CHAPTER XXIV.
A DECOY LETTER
One day Nelson was folding some evening papers at the stand when, on glancing up, he saw Homer Bulson standing not far away eyeing him sharply.
"Hullo, what does he want now?" thought our hero.
Bulson waited until several customers had received papers and departed, and then came closer.
"How is trade?" he asked, in as pleasant a voice as he could command.
"Very good," returned Nelson coolly.
"I presume you do better with the stand than you did selling papers on the street."
"Much better."
"I am glad to hear it."
To this Nelson made no reply, for he felt certain that Homer Bulson was playing the part of a hypocrite.
"He wants to find out about Gertrude," he told himself.
"How is Miss Horton making out these days?" went on the young man.
"She is doing nicely."
"Is she working?"
"She gives piano lessons."
"Humph! she can't make much at that."
"She make enough to keep her."
"If she wouldn't be so headstrong she might have a comfortable home without working."
"She intends to do as she pleases," replied Nelson sharply. "And she doesn't ask you for advice."
"Where is she living now?"
"You'll have to find that out for yourself."
"Her uncle wants to know."
"Then let him write to her and address the letter to the general post-office."
"Does she go there for her letters?"
"No; somebody goes for her."
At this Homer Bulson bit his lip in increased vexation.
"What rot all this is!" he cried. "I'm not going to eat her up."
"You're right there," grinned Nelson. "We won't let you. The best you can do is to leave her alone. If you don't somebody will get hurt."
"Ha! do you threaten me?"
"You can take the warning as you please."
"Boy, you are a fool!"
"If I am, I am too smart a fool to be taken in by you, Mr. Homer Bulson."
"I want to help Miss Horton."
"You want to harm her, you mean."
"Then you won't tell me where she lives?"
"No. And let me add, if you find out and try to harm her you'll get hurt."
"Oh, you make me tired," muttered Bulson, and walked away.
Everything seemed to be against the young man, but two days later his luck—if such it can be called—changed.
He was walking along a fashionable side street, when on chancing to look ahead he saw Gertrude leave a house and hurry to the corner.
He started to follow her, but before he could reach her she had boarded a street car and was out of his reach.
Going back to the house he met a girl of twelve coming out on the stone stoop.
"Good-afternoon," he said politely. "Am I right about seeing Miss Horton just coming from here?"
"You are," answered the girl. "She's just been giving me a music lesson."
"Oh, so she gives music lessons here. Does she teach anybody else in the neighborhood?"
"Yes; she teaches on the block above here and around on the avenue." And the girl gave the names and addresses.
Homer Bulson made a note of the names and addresses and walked off in high satisfaction.
"Now to work my little scheme," he said to himself.
Two days later he left New York and took a train at Jersey City for Lakewood, down in New Jersey.
At the fashionable resort he managed to find a house on the outskirts of the town. It was owned and kept by an old woman, who was more than half deaf.
To this old woman, whose name was Sarah Higgins, Bulson told a long story of a cousin who was a little crazy and who wanted absolute rest.
"She is harmless, excepting for her tongue," said Bulson. "I would like to bring her here for several months. If you will take her, I will give you twenty-five dollars a week for your trouble."
Sarah Higgins was a natural-born miser, and she readily consented to take the young lady and watch her.
"I've taken care of them as is out of their mind before," she said. "I know how to treat 'em."
Homer Bulson's next move was to write a long letter to Gertrude. This letter was signed with the name of a fashionable lady of society, and ran as follows:
"Dear Miss Horton: Perhaps you will be surprised to receive this from me, a stranger, but Mrs. Jackson has been speaking to me about you, and the good lessons you are giving her daughter Belle.
"My husband used to know your father well, and the pair were warm friends, and he joins me in making this offer to you.
"I have three children, two girls and a boy, and I wish to obtain a music-teacher for them who will not only give lessons, but also take a personal interest in the little ones. There is nobody here at Lakewood who is suitable, and I wish to know if we cannot arrange to have you come down every Wednesday or Thursday? I will pay your carfare and give you five dollars per week for the lessons. Of course you can also have lunch with me.
