Alger Horatio Jr.
Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune
CHAPTER XVII.
CHESTER TAKES A LESSON IN BOXING
"That is my poor, little cousin," explained Arthur.
"Is he sick or in pain?" asked Chester, in quick sympathy.
"He had a fever when he was three years old that left his mind a wreck. He is now eight. The most eminent physicians have seen him, but there seems little hope of his improvement or recovery."
"Does he suffer pain?"
"You ask on account of the shriek you heard. As far as we can tell, he does not. The shriek comes, so the doctor tells us, from a nervous spasm. He would have been a bright boy if he had kept his health. Would you like to see him?"
Chester shrank back.
"I am afraid I should excite him," he said.
He had, besides, an idea that a boy so afflicted would be repulsive in appearance.
"No," said Arthur, "it may relieve him to see you by diverting his thoughts."
Without further words, he opened the door of a room at the head of the staircase and entered, followed reluctantly by Chester.
"Ernest," said Arthur, in a soothing tone, "I have brought you a friend. His name is Chester."
Chester was amazed at the sight of the boy. He was wonderfully handsome, especially when at Arthur's words the look of pain left his face and it brightened into radiant beauty. He seemed to fall in love with Chester at first sight. He ran up to him, seized his hand, kissed it, and said:
"I love you."
Arthur, too, looked amazed.
"He never took to anyone so before," he said. "You have fascinated him."
"Sit down. Let me sit in your lap," pleaded Ernest.
All feeling of repugnance, all thoughts of the boy's malady were forgotten. Chester sat in a low rocking-chair and Ernest seated himself in his lap, touching his face and hair softly with a caressing hand.
"What a charming boy he is!" thought Chester.
"Did you come to see me?" asked Ernest, softly.
"Yes, I came with Arthur."
"Will you stay with me a little while?"
"A little while, but I must soon go. Why did you scream so loud a little while ago?"
"I—don't know."
"Were you in pain?"
"N—no," answered Ernest, softly.
"Do you like to cry out in that manner?"
"No, but—I have to do it. I can't help it."
"I think he gives the right explanation," said Arthur. "It is a nervous impulse, and has nothing to do with pain."
"Does he ever sit in your lap, like this?"
"No; I think he likes me in a way, for I am always kind to him, but you seem to draw him to you irresistibly."
At that moment the professor came in. When he saw Ernest sitting in Chester's lap, he stopped short in astonishment.
"This is strange," he said.
"Isn't it, uncle? Chester seems to fascinate my little cousin. No sooner did he enter the room than Ernest ran up to him, kissed his hand, and caressed him."
"I can't explain it," said the professor, "but Chester seems to have a wonderful influence over my poor boy. I never saw him look so happy or contented before."
All this while Ernest continued to stroke Chester's cheek and his hair, and regarded him with looks of fond affection.
"I am afraid Ernest annoys you," said the professor.
"No; I am glad he likes me. I never had a little brother. I think I should enjoy having one."
"If he could only be always like this," said the professor, regretfully.
Just then Margaret entered. She was the nurse, who had constant charge of Ernest. She paused on the threshold, and her looks showed her surprise.
"Ernest has found a friend, Margaret," said the professor.
"I never saw the like, sir. Come here, Ernest."
The boy shook his head.
"No, I want to stay with him," indicating Chester.
"Did Ernest ever see him before, sir?"
"No; it seems to be a case of love at first sight."
"He has cut me out," said Arthur, smiling. "Ernest, which do you like best, me or him?"
"Him," answered Ernest, touching Chester's cheek.
"I must tell Dr. Gridley of this new manifestation on the part of my poor boy," said the professor. "Perhaps he can interpret it."
For twenty minutes Chester retained Ernest on his lap. Then Arthur said:
"Chester must go now, Ernest."
The boy left Chester's lap obediently.
"Will you come and see me again?" he pleaded.
"Yes, I will come," said Chester, and, stooping over, he kissed the boy's cheek. Ernest's face lighted up with a loving smile, and again he kissed Chester's hand.
"Now, Chester, you can come to my den." Arthur opened the door of a large room, furnished with every comfort.
It was easy to see that it was a boy's apartment. On a table were boxing gloves. Over a desk in a corner was hung the photograph of a football team, of which Arthur was the captain. There was another photograph representing him with gloves on, about to have a set-to with a boy friend.
"Do you box, Chester?" he asked.
"No; I never saw a pair of boxing gloves before."
"I will give you a lesson. Here, put on this pair."
Chester smiled.
"I shall be at your mercy," he said. "I am, perhaps, as strong as you, but I have no science."
"It won't take you long to learn."
So the two boys faced each other. Before he knew what was going to happen, Chester received a light tap on the nose from his new friend.
"I must tell you how to guard yourself. I will be the professor and you the pupil."
Chester soon became interested, and at the end of half an hour his teacher declared that he had improved wonderfully.
"We will have a lesson every time you come to see uncle," he said.
