CHAPTER XL
FACE TO FACE WITH THE ENEMY
Thomas Browning sat in his handsome study, in a complacent frame of mind. The caucus was to be held in the evening, and he confidently expected the nomination for mayor. It was the post he had coveted for a long time. There were other honors that were greater, but the mayoralty would perhaps prove a stepping-stone to them. He must not be impatient. He was only in middle life, and there was plenty of time.
"I didn't dream this when I was a penniless miner in California," he reflected, gleefully. "Fortune was hard upon me then, but now I am at the top of the heap. All my own good management, too. Tom Butler – no, Browning – is no fool, if I do say it myself."
"Someone to see you, Mr. Browning," said the servant.
"Show him in!" replied the philanthropist.
A poorly dressed man followed the maid into the room.
Mr. Browning frowned. He had thought it might be some influential member of his party.
"What do you want?" he asked, roughly.
The poor man stood humbly before him, nervously pressing the hat between his hands.
"I am one of your tenants, Mr. Browning. I am behindhand with my rent, owing to sickness in the family, and I have been ordered out."
"And very properly, too!" said Browning. "You can't expect me to let you stay gratis."
"But sir, you have the reputation of being a philanthropist. It hardly seems the character – "
"I do not call myself a philanthropist – others call me so – and perhaps they are right. I help the poor to the extent of my means, but even a philanthropist expects his honest dues."
"Then you can do nothing for me, sir?"
"No; I do not feel called upon to interfere in your case."
The poor man went out sorrowfully, leaving the philanthropist in an irritable mood. Five minutes later a second visitor was announced.
"Who is it?" asked Browning, fearing it might be an other tenant.
"It is a boy, sir."
"With a message, probably. Show him up."
But Thomas Browning was destined to be surprised, when in the manly-looking youth who entered he recognized the Chicago newsboy who had already excited his uneasiness.
"What brings you here?" he demanded, in a startled tone.
"I don't know if you remember me, Mr. Browning," said Luke, quietly. "Luke Walton is my name, sir, and I have sold you papers near the Sherman House, in Chicago."
"I thought your face looked familiar," said Browning, assuming an indifferent tone. "You have made a mistake in coming to Milwaukee. You cannot do as well here as in Chicago."
"I have not come in search of a place. I have a good one at home."
"I suppose you have some object in coming to this city?"
"Yes; I came to see you."
"Upon my word, I ought to feel flattered, but I can't do anything for you. I have some reputation in charitable circles, but I have my hands full here."
"I have not come to ask you a favor, Mr. Browning. If you will allow me, I will ask your advice in a matter of importance to me."
Browning brightened up. He was always ready to give advice.
"Go on!" he said.
"When I was a young boy my father went to California. He left my mother, my brother, and myself very poorly provided for, but he hoped to earn money at the mines. A year passed, and we heard of his death."
"A good many men die in California," said Browning, phlegmatically.
"We could not learn that father left anything, and we were compelled to get long as we could. Mother obtained sewing to do at low prices, and I sold papers."
"A common experience!" said Browning, coldly.
"About three months ago," continued Luke, "we were surprised by receiving in a letter from a stranger, a message from my father's deathbed."
Thomas Browning started and turned pale, as he gazed intently in the boy's face.
"How much does he know?" he asked himself, apprehensively.
"Go on!" he said, slowly.
"In this letter we learned for the first time that father had intrusted the sum of ten thousand dollars to an acquaintance to be brought to my mother. This man proved false and kept the money."
"This story may or may not be true," said Browning, with an effort. "Was the man's name given?"
"Yes; his name was Thomas Butler."
"Indeed! Have you ever met him?"
"I think so," answered Luke, slowly. "I will read his description from the letter: He has a wart on the upper part of his right cheek – a mark which disfigures and mortifies him exceedingly. He is about five feet ten inches in height, with a dark complexion and dark hair, a little tinged with gray.
"Let me see the letter," said Browning, hoarsely.
He took the letter in his hand, and, moving near the grate fire, began to read it. Suddenly the paper as if accidentally, slipped from his fingers, and fell upon the glowing coals – where it was instantly consumed.