"I think you will find this a good opening for you, and perhaps we can get you more pupils here. Please call upon me next Wednesday afternoon, and we can then talk it over and complete arrangements.
"Yours truly,"Mrs. James Broaderick."
The letter came as a complete surprise to Gertrude, and she scarcely knew what to make of it.
Of course, as was natural, she felt much pleased. A trip to Lakewood each week would be delightful, and five dollars would add quite something to her income.
The letter reached her on Tuesday morning, so she had not long to consider it. That noon she met Gladys and told her she was going to Lakewood on business the following morning, on the early train.
"Lakewood!" cried the flower girl.
"Yes. What makes you look so surprised, Gladys?"
"I didn't think you'd leave New York."
"I shall only be gone for the day. There is a lady there who wants me to give lessons to her three children."
"Oh!"
"She will pay well, and the trip each week will be quite an outing."
"It will be cold traveling this winter, I'm thinking."
"Lakewood is a famous winter resort now. The hotels are fine, so I've been told."
"Does the lady live at a hotel?"
"No; she has a private cottage near by—so her letter says."
"Well, I wish you luck," said Gladys, and so the pair parted.
CHAPTER XXV.
MARK HORTON RELENTS
After having mailed the letter to Gertrude from Lakewood, Homer Bulson returned to New York to complete his plans for the future.
Evening found him at his uncle's mansion, as smiling as ever, with nothing to betray the wicked thoughts which were in his mind.
Mr. Mark Horton had changed greatly. He was very feeble, his face was pinched, and his hair was fast growing white.
He had had two doctors waiting upon him, but neither of them had been able to make him well.
His malady baffled all their science, and despite their most carefully administered medicines he grew steadily worse.
"I cannot understand the case," said one physician to the other. "I was never so bothered in my life."
"It is certainly strange," answered the other. "I shall make a report on the case before the fraternity. Ordinarily this man should grow better quickly. He has no organic trouble whatever."
As Mark Horton grew more feeble he longed for Gertrude, remembering how she had ministered to him day and night.
"How goes it, uncle?" asked Homer Bulson, as he entered the room in which Mark Horton sat in an easy-chair.
"I am very weak, Homer. I don't think I shall ever be better. It is not because I fear death, for I have little to live for. But Gertrude–" He did not finish.
"She treated you badly, uncle, after all you had done for her."
"I am afraid that I was the one that was to blame."
"You? You were too indulgent, that was the trouble. She used to have her way in everything."
"Have you heard anything of her yet, Homer?"
"I think she went to Boston."
"To Boston? Do you know if she had much money?"
"I do not."
"Did she go alone?"
"I believe not. That actor got a position with some traveling company, and I think she went with the company, too."
"It is too bad! I do not wish her to throw her whole life away in this fashion. I wish she were here. Won't you write to her?"
"I would if I had the address."
"But you can find out where the theatrical company is, can't you?"
"The company went to pieces after visiting Boston."
"Then she must be in want," groaned Mark Horton. "If you cannot write to her, you can at least advertise for her in the Boston papers."
"I'll do that, if you wish it."
"I do, Homer. Tell her to return—that all will be forgiven. I am fairly dying to see the child again."
At this latter remark Homer Bulson drew down the corners of his mouth. But the dim light in the room hid his features from his uncle's gaze.
At this moment the servant came to the door.
"The nurse is here," she said.
"Oh, all right!" exclaimed Bulson. "Send her up."
"The new nurse," said Mark Horton wearily. "They simply bother me. Not one of them does as well as did Gertrude."
Presently a middle-aged woman came in, dressed in the outfit of a trained nurse. She bowed to both men.
"You are the nurse Dr. Barcomb said he would send?" said Homer Bulson, as he eyed her sharply.
"Yes, sir."
"What is your name, please?"
"Mrs. Mary Conroy."
"As the doctor sent you, I suppose it is all right. You have had sufficient experience?"
"Plenty, sir; plenty! What is the matter with the gentleman?"
"Nervous debility."
"That is too bad. I nursed one patient with it."
"Did he recover?" questioned Mark Horton, with a slight show of interest.
"He did, sir."