"Then I shall come to see two professors."
"Yes, an old one and young one. Between uncle, Ernest and myself, you will find your time pretty well occupied when you come here."
"I think it a great privilege to come here," said Chester, gratefully.
"And I am glad to have you. I shall have some one to box with, at any rate. Now," he added, with a comical look, "I can't induce my uncle to have a bout with me. Indeed, I should be afraid to, for he is so shortsighted he would need to wear spectacles, and I would inevitably break them."
Chester could not forbear laughing at the idea of the learned professor having a boxing match with his lively, young nephew.
"If you will make me as good a boxer as yourself, I shall feel very much indebted."
"That will come in time. I am quite flattered at the opportunity of posing as a teacher. Have you a taste for jewelry? Just look in this drawer."
Arthur opened one of the small drawers in his bureau, and displayed a varied collection of studs, sleeve buttons, collar buttons, scarf pins, etc.
"You might set up a jeweler's store," suggested Chester. "Where did you get them all?"
"I had an uncle who was in the business, and he and other relatives have given me plenty."
"I haven't even a watch."
"No, really? Why, how can you get along without one?"
"I have to."
"Wait a minute."
Arthur opened another drawer, revealing two silver watches, one an open face, the other a hunting watch.
"Take your choice," he said.
"Do you really mean it?"
"Certainly."
"But would your uncle approve of your giving me such a valuable present?"
"My uncle doesn't bother himself about such trifles. I don't use either of these watches. I have a gold one, given me last Christmas."
"Since you are so kind, I think I prefer the hunting watch."
"All right! There it is. Let me set it for you. The chain goes with it, of course."
Chester felt delighted with his present. He had hoped sometime—when he was eighteen, perhaps—to own a watch, but had no expectation of getting one so soon.
"You are a generous friend, Arthur," he said.
"Don't make too much of such a trifle, Chester!" returned the other, lightly.
When Chester said he must go home, Arthur put on his hat and proposed to walk with him part of the way, an offer which Chester gratefully accepted.
They walked over to Broadway, chatting as they went.
All at once, Chester, who had not expected to see anyone he knew, touched Arthur on the arm.
"Do you see that man in front of us?" he asked, pointing to a figure about six feet ahead.
"Yes. What of him?"
"It is our bookkeeper, David Mullins."
"Is it, indeed? Do you know whom he is walking with?"
Chester glanced at a rather flashily dressed individual who was walking arm in arm with the bookkeeper.
"No," he answered.
"It is Dick Ralston," answered Arthur, "one of the most notorious gamblers in the city."
CHAPTER XVIII.
DICK RALSTON
Chester was new to the city and a novice in worldly affairs, but the discovery that the bookkeeper was on intimate terms with a gambler astounded him. He felt that Mr. Fairchild ought to know it, but he shrank from telling him.
Of course, the presumption was that Mullins was also a gambler, but this was not certain. Chester decided to say nothing, but to be watchful. David Mullins had been five years in his present place, and his services must have been satisfactory or he would not have been retained.
There was one thing, however, that Chester did not know. This gambler—Dick Ralston, as he was familiarly called—was only a recent acquaintance. Mullins had known him but three months, but had already, through his influence, been smitten by the desire to become rich more quickly than he could in any legitimate way.
He had accompanied Dick to the gaming table, and tried his luck, losing more than he could comfortably spare. He was in debt to his dangerous friend one hundred and fifty dollars, and on the evening in question Dick had intimated that he was in need of the money.
"But how can I give it to you?" asked Mullins, in a tone of annoyance.
"You receive a good salary."
"One hundred dollars a month, yes. But I can't spare more than thirty dollars a month toward paying the debt."
"Which would take you five months. That won't suit me. Haven't you got any money saved up?"
"No; I ought to have, but I have enjoyed myself as I went along, and it has taken all I earned."
"Humph! Very pleasant for me!"
"And for me, too. It isn't very satisfactory to pinch and scrape for five months just to get out of debt. If it was for articles I had had—in other words, for value received—it would be different. But it is just for money lost at the gaming table—a gambling debt."
"Such debts, among men of honor," said Dick, loftily, "are the most binding. Everywhere they are debts of honor."
"I don't see why," grumbled Mullins.
"Come," said Ralston, soothingly, "you are out of sorts, and can't see things in their right light. I'll lend you fifty dollars more, making the debt two hundred dollars."
"I don't see how that will help me."
"I'll tell you. You must win the money to pay your debt at the gaming table. Why, two hundred dollars is a trifle. You might win it in one evening."
"Or lose as much more."
"There's no such word as fail! Shall I tell you what I did once?"
"Yes," answered Mullins, in some curiosity.
"I was in Nashville—dead broke! I was younger then, and losses affected me more. I was even half inclined—you will laugh, I know—to blow my brains out or to throw myself into the river, when a stranger offered to lend me ten dollars to try my luck again. Well, I thought as you did, that it was of little use. I would lose it, and so make matters worse.
