranger things havehappened, and who knows but my friends may be right!"
At this moment a servant entered the library.
"Well, Mary, what is it?" asked the philanthropist.
"Please, sir, there's a poor woman at the door, and she would like tosee you."
"Ah, yes, she wants relief from the Widows' and Orphans' Society,probably. Well, send her up. I am always at home to the poor."
"What a good man he is!" thought Mary. "It's strange he gives such lowwages to the girls that work for him. He says it's because he givesaway so much money in charities."
Mary ushered in, a moment later, a woman in a faded dress, with a lookof care and sorrow on her thin features.
"Take a seat, madam," said Thomas Browning, urbanely. "Did you wish tosee me?"
"Yes, sir. I am in difficulties, and have ventured to call upon you."
"I am glad to see you. I am always ready to see the unfortunate."
"Yes, sir; I know you have the reputation of being a philanthropist.
"No, no," said Mr. Browning, modestly. "Don't mention it. I am fullyaware of the flattering estimation which is placed on my poorservices, but I really don't deserve it. It is, perhaps, as thePresident of the Widows' and Orphans' Charitable Society that you wishto speak to me."
"No, sir. It is as President of the Excelsior Mining Company that Iwish to make an appeal to you."
"Oh!" ejaculated Browning, with a perceptible change of countenance.
"Of course you remember it, sir. I was a widow, with a small propertyof five thousand dollars left me by my late husband. It was all I hadon which to support myself and two children. The banks paid poorinterest, and I was in search of a profitable investment. One of yourcirculars fell into my hands. The shares were two dollars each, and itwas stated that they would probably yield fifty per cent dividends.That would support me handsomely. But I didn't decide to invest untilI had written a private letter to you."
She took it from the pocket of her dress, and offered it to ThomasBrowning, but that gentleman waved it aside.
She continued: "You indorsed all that the circular contained. You saidthat within a year you thought he shares would rise to at least tendollars. So I invested all the money I had. You know what followed. Insix months the shares went down to nothing, and I found myselfpenniless."
"I know it, my good woman," said Thomas Browning. "I know it, to mycost. I myself had sixty thousand dollars invested in the stock. Ilost it all."
"But you seem to be a rich man," said the poor woman, looking abouther.
"I have made it out of other ventures. But the collapse of the minewas a sad blow to me. As the president, I might have had somethingfrom the wreck, but I did not. I suffered with the rest. Now, may Iask what I can do for you?"
"It was on account of your advice that I bought stock. Don't you thinkyou ought to make up to me a part of the loss?"
"Impossible!" said Browning, sharply. "Didn't I tell you I lost muchmore heavily than you?"
"Then you can do nothing for me?"
"Yes; I can put you on the pension list of the Widows' and Orphans'Society. That will entitle you to receive a dollar a week for threemonths."
"I am not an object of charity, sir. I wish you good-night."
"Good-night. If you change your mind come to me."
"Very unreasonable, upon my word," soliloquized Thomas Browning.
At eleven o'c
lock Mr. Browning went to his bedchamber. He lit the gasand was preparing to disrobe, when his sharp ear detected the sound ofsuppressed breathing, and the point from which it proceeded. He walkedquickly to the bed, bent over, and looked underneath. In an instant hehad caught a man who had been concealed beneath it.
The intruder was a wretchedly dressed tramp. Browning allowed the manto get upon his feet, and then, facing him, demanded, sternly: "Whyare you here? Did you come to rob me?"
CHAPTER XVII
A STRANGE VISITOR
"Did you come to rob me?" repeated Mr. Browning, as he stood facingthe tramp, whom he had brought to the light from under the bed.
There was an eager, questioning look on the face of the tramp, as hestared at the gentleman upon whose privacy he had intruded--not a lookof fear, but a look of curiosity. Thomas Browning misinterpreted it.He thought the man was speechless from alarm.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" demanded Browning, sternly.
The answer considerably surprised him.
"Why, pard, it's you, is it?" said the man, with the air of one towhom a mystery was made plain.
"What do you mean by your impertinence?" asked the respectable Mr.Browning, angrily.
"Well, that's a good one! Who'd have thought that this 'ere mansionbelonged to my old friend and pard?"
"What do you mean? Are you crazy, fellow?"
"No, I ain't crazy, as I know of, but I'm flabbergasted--that's what Iam."
"Have done with this trifling and tell me why I shouldn't hand youover to the police?"
"I guess you won't do that, Tom Butler!" returned the burglar,coolly.
Browning stared in surprise and dismay at hearing his old namepronounced by this unsavory specimen of humanity.
"Who are you?" he demanded, quickly.
"Don't you know me?"
"No, I don't. I never saw you before. I don't associate with men ofyour class."
"Hear him now!" chuckled the tramp, in an amazed tone. "Why, TomButler, you an' me used to be pards. Don't you remember Jack King?Why, we've bunked together, and hunted for gold together, and almoststarved together; but that was in the old days."
Browning looked the amazement he felt.
"Are you really Jack King?" he ejaculated, sinking back into aneasy-chair, and staring hard at his unexpected visitor.
"I'm the same old coon, Tom, but I'm down at the heel, while you--doyou really own this fine house, and these elegant fixin's?"
"Yes," answered Browning, mechanically.
"Well, you've fared better than I. I've been goin' down, down, tillI've got about as far down as I can get."
"And you have become a burglar?"
"Well, a man must live, you know."
"You could work."
"Who would give such a lookin' man as I any work?"
"How did you get in?"
"That's my secret! You mustn't expect me to give myself away."
"And you had no idea whose house you were in?"
