CHAPTER XXXII.
HIRAM FRENCH, OF CHICAGO
From Harrisburg the dramatic company with which Bert was connected went directly to Chicago.
"We don't like to make such long jumps," said Mr. Pearson, with whom Bert had become quite friendly, "but we could secure Hooley's Theatre this week, and no other. Were you ever in Chicago?"
"No," answered Bert. "I have never traveled much. I suppose you have."
"Yes; I went out to San Francisco last year with the 'Silver King.' You will find Chicago a pleasant city."
"Are the hotels dear?"
"No; only moderate in price. The theatrical people get a discount, you know."
"I think I should rather live in a boarding house."
"That will be cheaper. I don't mind going with you to keep you company."
"Do you know of any good house?"
"I know a very comfortable boarding-house on Monroe Street, kept by Mrs. Shelby, a widow lady. My sister once boarded there, when visiting Chicago."
"That will suit me, I think. Would you mind going 'round with me?"
"I'll take you there, with pleasure."
The two, on arriving in Chicago, went at once to Monroe Street, and called at the boarding-house.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Pearson," said the widow cordially. "Is your sister with you?"
"Not this time."
"Are you going to play here?"
"Yes; I shall appear at Hooley's Theatre all next week."
"Is that young gentleman your brother?"
"No, he is one of our actors, Mr. Bert Barton."
"He looks young for an actor," said the landlady, surprised.
"I appeared on the stage when I was only twelve. But we have come on business, Mrs. Shelby. Have you a vacant room?"
"Yes; I had one vacated yesterday."
"Suppose Mr. Barton and myself take it for a week?"
"I shall be glad to have you. I can't afford to have my rooms remain vacant."
"What will be your terms?"
"Six dollars each, including board."
"Is that satisfactory, Bert?" asked Pearson.
"Quite so, Mr. Pearson."
"Then we will take possession. I hope it is almost time for a meal, Mrs. Shelby. I am almost famished."
"You will only have to wait an hour. I will show you to your rooms, and then I must be excused, as my presence is required downstairs."
The room shown by the landlady was of fair size and neatly furnished. Bert looked about him in satisfaction.
"I would rather be here than at a hotel," he said.
"So would I, as long as I have a companion," returned Mr. Pearson. "Besides, I shall be saving from four to five dollars a week. I ought to pay more than half of it, as I am receiving a considerably higher salary than you."
"No, Mr. Pearson, I prefer to pay my share. But for you I should be paying more at a hotel."
Bert felt a little diffidence in appearing before a Chicago audience. He had, to be sure, been favorably received in Harrisburg, but he had an idea that in a larger city it would be more difficult to achieve success. The first night undeceived him. He received a liberal share of applause, and was called before the curtain.
"I congratulate you, Bert," said Mr. Pearson. "You seem to have made yourself solid with the audience."
"I am glad that I give satisfaction," returned Bert. "It will encourage me to do better."
"You had better adopt the profession of an actor," continued his friend.
Bert shook his head.
"I prefer to enter a business of some kind," he said. "Though I have succeeded in one part, I am not sure that I should succeed in others."
Bert was about leaving the theatre that night when the call boy brought him a card.
"There is a gentleman at the door would like to see you," he said.
Bert glanced at the card, and found it bore the name of
HIRAM FRENCH
It was a name he had never before heard, and when he reached the door he looked inquiringly at the middle-aged gentleman who stood before him.
"You are young Barton?" said the visitor.
"Yes; that is my name."
"Are you the son of John Barton, who once worked in the shoe factory of Weeks Brothers?"
"Yes, sir," answered Bert, coloring, for he knew that the stranger must be aware that his father was resting under a criminal charge.
"I thought I could not be mistaken. You look as your father did at your age."
"Then you knew my father as a boy?" said Bert, eagerly.
"I was a schoolmate of his. Later on I was employed in the same factory with him—that of Weeks Brothers."
"Did you know under what circumstances he left the factory?" asked Bert, with some embarrassment.
"Yes, I knew all about it. But I want you to come home and pass the night at my house, and we will talk over that and other matters."