"Then there may be hope for me, Mrs. Conroy?"
"Certainly there is hope," put in Homer Bulson, with a hypocritical smile.
"I'll do my best by you, sir," said Mrs. Conroy pleasantly.
"Thank you."
"You had better give my uncle a little wine," put in Bulson. "He needs it as a tonic."
"I do not care much for the wine," said Mark Horton. "It does not seem to strengthen as it should."
"You would be weaker still if you didn't have it, uncle."
The wine was brought and the retired merchant took a small glass of it.
"Won't you drink with me, Homer?" asked the invalid.
"Thank you, uncle, but I bought this especially for your own use, and you must have it all."
A private conversation, lasting the best part of an hour, followed, and then Bulson took his leave.
When Bulson was gone Mrs. Conroy came in again, having been to the room assigned to her by the housekeeper. She found the retired merchant sitting with his chin in his hands, gazing moodily into the small grate fire which was burning before him.
"Is there anything I can do for your comfort, Mr. Horton?" she questioned sympathetically.
"I don't know," he returned, with a long drawn sigh.
"Perhaps I can read the paper to you?" she suggested.
"No; I don't care to listen. I am tired."
"Would you like to retire?"
"Not yet. I cannot sleep."
"Have you any medicine to put you to sleep, sir? I must ask the doctor all particulars to-morrow."
"He has given me some powders, but they do not help me. At times my brain seems to be on fire while my heart is icy cold."
"Let me shake your pillows for you." She did so, and tried to make him otherwise comfortable.
"Thank you, that is better," he remarked, as he sank back and closed his eyes. "It is hard to be alone in the world."
"You are alone then."
"Almost. Mr. Bulson, who was just here, is my nephew. My wife is dead, my son gone, and my niece, who lived with me up to a few months ago, has left me."
"It is too bad."
"In one way it is my own fault. I drove my niece from my house by my harshness. I sincerely wish she was back."
"If it was your fault, as you say, why not send for her?"
"I do not know where to send. Mr. Bulson heard she went to Boston, and he is going to advertise for her in some Boston papers. Poor Gertrude!"
"That was her name?"
"Yes, Gertrude Horton. She was my brother's child. I wanted her to marry my nephew, and we had a bitter quarrel, and after that there was a robbery, and—but I am satisfied now that Gertrude was innocent."
"Why, it seems to me I've heard something of this before!" exclaimed the nurse. "The story came to me through a friend who knows an old woman who keeps a fruit-and-candy stand on the Bowery. She said the girl was driven away from home because her uncle wanted her to marry a man she didn't want, and because the uncle thought she had robbed his safe—she and a boy who happened to call at the house about that time."
"It must be my Gertrude!" said Mark Horton. "And did she marry that actor fellow?"
"He wasn't an actor. He's a newsdealer—keeps a stand with a man, somewhere uptown; and he's not old enough to marry."
"And the girl—what of her?"
"I heard she was supporting herself by teaching the piano."
"Is it possible! Do you know where she is?"
"I don't know. But I think I can find out."
"Then you must do so—to-morrow morning," returned Mark Horton. "Gertrude may still be in New York! Pray Heaven she will come back to me!"
CHAPTER XXVI.
NELSON ON SHIPBOARD
Nelson was tending the stand on the morning following the conversation just recorded, when suddenly Paul Randall came running up, all out of breath.
"I just saw Billy Darnley," gasped the little newsboy, when able to speak.
"Where did you see him?" questioned Nelson quickly.
"Right straight across town, on the East River. He was talking to the captain of a big schooner named the Victory. I guess he was wanting to ship in her."
"Tend the stand, Paul, and I'll go after him," said Nelson, and leaped outside. Soon he was making his way toward the East River with all possible speed.
When he came in sight of the docks half a dozen vessels met his view, all with their bows stuck far over into the street. Of a sailor standing near he asked which was the Victory.
"There she is," answered the tar, pointing with his sunburnt hand. "Want to ship?"
"Not much!" laughed Nelson. "I want to keep another fellow from shipping."
"Then you'll have to hurry, for the Victory is going to sail putty quick."