"How careless I am!" ejaculated Browning, but there was exultation in the glance.
CHAPTER XLI
MR. BROWNING COMES TO TERMS
The destruction of the letter, and the open exultation of the man who had in intention at least doubly wronged him, did not appear to dismay Luke Walton. He sat quite cool and collected, facing Mr. Browning. "Really, I don't see how this letter happened to slip from my hand," continued the philanthropist. "I am afraid you consider it important."
"I should if it had been the genuine letter," said Luke.
"What!" gasped Browning.
"It was only a copy, as you will be glad to hear."
"Boy, I think you are deceiving me," said Browning, sharply.
"Not at all! I left the genuine letter in the hands of my lawyer."
"Your lawyer?"
"Yes. I have put this matter in the hands of Mr. Jordan, of this city."
Mr. Browning looked very much disturbed. Mr. Jordan was a well-known and eminent attorney. Moreover, he was opposed in politics to the would-be mayor. If his opponent should get hold of this discreditable chapter in his past history, his political aspirations might as well be given up. Again he asked himself, "How much of the story does this boy know?"
"If you are employing a lawyer," he said, after a pause, "I don't understand why you came to me for advice."
"I thought you might be interested in the matter," said Luke, significantly.
"Why should I be interested in your affairs? I have so many things to think of that really I can't take hold of anything new."
"I will tell you, sir. You are the man who received money in trust from my dying father. I look to you to restore it with interest."
"How dare you insinuate any such thing?" demanded Browning, furiously. "Do you mean to extort money by threats?"
"No, sir, I only ask for justice."
"There is nothing to connect me with the matter. According to your letter it was a Thomas Butler who received the money you refer to."
"True, and your name at that time was Thomas Butler."
Mr. Browning turned livid. The net seemed to be closing about him.
"What proof have you of this ridiculous assertion?" he demanded.
"The testimony of one who knew you then and now – Mr. King, who keeps a cigar stand at the Prairie Hotel."
"Ha! traitor!" ejaculated Browning, apostrophizing the absent King.
"This is a conspiracy!" he said. "King has put you up to this. He is a discreditable tramp whom I befriended when in dire need. This is my reward for it."
"I have nothing to do with that, Mr. Browning. Mr. King is ready to help me with his testimony. My lawyer has advised me to call upon you, and to say this: If you will pay over the ten thousand dollars with interest I will engage in my mother's name to keep the matter from getting before the public."
"And if I don't agree to this?"
"Mr. Jordan is instructed to bring suit against you."
Drops of perspiration gathered on the brow of Mr. Browning. This would never do. The suit, even if unsuccessful, would blast his reputation as a philanthropist, and his prospects as a politician.
"I will see Mr. Jordan," he said.
"Very well, sir. Then I wish you good-morning."
Within two days Thomas Browning had paid over to the lawyer for his young client the full sum demanded, and Luke left Milwaukee with the happy consciousness that his mother was now beyond the reach of poverty.
CHAPTER XLII
CONCLUSION
Felicie reflected over Harold's dishonest suggestion, and concluded to adopt it. She meant to charge Harold with the second robbery, and to brazen it out if necessary. Accordingly, one day she stole into Mrs. Merton's sitting room, and with the keys supplied by Harold succeeded in opening the drawer. Inside, greatly to her surprise, she saw the identical pocketbook which it had been understood was taken at the time of the first robbery. She was holding it in her hand, when a slight noise led her to look up swiftly.
To her dismay she saw the old lady, whom she had supposed out of the house, regarding her sternly.
"What does this mean, Felicie?" demanded Mrs. Merton.
"I – I found these keys and was trying them to see if any of them had been used at the time your money was stolen."
"Do you know who took my money on that occasion?" continued the old lady.
"Yes, I do," answered Felicie, swiftly deciding to tell the truth.
"Who was it?"
"Your nephew Harold," answered Felicie, glibly.
"You know this?"
"I saw him open the drawer. I was looking through a crack of the door."
"And you never told me of this?"
"I didn't want to expose him. He begged me not to do so."
"That is singular. He warned me yesterday that he suspected you of being the thief, and that he had reason to think you were planning a second robbery."
"He did?" said Felicie, with flashing eyes.
