Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

CHAPTER XVI
THE JEWELER’S PRICE

But to give it back was not Eliakim’s intention. Should he buy it at twenty dollars, he would make at least two hundred, and such bargains were not to be had every day. He decided to give Paul his price.

“I will give you twenty dollars,” he said; “but it is more than the ring is worth.”

“I have concluded not to take twenty dollars,” said Paul. “You may give it back.”

“You agreed to take twenty dollars,” said Eliakim, angrily.

“That was when I first came in. You said you wouldn’t give it.”

“I have changed my mind.”

“So have I,” said Paul. “You had a chance to get it, but now it’s too late.”

Eliakim was deeply disappointed. Generally he had his own way with his customers, who, being in urgent need of money, were obliged to accept such terms as he chose to offer. But now the tables were turned, and Paul proved more than a match for him. He resolved to attempt intimidation.

“Boy, where did you get this ring?” he asked, in a significant tone.

“Honestly,” said Paul. “That’s all you need to know.”

“I don’t believe it,” said the old man, harshly. “I believe you stole it.”

“You may believe what you like, but you must give it back to me,” said Paul, coolly.

“I’ve a great mind to call a policeman,” said Eliakim.

“If you did,” said Paul, “I’d tell him that you were anxious to get the ring, though you believed it to be stolen. Perhaps he might have something to say to you.”

Eliakim perceived the force of Paul’s argument, for in law the receiver of stolen goods is as bad as the thief, and there had been occasions when the pawnbroker had narrowly escaped punishment for thus indirectly conniving at theft.

“If you say you got it honestly, I’ll buy it of you,” he said, changing his tune. “What will you take?”

“I don’t care about selling to-day,” answered Paul.

“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars.”

“I can’t sell without consulting my mother. It belongs to her.”

Reluctantly Eliakim gave back the ring, finding his wiles of no effect.

“Bring your mother round to-morrow,” he said. “I’ll give you a better price than you will get anywhere else.”

“All right,” said Paul. “I’ll tell her what you say.”

The old pawnbroker followed Paul with wistful glances, vainly wishing that he had not at first depreciated the ring to such an extent, that his subsequent advances had evidently excited his customer’s suspicion that it was more valuable than he supposed. He felt that he had lost it through not understanding the character of the boy with whom he had to deal.

“Well, Paul, what news of the ring?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, as he re-entered the room.

“I was offered twenty-five dollars for it,” said Paul.

“Did you sell it?”

“No, mother.”

“Why not?” asked Jimmy. “Twenty-five dollars is a lot of money.”

“I know it,” said Paul; “but the ring is worth a great deal more.”

“What makes you think so, Paul?”

“Because the offer was made by a pawnbroker, who never pays quarter what an article is worth. I am sure the ring is worth a hundred dollars.”

“Yes, I am sure it is worth all that.”

“A hundred dollars!” repeated Jimmy, awestruck at the magnitude of the sum.

“What shall we do about it, Paul?” asked his mother. “A hundred dollars will do us more good than the ring.”

“I know that, mother. What I propose is, to carry it to Ball & Black’s, or Tiffany’s, and sell it for whatever they say it is worth. They are first-class houses, and we can depend upon fair treatment.”

“Your advice is good, Paul. I think we will follow it. When will you go?”

“I will go at once. I have nothing else to do, and I would like to find out as soon as I can how much it will bring. Old Henderson wanted me to think, at first, that it was only imitation, and offered me twenty shillings on it. He’s an old cheat. When he found that I wasn’t to be humbugged, he raised his offer by degrees to twenty-five dollars. That was what made me suspect its value.”

“If you get a hundred dollars, Paul,” said Jimmy, “you can buy out the stand.”

“That depends on whether mother will lend me the money,” said Paul. “You know it’s hers. She may not be willing to lend without security.”

“I am so unaccustomed to being a capitalist,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling, “that I shan’t know how to sustain the character. I don’t think I shall be afraid to trust you, Paul.”