"Thank you, sir. I will give notice to a friend who rooms with me."
Bert found Mr. Pearson, and informed him that he would absent himself for one night from Mrs. Shelby's boarding-house. Then he returned to Mr. French.
"I live on Indiana Avenue," explained the latter. "We shall find a car at the corner of State and Madison Streets."
As they walked to the car, Bert's new friend asked: "How long have you been on the stage, Mr. Barton?"
"Only two weeks."
"You don't mean that that comprises your whole experience."
"Yes. I stepped in at Harrisburg to supply the place of a young actor who was taken sick."
"You act as if you had been trained to it. But how came you to be at Harrisburg? That is not your home?"
"No. As you were my father's friend, I will tell you what brought me out there."
Bert briefly related the story that is already known to the reader. Hiram French listened with great attention.
"I remember Ralph Harding," he said. "He was not popular among his shopmates, especially after his agency in throwing suspicion upon your father."
"Was it generally thought that my father was guilty?" asked Bert.
"No; while circumstances were strong against him, no one could believe that a man whose reputation for integrity was as high as your father's would be guilty of stealing. But the good will of his associates could not help him."
"Did you know Mr. Marlowe?"
"Albert Marlowe? Yes."
"Was he well liked?"
"Not by me. He was far from being as highly respected as your father."
"Yet he has prospered. He is the owner of a factory in Lakeville, and is considered worth thirty thousand dollars."
"I am surprised to hear it. When I knew him he was always in debt."
"If he really took the bonds charged upon my father, that would account for his start in business."
"Exactly so. Now that I think of it, two or three days after the theft, I saw him and Ralph Harding walking together, apparently engaged in earnest conversation. They evidently had a good understanding with each other. I believe you are on the right track, and I heartily hope you will succeed in making your father's innocence evident to the world. John Barton was my favorite friend, and I hope some day to see him in Chicago."
"Are you in business here, Mr. French?"
"Yes; I am in the old line. Like Albert Marlowe, I am the owner of a large shoe factory, and I am worth, I should say, considerably more money."
Hiram French occupied a handsome house on Indiana Avenue, furnished with taste, and was, as his style of living showed, in easy circumstances. He introduced Bert to his wife and daughter, who seemed at once drawn to the young actor. When he left the house the next morning after breakfast he was urgently invited to call again during his stay, and partially promised to do so. But he was in haste to reach Peoria, for there it was he hoped to find a witness that would vindicate his father's name and fame.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A LATE ARRIVAL AT MRS. BARTON'S COTTAGE
One evening, about eight o'clock, Mrs. Barton was sewing in her little sitting-room when an unusual feeling of loneliness overcame her. Circumstances had separated her from her husband, and her only son was hundreds of miles away.
"Why," she asked herself, "can I not fare as well as other wives and mothers? I am a wife, yet I cannot enjoy my husband's society. Fortunately I am not likely long to be separated from Bert. If he only succeeds in his mission, and comes home able to vindicate the fame of his father, and restore him to me, I shall be perfectly happy."
She felt unusually restless, and found it difficult to keep on with her work.
"I feel as if something were going to happen. I hope no misfortune is impending over me."
She had hardly spoken when the door bell rang.
"It is some neighbor come to make a call," she thought. "I am glad of it, for I am not in the mood for work."
She rose and opened the door. She started back in surprise when in her visitors she recognized Uncle Jacob, and leaning upon his arm the husband of whom she had just been thinking.
"May we come in?" asked Uncle Jacob, cheerily.
"Surely, but—has anything happened?"
"Only this; that your husband is sick and has come here to be nursed back to health by my advice."
"But—is it safe?"
"I think so. The fact is, Bert has made an important discovery, and is likely to make more. We are in a fair way to prove your husband's innocence, and put the guilt where it belongs."
"And where does it belong?"
"The man who stole the bonds, we have every reason to believe, is Albert Marlowe."
"I do not wish to get him into trouble, but if it is necessary in order to vindicate my husband's reputation, I will not object."