"I was told it belonged to a Mr. Browning."
"I am Mr. Browning--Thomas Browning."
"You! What has become of Butler?"
"I had good substantial reasons for changing my name--there was moneyin it, you understand."
"I'd like to change my own name on them terms. And now, Tom Butler,what are you going to do for me?"
Mr. Browning's face hardened. He felt no sympathy for the poor wretchwith whom he had once been on terms of intimacy. He felt ashamed tothink that they had ever been comrades, and he resented the tone offamiliarity with which this outcast addressed him--a reputablecitizen, a wealthy capitalist, a man whose name had been more thanonce mentioned in connection with the mayor's office.
"I'll tell you what I ought to do," he said, harshly.
"Well?"
"I ought to call a policeman, and give you in charge for entering myhouse as a burglar."
"You'd better not do that," he said without betraying alarm.
"Why not? Why should I not treat you like any other burglar?"
"Because--but I want to ask you a question."
"What did you do with that money Walton gave you on his deathbed?"
"What do you mean?" he faltered.
"Just what I say. What did you do with Walton's money?"
"I am at a loss to understand your meaning."
"No, you are not. However, I am ready to explain. On his deathbedWalton gave you ten thousand dollars to carry to his wife and family.Did you do it?"
"Who told you this?"
"It is unnecessary for me to say. It is enough that I know it. At thetime you were poor enough. You might have had a few hundred dollars ofyour own, but certainly not much more. Now--it isn't so many yearsago--I find you a rich man. Of course, I have my own ideas of how thiscame about."
"Do you mean to accuse me of dishonesty?" demanded Browning, angrily.
"I don't accuse you of anything. I am only thinking of what would benatural under the circumstances. I'm not an angel myself, Tom Butler,and I can't say but the money might have miscarried if it had beenhanded to me instead of to you. I wish it had; I wouldn't be themiserable-looking wretch I am now."
"Walton handed me some money," said Browning, cautiously--"not tenthousand dollars--and I handed it to his family."
"Where did they live?"
"In a country town," he answered, glibly.
"I was thinking I might run across Mrs. Walton some day," he said,significantly. "She would be glad to see me, as I knew her latehusband in California."
"She is dead," said Browning, hastily.
"Dead! How long since?"
"She died soon after she heard of her husband's death. Died of grief,poor woman!"
"Were there no children?"
"Yes, there was a girl, but she was adopted by a relative inMassachusetts."
"I don't believe a word of it!" thought Jack King. "He wants to put meoff the scent."
"Humph! And you gave the wife the money?"
"Of course."
"I may meet the girl some time; I might advertise for any of thefamily."
"Do you think they would be glad to see you?"
"They might help me, and I stand in need of help."
"There is no need of that. You are an old comrade in distress. Ihaven't forgotten the fact, though I pretended to, to try you. Here'sa five-dollar bill. I'll let you out of the house myself. Consideringhow you entered it, you may count yourself lucky."
"That's all right, as far as it goes, Tom, but I want to remind you ofa little debt you owe me. When you were out of luck at Murphy'sdiggings I lent you twenty-five dollars, which you have never paidback."
"I had forgotten it."
"I haven't. That money will come mighty convenient just now. It willbuy me a better-looking suit, second hand, and make a different man ofme. With it I can get a place and set up for a respectable humanbeing."
"Here's the money," said Browning, reluctantly drawing the additionalbills from his wallet. "Now that we are square, I hope you won't annoyme by further applications. I might have sent you out of the houseunder very different circumstances."
"You were always considerate, Tom," said the tramp, stowing away thebills in the pocket of his ragged vest. "May I refer to you if I applyfor a situation?"
"Yes; but remember I am Thomas Browning. I prefer not to have it knownthat my name was ever Butler."
"All right! Now, if you'll do me the favor of showing me the door I'llleave you to your slumbers."
"It's very awkward, that man's turning up," muttered Browning, as hereturned from letting out his unsavory visitor. "How could he haveheard about Walton's money?"
CHAPTER XVIII
HOW JACK KING FARED
Jack King left the house with the money Browning had unwillingly givenhim. He sought a cheap lodging and the next morning proceeded to makehimself respectable. When he had donned some clean linen, a suit ofclothes which he bought cheap at a second-hand store, taken a bath,and called into requisiti
on the services of a barber, it would havebeen hard to recognize him as the same man who had emerged from underthe bed of the well-known philanthropist, a typical tramp and would-beburglar.
Jack King counted over the balance of his money, and found that he hadnine dollars and thirty-seven cents left.
"This won't support me forever," he reflected. "I must get somethingto do."
While sauntering along, he fell in with an old acquaintance namedStone.
"What are you up to, King?" he asked.
"Looking for a job."
"You are my man, then. I am keeping a cigar store at the PrairieHotel, but I have some business calling me away from the city for sixweeks or two months. Will you take my place?"
"What are the inducements?"
"Board and lodging and five dollars a week."
"Agreed."
"Come over, then, and I will show you the place."
The hotel was a cheap one, not far from the railway station, andthough comfortable, was not patronized by fastidious travelers.
"When do you want me to take hold?" he asked.
"To-morrow."
"All right."
"Come around at ten o'clock. I want to leave Milwaukee in theafternoon."
King could not help reflecting about the extraordinary prosperity ofhis old comrade, Tom Butler, now Thomas Browning, Esq.
"What does it mean?" he asked himself. "He seemed very uneasy when Iasked him about Walton's money. I believe he kept it himself. I wish Iknew. If I could prove it, it would be a gold mine for me. I must makeinquiries, and, if possible, find out Walton's family."