Once more, with the ring carefully wrapped in a paper and deposited in his pocketbook, Paul started uptown. Tiffany, whose fame as a jeweler is world-wide, was located on Broadway. He had not yet removed to his present magnificent store on Union Square.

Paul knew the store, but had never entered it. Now, as he entered, he was struck with astonishment at the sight of the immense and costly stock, unrivaled by any similar establishment, not only in the United States, but in Europe. Our hero walked up to the counter, and stood beside a richly-dressed lady who was bargaining for a costly bracelet. He had to wait ten minutes while the lady was making her choice from a number submitted to her for inspection. Finally she selected one, and paid for it. The clerk, now being at leisure, turned to our hero and asked:—

“Well, young man, what can I do for you?”

“I have a ring which I should like to show you. I want to know how much it is worth.”

“Very well. Let me see it.”

When Paul produced the diamond ring, the clerk, who had long been in the business, and perceived its value at once, started in surprise.

“This is a very valuable ring,” he said.

“So I thought,” said Paul. “How much is it worth?”

“Do you mean how much should we ask for it?”

“No; how much would you give for it?”

“Probably two hundred and fifty dollars.” Paul was quite startled on finding the ring so much more valuable than he had supposed. He had thought it might possibly be worth a hundred dollars; but he had not imagined any rings were worth as much as the sum named.

“Will you buy it of me?” he asked.

The clerk regarded Paul attentively, and, as he thought, a little suspiciously.

“Does the ring belong to you?” he asked.

“No, to my mother.”

“Where did she buy it?”

“She didn’t buy it at all. She found it one day at Central Park. It belongs to her now. She advertised for an owner, and examined the papers to see if it was advertised as lost, but could hear nothing of the one to whom it belonged.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Two years ago.”

“I will show this ring to Mr. Tiffany,” said the clerk.

“Very well.”

Paul took a seat and waited.

Soon Mr. Tiffany came up.

“Are you the boy who brought in the ring?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“You say your mother found it two years ago in Central Park?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is a valuable ring. I should be willing to buy it for two hundred and fifty dollars, if I were quite certain that you had a right to dispose of it.”

“I have told you the truth, Mr. Tiffany,” said Paul, a little nettled at having his word doubted.

“That may be, but there is still a possibility that the original owner may turn up.”

“Won’t you buy it, then?” asked Paul, disappointed, for, if he were unable to dispose of the ring, he would have to look elsewhere for the means of buying out Barry’s street stand.

“I don’t say that; but I should want a guaranty of indemnity against loss, in case the person who lost it should present a claim.”

“In that case,” said Paul, “I would give you back the money you paid me.”

Mr. Tiffany smiled.

“But suppose the money were all spent,” he suggested. “I suppose you are intending to use the money?”

“I am going to start in business with it,” said Paul, “and I hope to add to it.”

“Every one thinks so who goes into business; but some get disappointed. You see, my young friend, that I should incur a risk. Remember, I don’t know you. I judge from your appearance that you are honest; but appearances are sometimes deceitful.”

“Then I suppose you won’t buy it?” said Paul, who saw the force of this remark.

“If you can bring here any responsible gentleman who knows you, and is willing to guarantee me against loss in the event of the owner’s being found I will buy the ring for two hundred and fifty dollars.”

Paul brightened up. He thought at once of Mr. Preston, and, from the friendly interest which that gentleman appeared to take in him, he judged that he would not refuse him this service.

“I think I can do that,” he said. “Do you know Mr. Andrew Preston? He is a wealthy gentleman, who lives on Madison avenue, between Thirty-fourth and Thirty-fifth streets.”

“Not personally. I know him by reputation.”

“Will he be satisfactory?”

“Entirely so.”

“He knows me well,” said Paul. “I think he will be willing to stand security for me. I will come back in a day or two.”

Paul took the ring, and left the store. He determined to call that evening on Mr. Preston, and ask the favor indicated.

CHAPTER XVII
MR. FELIX MONTGOMERY

Paul had an errand farther uptown, and, on leaving Tiffany’s walked up as far as Twenty-third street. Feeling rather tired, he got on board a University place car to return. They had accomplished, perhaps, half the distance, when, to his surprise, George Barry entered the car.