Nelson was soon picking his way across the dock where the big schooner lay. Merchandise was on every hand, and on turning a pile of this he suddenly found himself face to face with Billy Darnley and a burly man dressed in a sea suit.
"So I've got you at last, have I?" cried Nelson, as he grasped Darnley by the arm.
"Lemme go!" howled the bully, in great alarm. "Lemme go, Nelson!"
"Not much! I'm going to hand you over to the police," was Nelson's firm answer.
"I won't go!"
"What's the trouble?" demanded the nautical-looking man curiously.
"He's a thief, that's the trouble," answered our hero.
"It aint so. I never stole nuthin' in my life," retorted Darnley sulkily. "He's down on me, and he's always tryin' to git me into trouble."
"I am telling the truth," said Nelson. "He's got to go with me."
"I won't go!" roared the bully.
For a moment the face of the seafaring man was a study. His name was Grabon, and he was part owner and captain of the Victory.
"Darnley has signed articles with me, for a trip to the West Indies and Brazil," he said.
"Well, he can't go to the West Indies and Brazil. He's going to the lock-up," returned Nelson firmly.
"What is he guilty of?"
"Of two robberies, so far as I know. He once robbed me of some money, and only a short while ago he robbed a news stand belonging to me and another party."
"Humph! What did he rob you of—half a dozen newspapers?" sneered Captain Grabon. "If he did, you shan't keep him ashore on that account. I am short of hands as it is, and must sail by the tide to-day."
"The trouble was all over ten newspapers," said Billy Darnley, quick to take up an idea that had come to him. "He says I stole 'em, but I didn't."
"I won't listen to such nonsense." Captain Grabon shoved Nelson back. "Let my man go."
"I won't!" exclaimed our hero.
"You will!" put in Billy Darnley, and wrenching himself free, he ran along the dock toward the Victory and clambered aboard the vessel.
"You're going to get yourself into a whole lot of trouble!" ejaculated Nelson to the captain.
"You clear out!"
"Not much—not until I've caught that thief."
As quickly as he could, our hero ran toward the ship and clambered aboard after Darnley. For the moment he had lost sight of the bully, but now he saw him peering out from behind the mainmast. At once a chase ensued.
In the meantime Captain Grabon came on board, and going quickly to his mate, he ordered the lines flung off and the boat towed out into the stream.
Around and around the deck flew Darnley, with Nelson after him. Then the bully leaped down the companion-way steps and into the cabin. Undaunted, our hero followed, and presently the pair found themselves at the end of a narrow passageway.
"Now I've got you!" panted Nelson. "You shan't get away from me again."
"I won't go!" howled Billy Darnley desperately. "I'm booked for this trip to sea."
"Well, a sea trip might do you some good, Billy, but you are not going to take it just yet What did you do with the stuff you stole from the stand?"
"Didn't steal anything from the stand."
"Yes, you did—you and Len Snocks. Van Pelt and I know all about it. You got to give up the goods, do you hear?"
"I aint got nuthin," growled Darnley.
He tried to break away again, and a hand-to-hand tussle ensued. Presently both boys went down and rolled over. As they did this Nelson's head struck an iron projection, and he was partly stunned. Before he could recover the bully was on his feet once more.
"Take that!" roared Darnley, and gave Nelson a cruel kick in the side. A kick in the head followed, and with a groan our hero was stretched out insensible.
By this time Captain Grabon was coming below to see what was going on. He met Darnley in the cabin.
"Hold on!" he cried. "Where are you going?"
"On deck," answered the bully, but did not add that he wanted to go ashore.
"Where's the other boy?"
"I knocked him down."
Darnley was about to move on, but the captain would not allow it.
"You stay here for the present," he said. "I want to investigate this."
"I'm going on deck," growled the bully.
"What!" roared the captain. "Why, you monkey, don't you know you are now under my orders?"
At this Darnley fell back, aghast.
"Under your orders?"
"Certainly. And you mind me, or I'll have you rope-ended well."
Still holding fast to Darnley, he forced his way to the narrow passage, and here saw Nelson still lying motionless. He gave a low whistle.
"So this is your game," he said. "You must have hit him hard."