"Albert Marlowe has been a cruel enemy to you and your family," said Jacob Marlowe, sternly. "He is entitled to no consideration. The past ten years cannot be recalled; but I think that we shall be able to provide a brighter future for yourself and Mr. Barton. The first thing to do is to get him well."
"What is the matter with you, John?" asked Mrs. Barton, now for the first time noting with alarm her husband's pale face.
"The doctor says my system is run down, and that I need time to recuperate. I was living in a boarding-house in Montreal, and the prospect of being sick there was too much for me. I wanted my wife to take care of me, and, taking the first train to New York, I consulted Uncle Jacob as to whether it would be safe. In the light of Bert's discoveries he told me to take the risk. So here I am. May I stay?"
"Do you need to ask that?" said Mrs. Barton, with an affectionate glance at her husband. "There is no place where you have a better right to be."
Then, as she thought of her scanty means, a momentary look of anxiety overspread her face lest she should not be able to provide him with the medicines and nourishing food that he required. Uncle Jacob, who was a keen observer, read her thoughts, and reassured her by saying: "Mr. Barton is provided with what money may be required for at least a month, and after that time I think some more can be found."
"But, Uncle Jacob, I cannot consent to impose upon your liberality any further. You have but a small sum of money yourself. What would happen to you if you should fall sick?"
"I think I should follow your husband's example, and come here to be nursed back to health," replied Uncle Jacob.
"What am I to say to the neighbors, for they will be sure to inquire?"
"Say that you are taking care of a sick gentleman from New York."
"It will not do to give his real name?"
"No; call me Mr. Robinson, as you did on my former visit," said Mr. Barton.
"Now that this matter is arranged, can you take care of us both to-night?" asked Uncle Jacob.
"Yes, there is Bert's room."
"Then I will trespass upon your hospitality for one night."
"Can't you stay longer, Uncle Jacob?"
"No, I must get back to business. I must not run any risk of losing my situation, you know."
"To be sure not," said Mrs. Barton, earnestly. "Do you like your employer, Uncle Jacob?"
"I have no reason to complain of him," answered the old man, with a smile. "He lets me do about as I please."
"You were very lucky in getting in with him."
"As you say, I am in good luck. But I think I ought to get higher pay."
"It seems to me twelve dollars a week is a very good salary," said Mrs. Barton, soberly. "You could save something out of that if you were not so generous."
"I must think seriously of that, Mary. If I get mean and close-fisted, you mustn't be surprised. It will be only because I follow your advice."
"You can never become mean or close-fisted, Uncle Jacob. It isn't in your nature to be either. But I hope you will be reasonably economical, and not give away so much money to others."
"You are a good little woman, Mary," said Uncle Jacob, feelingly. "If you are ever blessed with means, you will do just as you advise me not to do. Don't be worried about me, Mary. God loves a cheerful giver, you know, and whatever I give to you is cheerfully given."
An hour was spent in conversation, and then, as Mr. Barton showed fatigue, he and Uncle Jacob retired to bed, and Mrs. Barton mixed some flour so as to be able to give her guests warm biscuits in the morning, for she remembered that her husband had been very fond of them in former years.
The next morning after breakfast Uncle Jacob took his departure.
"I leave you in good hands, John," he said to Mr. Barton. "Now, get well as fast as you can."
"There is one thing that will make me well," said Barton, "and that is, vindication from the false charge that has darkened my life and destroyed my happiness during the last ten years."
"That is coming, and coming soon," said Uncle Jacob. "Only be patient a little while. Bert has already made a discovery that makes it clear who is the real criminal."
"I hope he will never suffer as I have done," said the sick man.
"You have a more Christian spirit than I, John. I think it only right that he should suffer for the wrong he has done you. Well, good-by. Let me hear from you, and if Bert makes any further progress in his mission, I will apprise you and Mary."
Uncle Jacob left the village without being seen by Albert Marlowe or Percy, who alone were likely to recognize him. But it leaked out that Mrs. Barton had a boarder, Percy being the first to hear of it.