“How do you happen to be here, at this time, Barry?” he asked. “I thought you were attending to business.”

“I closed up for a couple of hours, having an errand at home. Where have you been?”

“To Tiffany’s.”

“What, the jewelers?”

“Yes.”

“To buy a diamond ring, I suppose,” said Barry, jocosely.

“No—not to buy, but to sell one.”

“You are joking,” said his companion, incredulously.

“No, I am not. The ring belongs to my mother. I am trying to raise money enough on it to buy you out.”

“I didn’t know your mother was rich enough to indulge in such expensive jewelry.”

“She isn’t, and that’s the reason I am trying to sell it.”

“I mean, I didn’t think she was ever rich enough.”

“I’ll explain it,” said Paul. “The ring was found some time since in Central Park. As no owner has ever appeared, though we advertised it, we consider that it belongs to us.”

“How much is it worth?”

“Mr. Tiffany offered two hundred and fifty dollars for it.”

Barry uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Well, that is what I call luck. Of course, you accepted it.”

“I intend to do so; but I must bring some gentleman who will guarantee that I am all right and have the right to sell it.”

“Can you do that?”

“I think so! I am going to ask Mr. Preston. I think he will do me that favor.”

“Then there’s a fair chance of your buying me out.”

“Yes. I guess I can settle the whole thing up to-morrow.”

“Have you got the ring with you?”

“Yes.”

“I should like to see it, if you have no objection.”

Paul drew it from his pocket, and passed it over to Barry.

“It’s a handsome one, but who would think such a little thing could be worth two hundred and fifty dollars?”

“I’d rather have the money than the ring.”

“So would I.”

On the right of Paul sat a man of about forty, well-dressed and respectable in appearance, with a heavy gold chain ostentatiously depending from his watch pocket, and with the air of a substantial citizen. He listened to the conversation between Barry and Paul with evident interest, and when Barry had returned the ring, he said:

“Young gentleman, would you be kind enough to let me look at your ring? I am myself in business as a jeweler in Syracuse, and so feel an interest in examining it.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Paul, the stranger’s explanation of his motives inspiring him with perfect confidence.

The jeweler from Syracuse took the ring in his hands and appeared to examine it carefully.

“This is a handsome ring,” he said, “and one of great value. How much were you offered for it at Tiffany’s?”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“It is worth more.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Paul; “but he has to sell it, and make a profit.”

“He could do that, and yet make a profit. I will pay you two hundred and seventy-five dollars, myself—that is, on one condition.”

“I don’t object to getting twenty-five dollars more,” said Paul. “What is the condition?”

“I have an order from a gentleman for a diamond ring for a young lady—an engagement ring, in short. If this suits him, as I think it will, I will pay you what I said. I can easily get three hundred and twenty-five from him.”

“How are you going to find out whether it will suit him?”

“Easily. He is stopping at the same hotel with me.”

“What hotel is that?”

“Lovejoy’s. If you can spare the time and will come with me now, we can arrange matters at once. By the way, you can refer me to some responsible citizen, who will guarantee you. Not, of course, that I have any doubts, but we business men are forced to be cautious.”

Paul mentioned Mr. Preston’s name.

“Quite satisfactory,” answered the jeweler. “I know Mr. Preston personally, and as I am pressed for time, I will accept his name without calling upon him. What is your name?”

“Paul Hoffman.”

“I will note it down.”

The gentleman from Syracuse drew out a memorandum book, in which he entered Paul’s name.

“When you see Mr. Preston, just mention my name; Felix Montgomery.”

“I will do so.”

“Say, if you please, that I would have called upon him, but, coming to the city strictly on business, was too hurried to do so.”

This also Paul promised, and counted himself fortunate in falling in with a friend, or, at all events, acquaintance of Mr. Preston, since he was likely to make twenty-five dollars more than he would otherwise have done.