"I did," answered the bully, telling the falsehood without an effort.
"This may be serious. Help me carry him into the cabin."
Alarmed, Darnley did as requested, and our hero was placed on a lounge. There was a big lump on Nelson's forehead, and this the captain made Darnley bathe with some water from an ice-cooler in the corner.
It was nearly an hour before our hero came to his senses, for the kicks from the bully had been severe. He sat up, completely bewildered.
"Where am I?" was the first question he asked himself. Then he stared around him, to behold a negro sitting near, reading a newspaper.
"Hullo!" he said feebly. "What place is this?"
"Dis am de fo'castle of de Victory," was the negro's reply.
"The fo'castle of the Victory?" repeated Nelson, puzzled. "Where—who placed me here? And who put this rag on my head?"
"Cap'n Grabon had you carried here. You had a row wid one of de new hands. Don't you remember dat?"
"Certainly I remember it," answered Nelson, and sat up. His head ached severely. "Who are you?"
"My name am Puff Brown. I's de cook ob de boat."
"Oh! And where is Billy Darnley?"
"De feller you had de fight wid?"
"Yes."
"He's on deck, learnin' how to become a sailor."
"I want him arrested. He's a thief."
So speaking, Nelson staggered to his feet and made for the doorway of the forecastle. When he got on deck he stared around him in amazement. The dock had been left behind, and around the ship were the blue waters of New York Bay.
CHAPTER XXVII.
DOWN THE NEW JERSEY COAST
"My gracious, we've sailed!"
The words came with a groan from Nelson. They were no longer at the dock in New York, but on the sea. What was to be done next?
"They are not going to carry me off!" he told himself, and rushed aft.
"Hullo! so you've got around again," sang out Captain Grabon, on catching sight of him.
"Yes, I've got around, and I want to know what this means."
"What what means, lad?"
"Why did you carry me off?"
"You carried yourself off. I told you we were about to sail. You had no business to come on board."
"I want to go ashore."
To this the captain made no answer.
"Where is Darnley?" went on our hero, and began to look around. Soon he espied the bully helping some sailors trim one of the sheets.
"Here, you stay where you are," cried Captain Grabon, as Nelson started forward, and he caught our hero by the arm. "We are on the sea now, and I am master here, and I don't propose to allow you to interfere with any of my men."
"I told you I want to go ashore," insisted Nelson.
"Well, I'm not going to stop my vessel for every monkey like you who gets himself in a pickle. You can go ashore—when we make a landing, not before."
"When will that be?"
"Keep your eyes open, and you'll soon find out."
The captain of the Victory turned away, leaving Nelson much nonplused. To tell the truth, our hero's head ached so hard he could think of little else. He walked over to a pile of rope and sat down.
"I hope they land soon," he thought dismally. "I don't want to get too far from home. I wonder what George Van Pelt thinks of my absence?"
An hour slipped by, and soon the Victory was well on her way down the bay and heading outside of Sandy Hook. The air was cool and bracing, and under any other conditions the newsboy would have enjoyed the sail very much.
But by noon he began to grow alarmed again. Instead of putting in, the ship was standing still further from shore.
"See here, this doesn't look as if you were going to land soon," he said to one of the sailors who happened to pass him.
"Land soon?" repeated the tar. "That we won't, lad."
"Well, when will we land?"
"Not afore we get to the West Indies, I reckon."
"The West Indies!" And Nelson leaped up as if shot. "You don't mean it."
"All right; ask the cap'n." And the sailor sauntered off.
The captain had gone to the cabin, and thither Nelson made his way without ceremony.
"You told me you were going to land soon?" he cried.
"No, I didn't tell you anything of the kind," answered Captain Grabon, with a leer. "I told you to keep your eyes open, and you'd soon find out what we were going to do."
"I was told you wouldn't land until you reached the West Indies."
"That's right too."
"I don't intend to go with you to the West Indies."
"All right, lad; as you please."
"You have no right to carry me off like this."
"As I said before, you carried yourself off. You came aboard my vessel without my permission, and you engaged in a row with one of my hands. Now you must suffer the consequences."