"Yes; what have you to say to it?"
"That he put me up to it, and gave me these keys to help me in doing it. Of course, he expected to share the money."
This last statement was untrue, but Felicie was determined to be revenged upon her treacherous ally.
"And you accepted?"
"Yes," said Felicie, seeing no way of escape. "I am poor, and thought you wouldn't miss the money."
"My nephew accused Luke Walton of being the thief."
"It is untrue. He wanted to divert suspicion from himself. Besides, he hates Luke."
"Do you?"
"No; I think him much better than Harold."
"So do I. Where did my nephew get his gold watch?"
"It was bought with the money he stole from the drawer."
"So I supposed. Well, Felicie, you can go, but I think you had better hand me that bunch of keys."
"Shall you report me to Mrs. Tracy?"
"I have not decided. For the present we will both keep this matter secret."
Luke's absence was, of course, noticed by Mrs. Tracy.
"Have you discharged Luke Walton?" she asked, hopefully. "I observe he has not come here for the last two or three days."
"He has gone out of the city – on business."
"I am surprised that you should trust that boy to such an extent."
At this moment a telegraph messenger rang the bell, and a telegram was brought up to Mrs. Merton.
It ran thus:
To MRS. MERTON, – Prairie Avenue, Chicago:
I have recovered all my mother's money with interest. Mr. Powell is also successful. Will return this evening.
LUKE WALTON,
"Read it if you like, Louisa," said the old lady, smiling with satisfaction.
"What does it mean?"
"That Luke has recovered over ten thousand dollars, of which his mother had been defrauded. It was Warner who put him on the track of the man who wrongfully held the money."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Tracy, spitefully. "Then the least he can do is to return the money he took from you."
"He never took any, Louisa."
"Who did, then?"
"Your son, Harold."
"Who has been telling lies about my poor boy?" exclaimed Mrs. Tracy, angrily.
"A person who saw him unlocking the drawer."
"Has Luke Walton been telling falsehoods about my son?"
"No; it was quite another person. I have other proof also, and have known for some time who the real thief was. If Harold claims that I have done him injustice, send him to me."
After an interview with Harold, Mrs. Tracy was obliged to believe, much against her will, that he was the guilty one and not the boy she so much detested. This did not prepossess her any more in favor of Luke Walton, whom she regarded as the rival and enemy of her son.
It was a joyful coming home for Luke. He removed at once to a nice neighborhood, and ceased to be a Chicago newsboy. He did not lose the friendship of Mrs. Merton, who is understood to have put him down for a large legacy in her will, and still employs him to transact much of her business. Next year she proposes to establish her nephew, Warner Powell, and Luke in a commission business, under the style of
POWELL & WALTON
she furnishing the capital.
The house on Prairie Avenue is closed. Mrs. Tracy is married again, to a man whose intemperate habits promise her little happiness. Harold seems unwilling to settle down to business, but has developed a taste for dress and the amusements of a young man about town. He thinks he will eventually be provided for by Mrs. Merton, but in this he will be mistaken, as she has decided to leave much the larger part of her wealth to charitable institutions after remembering her nephew, Warner Powell, handsomely.
Ambrose Kean never repeated the mistake he had made. Still more, by diligent economy he saved up the sum advanced him by Mrs. Merton, and he offered it to her. She accepted it, but returned it many times over to his mother. Her patronage brought him another advantage; it led his employer to increase his salary, which is now double that which he formerly received.
Felicie lost her position, but speedily secured another, where it is to be hoped she will be more circumspect in her conduct.
Thomas Browning, after all, lost the nomination which he craved – and much of his wealth is gone. He dabbled in foolish speculation, and is now comparatively a poor man. Through the agency of Jack King, the story of his breach of trust was whispered about, and the sham philanthropist is better understood and less respected by his fellow-citizens.
His nephew, Stephen Webb, has been obliged to buckle down to hard work at ten dollars a week, and feels that his path is indeed thorny.
Luke Walton is not puffed up by his unexpected and remarkable success. He never fails to recognize kindly, and help, if there is need, the old associates of his humbler days, and never tries to conceal the fact that he was once a Chicago newsboy.