When he got out of the car at the Astor House, the stranger said:

“It will be half an hour before I can reach Lovejoy’s, as I have a business call to make first. Can you call there, say, in three-quarters of an hour?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then, I will expect you. Inquire for me at the desk, and ask the servant to conduct you to my room—you remember my name?”

“Yes, sir—Mr. Felix Montgomery.”

“Quite right. Good-by, then, till we meet.”

Mr. Felix Montgomery went into the Astor House, and remained about five minutes. He then came out on the steps, and, looking about him to see if Paul was anywhere near, descended the steps, and walked across to Lovejoy’s Hotel. Going up to the desk, he inquired:

“Can you accommodate me with a room?”

“Yes, sir; please enter your name.”

The stranger entered his name with a flourish, as Felix Montgomery, Syracuse.

“Room No. 237,” said the clerk; “will you go up now?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Any luggage?”

“My trunk will be brought from the St. Nicholas in the course of the afternoon.”

“We require payment in advance where there is no luggage.”

“Very well. I will pay for one day. I am not sure but I shall get through my business in time to go away to-morrow.”

Here the servant appeared to conduct Mr. Montgomery to his room.

“By the way,” he said, turning back, as if it were an afterthought, “I directed a boy to call here for me in about half an hour. When he comes you may send him up to my room.”

“Very well, sir.”

Mr. Montgomery followed the servant upstairs to room No. 237. It was rather high up, but he seemed well pleased that this was the case.

“Hope you won’t get tired of climbing, sir,” said the servant.

“No—I’ve got pretty good wind.”

“Most gentlemen complain of going up so far.”

“It makes little difference to me.”

At length they reached the room, and Mr. Montgomery entered.

“This will answer very well,” he said, with a hasty glance about him. “When my trunk comes, I want it sent up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I believe that is all; you can go.”

The servant retired and Mr. Felix Montgomery sat down upon the bed.

“My little plot seems likely to succeed,” he said to himself. “I’ve been out of luck lately, but this boy’s ring will give me a lift. He can’t suspect anything. He’ll be sure to come.”

Probably the reader has already suspected that Mr. Felix Montgomery was not a jeweler from Syracuse, nor had he any claim to the name under which he at present figured. He was a noted confidence man, who lived by preying upon the community. His appearance was in his favor, and it was his practice to assume the dress and air of a respectable middle-aged citizen, as in the present instance. The sight of the diamond ring had excited his cupidity, and he had instantly formed the design of getting possession of it, if possible. Thus far, his plan promised success.

Meanwhile, Paul loitered away the time in the City Hall Park for half an hour or more. He did not care to go home until his negotiation was complete, and he could report the ring sold, and carry home the money.

“Won’t mother be astonished,” he thought, “at the price I got for the ring? I’m in luck this morning.”

When the stipulated time had passed, Paul rose from the bench on which he was seated, and walked to Lovejoy’s Hotel, not far distant.

“Has Mr. Felix Montgomery a room here?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered the clerk. “Did you wish to see him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He mentioned that a boy would call by appointment. Here, James, show this boy up to No. 237—Mr. Montgomery’s room.”

A hotel servant appeared, and Paul followed him up several flights of stairs till they stood before No. 237.

“This is the room, sir,” said James. “Wait a minute, and I’ll knock.”

In answer to the knock, Mr. Montgomery himself opened the door.

“Come in,” he said to Paul; “I was expecting you.”

So Paul, not suspecting treachery, entered No. 237.

CHAPTER XVIII
A CLEVER THIEF

“Take a seat,” said Mr. Montgomery. “My friend will be in directly. Meanwhile will you let me look at the ring once more?”

Paul took it from his pocket, and handed it to the jeweler from Syracuse, as he supposed him to be.

Mr. Montgomery took it to the window, and appeared to be examining it carefully.

He stood with his back to Paul, but this did not excite suspicion on the part of our hero.

“I am quite sure,” he said, still standing with his back to Paul, “that this will please my friend. From the instructions he gave me, it is precisely what he wanted.”