"Then you intend to take me to the West Indies with you?"
"I will, lad; but you must work your passage, as soon as you're over being knocked out."
"It's a shame!" cried Nelson indignantly. "I shan't submit."
"You can do nothing. You are on my ship, and I am master here. If you have any row to settle with Darnley, you can settle it when we land. I've told him, and now I tell you again, I won't have any more quarreling on board."
"You are not fair," pleaded our hero, half desperately.
"I know what I'm doing. Now get back to the fo'castle with you, and remember, to-morrow you take your place with the crew." And so speaking, Captain Grabon waved the lad away.
Nelson returned to the deck with a heavy heart. Had the shore been within a reasonable distance he would have leaped overboard and risked swimming, but land was far away, a mere speck on the western horizon.
At noon Nelson messed with the crew, and feeling hungry he ate his full share of the food, which was not as bad as might be supposed. He was not allowed to go near Darnley, and the bully was wise enough to keep his distance.
Slowly the afternoon wore along. The breeze remained good, and having passed Sandy Hook, the Victory stood straight down the New Jersey coast.
"Might as well learn the ropes, sooner or later," said one of the sailors to Nelson, as he lounged up.
"I don't want to learn," was the ready answer. "I wasn't cut out for a sailor. City life is good enough for me."
"And I can't stand shore life at all. Queer, aint it? The minit I'm ashore I'm in trouble and wanting to go to sea again."
"What kind of a man is this Captain Grabon?"
"Hard to please, lad. You'll have your hands full with him. Better learn your duty at once, and save trouble."
"I shall not do a hand's turn on this ship."
"Didn't you sign articles with him?"
"I did not. But that other young fellow did."
"But how came you here?"
"I followed that other fellow on board. He's a thief, and I was after him."
"Did he rob you?"
"He did. I wanted to hand him over to the police when we were on the dock, but Captain Grabon interfered. I suppose he didn't want to lose the hand."
"That's the truth—we are short, as it is. Well, now you are on board, what do you intend to do?"
"I don't know." Nelson looked the sailor straight in the eyes. "Can I trust you?"
"You can, my lad. If it's as you say, I'm sorry for you."
"If you'll help me to escape I'll give you all the money I have in my pockets—two dollars and a half."
"How can I help you?"
"Didn't I see you steering a short time ago?"
"You did."
"When will you steer again?"
"In a couple of hours."
"Then, if you get the chance, steer close to some other boat, will you? I mean some small craft that belongs along this shore."
"And if I do, what then?"
"I'll jump overboard and trust to luck to have the other boat pick me up," explained Nelson.
The two talked the plan over, and at last the sailor agreed for the two dollars to do as our hero desired—providing the opportunity arose. He insisted upon Nelson keeping the remaining fifty cents.
"I won't clean you out, lad," he said. "And I sincerely trust all goes well with you." And they shook hands.
The sailor took his next trick at the wheel at six o'clock, and half an hour later a sloop hove in sight, far to the southwestward. He nodded to Nelson, but said nothing. Most of the sailors were below, and Captain Grabon had also disappeared.
"Go on to supper," said the mate of the vessel to our hero, and turned away to inspect something forward.
"What shall I do?" whispered Nelson to the man at the wheel.
"Get your grub, lad," replied the sailor. "When we're close to that craft I'll begin to whistle 'Annie Laurie.'"
"All right; I'll listen with all ears," responded our hero.
He was soon at the mess, and eating as though nothing out of the ordinary was on his mind. But his ears were on the alert, and no sooner had the first bars of the sailor's whistle risen on the evening air than he pushed back his seat.
"I've had all I want," he muttered, for the other sailors' benefit.
"Getting seasick, I reckon," said an old tar, and laughed. Billy Darnley was already sick, and lay on a bunk, as white as a sheet and groaning dismally.
Soon Nelson had picked his way to the stern, being careful to keep out of sight of the mate. The Victory was now close to the sloop, and presently glided by the smaller craft.
"Thanks! Good-by!" called Nelson, to the man at the wheel, and in another moment he had dropped into the ocean and was swimming toward the sloop with all the strength at his command.