"What do you think, papa?" he said one day. "Bert Barton's mother has taken a boarder from the city."
"A boarder from the city?" repeated Squire Marlowe, surprised.
"Yes."
"What brought him to Lakeville?"
"I don't know. I can tell you who brought him here."
"Who, then?"
"Uncle Jacob."
"Has he been here, then?"
"Yes; he came in the evening and went back the next morning."
"I wonder he did not call upon us," said the squire thoughtfully.
"It's no great loss if he didn't," returned Percy, pertly. "He would probably want to borrow money."
"No; he appears to be doing very well in the city; that is, for him. But what could induce a gentleman from the city to come here to Lakeville to board in a humble cottage?"
"I hear he is in poor health," said Percy.
"Have you seen him? Do you know what his appearance is?"
"Yes. I saw him sitting at Mrs. Barton's window. He is of dark complexion, and has dark hair. Then he seemed to have a high forehead."
Squire Marlowe started in surprise.
"Dark complexion, dark hair, a high forehead! Is it possible that it can be–"
"Who, father?" asked Percy, curiously.
"Never mind, my son. Some one whom I used to know answers to that description."
As Percy went out, Albert Marlowe said to himself: "If it should be he, what shall I do about it? It is not for my interest that he should remain in Lakeville. I might denounce him to the authorities, but I would warn him first. Then, if he still lingers, he must take the consequences."
CHAPTER XXXIV.
BERT INTERVIEWS HARDING'S SISTER
The next week Bert found himself in Peoria. His heart beat with excitement, for here he hoped he would attain the object he had in view.
The first day he was occupied in obtaining a boarding place, and in matters connected with the play. He understood his duty to his employers, and, eager as he was to seek out Ralph Harding, he waited till he could do so without intrenching upon their time.
After considerable inquiry he found himself standing in front of a neat-looking frame house of two stories in a quiet street. The plate on the front door bore the name
CLIFTON
Bert rang the bell.
The door was opened by a girl about twelve years of age.
"Is Mrs. Clifton at home?" asked Bert.
"Yes, sir. Won't you walk in?"
She led the way into a tiny parlor, so small that the owner would have found it difficult to give a fashionable party, or indeed any party at all.
"Sit down here," said the young girl, pointing to a rocking-chair, "and I will call ma."
Bert took a seat, and was startled a minute later by a hoarse voice saying, with much energy, "Get out, you tramp!"
He looked around the room in angry amazement, but could see no one.
Directly afterward he heard a discordant laugh, and, guided by the sound, looked up to see that it proceeded from a green parrot in a cage above his head.
Bert smiled. It was impossible for him to be angry with a parrot, however impolite the bird might be.
Just then a lady entered the room—a lady of middle size and middle age, plain in feature, but not unpleasant to look upon.
"Did you wish to see me, sir?" she asked.
"Are you the sister of Ralph Harding?" asked Bert.
The woman's face changed instantly.
"Yes," she answered eagerly. "Do you bring me any news of him? He is not in trouble, is he?"
It was Bert's turn to be surprised.
"I thought he was staying with you," he said.
"Not now."
"But he has been here. He came here from Harrisburg, didn't he?"
"Yes, and he was here till three weeks ago. Then he came home from the shop where he was at work and told me he was going away."
"Did he tell you where he was going?" asked Bert, eagerly.
"He said he should go to Chicago first, but I have not heard from him since he went away."
Ralph Harding then was in Chicago. If Bert had only known that, he would have remained there and prosecuted the search in the Lake City. Yet what chance would he have of finding a man whom he had never seen and would not know by sight in so large and populous a place?
His face showed the keenness of his disappointment, and Mrs. Clifton was led to inquire:
"Did you wish to see my brother on business of importance?"
"Of importance to me, yes."
"Is it," she asked with hesitation, "likely to get Ralph into trouble?"
"No, madam. On the contrary, if I find him it will be of advantage to him."
"Then I hope you may find him. But I am afraid it will be difficult. Ralph is very restless. We tried all we could to keep him here, but it was of no use. He had a good place, and, though I say it myself, a good home, where he enjoyed every comfort, but all that didn't prevent him leaving us to go among strangers," she concluded, with a sigh.