While uttering these words, he had drawn a sponge and a vial of chloroform from his side pocket. He saturated the former from the vial, and then, turning quickly, seized Paul, too much taken by surprise to make immediate resistance, and applied the sponge to his nose. When he realized that foul play was meditated, he began to struggle, but he was in a firm grasp, and the chloroform was already beginning to do its work. His head began to swim, and he was speedily in a state of insensibility. When this was accomplished, Mr. Felix Montgomery, eyeing the insensible boy with satisfaction, put on his hat, walked quickly to the door, which he locked on the outside, and made his way rapidly downstairs. Leaving the key at the desk, he left the hotel and disappeared.

Meanwhile Paul slowly recovered consciousness. As he came to himself, he looked about him bewildered, not at first comprehending where he was. All at once it flashed upon him, and he jumped up eagerly and rushed to the door. He tried in vain to open it.

“I am regularly trapped!” he thought, with a feeling of mingled anger and vexation. “What a fool I was to let myself be swindled so easily! I wonder how long I have been lying here insensible?”

Paul was not a boy to give up easily. He meant to get back the ring if it was a possible thing. The first thing was, of course, to get out of his present confinement. He was not used to hotel arrangements and never thought of the bell, but, as the only thing he could think of, began to pound upon the door. But it so happened that at this time there were no servants on that floor, and his appeals for help were not heard. Every moment that he had to wait seemed at least five, for no doubt the man who had swindled him was improving the time to escape to a place of safety. Finding that his blows upon the door produced no effect, he began to jump up and down upon the floor, making, in his heavy boots, a considerable noise.

The room directly under No. 237 was occupied by an old gentleman of a very nervous and irascible temper, Mr. Samuel Piper, a country merchant, who, having occasion to be in the city on business for a few days, had put up at Lovejoy’s Hotel. He had fatigued himself by some business calls, and was now taking a little rest upon the bed, when he was aroused from half-sleep by the pounding overhead.

“I wish people would have the decency to keep quiet,” he said to himself, peevishly. “How can I rest with such a confounded racket going on above!”

He lay back, thinking the noise would cease, but Paul, finding the knocking on the door ineffectual, began to jump up and down, as I have already said. Of course this noise was heard distinctly in the room below.

“This is getting intolerable!” exclaimed Mr. Piper, becoming more and more excited. “The man ought to be indicted as a common nuisance. How they can allow such goings-on in a respectable hotel, I can’t understand. I should think the fellow was splitting wood upstairs.”

He took his cane, and, standing on the bed, struck it furiously against the ceiling, intending it as signal to the man above to desist. But Paul, catching the response, began to jump more furiously than ever, finding that he had attracted attention.

Mr. Piper became enraged.

“The man must be a lunatic or overcome by drink,” he exclaimed. “I can’t and I won’t stand it.”

But the noise kept on.

Mr. Piper put on his shoes and his coat, and, seizing his cane, emerged upon the landing. He espied a female servant just coming upstairs.

“Here, you Bridget, or Nancy, or whatever your name is,” he roared, “there’s a lunatic upstairs, making a tremendous row in the room over mine. If you don’t stop him I’ll leave the hotel. Hear him now!”

Bridget let fall her duster in fright.

“Is it a crazy man?” she asked.

“Of course he must be. I want you to go up and stop him.”

“Is it me that would go near a crazy man?” exclaimed Bridget, horror-struck; “I wouldn’t do it for a million dollars; no, I wouldn’t.”

“I insist upon your going up,” said Mr. Piper, irritably. “He must be stopped. Do you think I am going to stand such an infernal thumping over my head?”

“I wouldn’t do it if you’d go down on your knees to me,” said Bridget, fervently.

“Come along, I’ll go with you.”

But the terrified girl would not budge.

“Then you go down and tell your master there’s a madman up here. If you don’t, I will.”

This Bridget consented to do; and, going downstairs, gave a not very coherent account of the disturbance. Three male servants came back with her.

“Is that the man?” asked the first, pointing to Mr. Piper, who certainly looked half wild with irritation.

“Yes,” said Bridget, stupidly.

Immediately Mr. Piper found himself pinioned on either side by a stout servant.

“What have you been kickin’ up a row for?” demanded the first.

“Let me alone, or I’ll have the law take care of you,” screamed the outraged man. “Can’t you hear the fellow that’s making the racket?”

Paul, tired with thumping, had desisted for a moment, but now had recommenced with increased energy. The sounds could be distinctly heard on the floor below.

“Excuse me, sir. I made a mistake,” said the first speaker, releasing his hold. “We’ll go up and see what’s the matter.”

So the party went upstairs, followed at a distance by Bridget, who, influenced alike by fear and curiosity, did not know whether to go up or retreat.

The sounds were easily traced to room No. 237. In front of this, therefore, the party congregated.

“What’s the matter in there?” asked James, the first servant, putting his lips to the keyhole.

“Yes,” chimed in Mr. Piper, irritably; “what do you mean by such an infernal hubbub?”

“Open the door, and let me out,” returned Paul, eagerly.

The party looked at each other in surprise. They did not expect to find the desperate maniac a boy.

“Perhaps there’s more than one of them,” suggested the second servant, prudently.

“Why don’t you come out yourself?” asked James. “I am locked in.”

The door was opened with a passkey and Paul confronted the party.

“Now, young man, what do you mean by making such a disturbance?” demanded Mr. Piper, excitably. “My room is just below, and I expected every minute you would come through.”

“I am sorry if I disturbed you, sir,” said Paul, politely; “but it was the only way I could attract attention.”

“How came you locked up here?”

“Yes,” chimed in James, suspiciously, “how came you locked up here?”

“I was drugged with chloroform, and locked in,” said Paul.

“Who did it?”

“Mr. Felix Montgomery; or that’s what he called himself. I came here by appointment to meet him.”

“What did he do that for?”

“He has carried off a diamond ring which I came up here to sell him.”

“A very improbable story,” said Mr. Piper, suspiciously. “What should such a boy have to do with a diamond ring?”

Nothing is easier than to impart suspicion. Men are prone to believe evil of each other; and Paul was destined to realize this. The hotel servants, ignorant and suspicious, caught the suggestion.

“It’s likely he’s a’ thafe,” said Bridget, from a safe distance.

“If I were,” said Paul, coolly, “I shouldn’t be apt to call your attention by such a noise. I can prove to you that I am telling the truth. I stopped at the office, and the bookkeeper sent a servant to show me up here.”

“If this is true,” said Mr. Piper, “why, when you found yourself locked in, didn’t you ring the bell, instead of making such a confounded racket? My nerves won’t get over it for a week.”

“I didn’t think of the bell,” said Paul; “I am not much used to hotels.”

“What will we do with him?” asked James, looking to Mr. Piper for counsel.

“You’d better take him downstairs, and see if his story is correct,” said the nervous gentleman, with returning good sense.

“I’ll do it,” said James, to whom the very obvious suggestion seemed marked by extraordinary wisdom, and he grasped Paul roughly by the arm.

“You needn’t hold me,” said our hero, shaking off the grasp. “I haven’t any intention of running away. I want to find out, if I can, what has become of the man that swindled me.”

James looked doubtfully at Mr. Piper.

“I don’t think he means to run away,” said that gentleman. “I begin to think his story is correct. And hark you, my young friend, if you ever get locked up in a hotel room again, just see if there is a bell before you make such a confounded racket.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” said Paul, half-smiling; “but I’ll take care not to get locked up again. It won’t be easy for anybody to play that trick on me again.”

The party filed downstairs to the office and Paul told his story to the bookkeeper.

“Have you seen Mr. Montgomery go out?” asked our hero.

“Yes, he went out half an hour ago, or perhaps more. He left his key at the desk, but said nothing. He seemed to be in a hurry.”

“You didn’t notice in what direction he went?”

“No.”

Of course no attempt was made to detain Paul. There could be no case against him. He went out of the hotel, and looked up and down Broadway in a state of indecision. He did not mean to sit down passively and submit to the swindle. But he had no idea in what direction to search for Mr. Felix Montgomery.