"I only just came from Chicago. I wish I had known that he was there."
"Did you come to Peoria expressly to see my brother?" asked Mrs. Clifton, showing some curiosity.
"Not entirely. I am connected with the theatrical company. We play the 'Streets of Gotham.'"
"Are you an actor, and so young," asked Mrs. Clifton, in surprise.
"I take a small part in the play," answered Bert, modestly. "Allow me to place two admission tickets at your disposal."
"Oh ma, can I go with you?" asked the young girl who had opened the front door.
"Perhaps so, Belle."
"Have you any picture of your brother which you could show me?" asked Bert, returning to the object of his visit.
"Fortunately, Ralph had some photographs taken while he was here. But for me he would not have done so, but I insisted, and paid for them myself. Belle, go and get one of the pictures of your Uncle Ralph."
The little girl left the room, and soon returned with a photograph.
"You can have that, if you like," said Mrs. Clifton. "I got a dozen, and Ralph did not feel enough interest to keep one for himself, so I have plenty. I suppose it isn't anything extra, but it look like Ralph."
Bert was eagerly scanning the picture which Ralph Harding's sister had given him.
The face was long, the nose aquiline, the cheeks hollow, and the expression was that of a man who was dissatisfied with life. There were side whiskers of scanty growth, and there was a scrubby mustache of yellowish hue. It was a front view, and both ears were visible. They were of extraordinary size and stood out prominently from the head.
"I think I shall know Ralph Harding if I see him," thought Bert.
"I am very much obliged to you for the picture," said Bert. "With it to help me I hope I may find your brother."
"If you do," returned Mrs. Clifton, "will you write to me and let me know, Mr.–?"
"Barton. You will see my name on the playbill—Bert Barton. Yes, I will write to you in that case."
"There is one question I would like to ask you, Mr. Barton. You say you have never met my brother?"
"No."
"Then how did you learn that he had a sister in Peoria, and how did you know that that sister was myself."
"I was staying at his old boarding-house in Harrisburg. He left behind a box of papers, and among those papers was a letter from you, urging him to come to Peoria."
"I remember that letter."
"It was that letter—excuse my reading it—that led me to come to Peoria in search of Mr. Harding."
"I am glad you came, for I have some hope through you of inducing Ralph to return. You see, Mr. Barton, there are only two of us. I had not seen him for five years, and now that he has left us, five years more may roll by before we meet again. I think Ralph would be better with us. He is not a cheerful man. Sometimes I think he is burdened with a secret which is preying upon him. I am sure he would be better off with us than among strangers."
"I agree with you, Mrs. Clifton. You may rest assured that, should I be fortunate enough to find your brother, I will do all I can to induce him to return to you when our business is concluded. This may require him to go East, but afterward he will be free to go where he pleases. The secret you refer to may relate to the business upon which I wished to see him."
As Bert rose to go Mrs. Clifton took his hand, and said, earnestly: "I wish you success, I am sure. I feel better for your visit."
The information which Bert had received made him desirous of going back to Chicago as soon as possible and making every effort to find Ralph Harding. But there was one embarrassment. He did not like to leave the company till they were able to find a substitute. In New York this would have been easy, but here in Peoria there would be a great difficulty.
But he was unexpectedly relieved from this perplexity.
On Friday morning Mr. Pearson, who had just come from the manager's room, said to him, "I have news for you, Bert."
"What is it, Mr. Pearson?"
"Bob Hazleton has just arrived, and wants to take his old place. But, of course, that would not be fair to you."
"Tell the manager to take him back," said Bert eagerly. "I have some important business calling me to Chicago, and I shall be glad to resign."
"You are sure you won't be disappointed?"
"Very sure. I have been wondering how I could resign without embarrassing the company."
"We shall be very sorry to lose you, but if that is the way you feel, Bob is in luck."
Bert played that evening in the presence of his predecessor in the role, and on Saturday took the morning train for Chicago.