"But desperation led me to accept. It was one chance, not a very good one, but still a chance. From motives of prudence I only risked five dollars at first. I lost. Savagely I threw down the remaining five and won twenty-five. Then I got excited, and kept on for an hour. At the end of that time, how do you think I stood?"
"How?" asked Mullins, eagerly.
"I had won eight hundred and sixty-five dollars," answered Dick Ralston, coolly. "I paid back the ten dollars, and went out of the gambling house a rich man, comparatively speaking."
Now, all this story was a clever fiction, but David Mullins did not know this. He accepted it as plain matter of fact, and his heart beat quickly as he fancied himself winning as large a sum.
"But such cases must be rare," he ventured.
"Not at all. I could tell you more wonderful stories about friends of mine, though it was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. Now, will you take the fifty dollars I offered you?"
"Yes, but I don't want to play again to-night. I feel nervous."
"Very good. Meet me to-morrow evening at the gambling house, and the money shall be ready for you."
Then they parted, and the bookkeeper, who had a headache, went home and to bed. He had that evening lost fifty dollars to Dick Ralston, and so increased his debt from one hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars.
But his heart was filled with feverish excitement. The story told by Ralston had its effect upon him, and he decided to keep on in the dangerous path upon which he had entered. Why pinch himself for five months to pay his debt, when a single evening's luck would clear him from every obligation? If Dick Ralston and others could be lucky, why not he? This was the way Mullins reasoned. He never stopped to consider what would be the result if things did not turn out as he hoped—if he lost instead of won.
Some weeks passed. The bookkeeper met with varying success at the gaming table. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, but on the whole his debt to Dick Ralston didn't increase. There were reasons why the gambler decided to go slow. He was playing with Mullins as a cat plays with a mouse.
But our chief concern is with Chester Rand. He found a comfortable room on Twelfth Street, not far from the office, which, with board, only cost him five dollars per week. This, to be sure, took all his salary, but he was earning something outside.
On account of so much time being taken up by his work for the professor, he did little for the comic weeklies. But occasionally, through his friend, the artist, a five or ten-dollar bill came into his hands. He bought himself a new suit, and some other articles which he found he needed, and wrote home to ask his mother if she wished any assistance.
"Thank you for your offer," she replied, "but the money Miss Dolby pays me defrays all my housekeeping expenses and a little more. She is certainly peculiar, but is good-natured, and never finds fault. She is a good deal of company for me. Of course, I miss you very much, but it cheers me to think you are doing well, and are happy, with good prospects for the future. There is nothing for you in Wyncombe, as I very well know; that is, nothing you would be willing to accept.
"That reminds me to say that Mr. Tripp is having a hard time with boys. He discharged Abel Wood soon after you went to New York. He has tried two boys since, but doesn't seem to get suited. When I was in the store yesterday, he inquired after you. 'Tell him,' he said, 'that if he gets tired of New York, he can come back to the store, and I will pay him three dollars a week!" He said this with an air of a man who is making a magnificent offer. I told him you were satisfied with your position in the city. I must tell you of one mean thing he has done.
"He has been trying to induce Miss Dolby to leave me and take board with him, offering to take her for two dollars a week less. She told me of this herself. 'I wouldn't go there if he'd take me for nothing,' she said, and I believe she meant it. She is not mean, and is willing to pay a fair, even a liberal, price, where she is suited. You see, therefore, that neither you nor I need borrow any trouble on this point!"
This letter relieved Chester of all anxiety. All things seemed bright to him. What he did for the comic weeklies, added to his work for Prof. Hazlitt, brought him in ten dollars a week on an average. This, added to the five dollars a week from Mr. Fairchild, gave him an aggregate salary of fifteen dollars a week, so that he was always amply provided with money.
"Cousin David," said Felix to the bookkeeper one day, "I don't see how it happens that Chester is so well supplied with cash."
"Is he?" asked Mullins.
"Yes; he has just bought a new suit, a new hat and new shoes. They must have cost him altogether as much as thirty dollars. How much wages do you pay him?"
"Five dollars a week."
"And he pays all that for board, for he told me so."
"It does seem a little mysterious. Perhaps his friend the artist helps him."
"No, he doesn't. I intimated as much one day, but he said no, that he paid his own way. One evening last week, I saw him going into Daly's Theatre with a young fellow handsomely dressed—quite a young swell. They had two-dollar seats, and I learned that Chester paid for them. He doesn't have any chance to pick up any money in this office, does he?" asked Felix, significantly.
"I can't say as to that. I haven't missed any."
"I wish he would help himself. Of course, he would be discharged, and then you might find a place for me."
"I may do so yet."
"Is there any chance of it?" asked Felix, eagerly.
"In about two weeks, Mr. Fairchild is going West on business. He will be gone for a month, probably. In his absence, I shall run the office."
"I see."
"And I shall probably find some reason for discharging Chester Rand," added the bookkeeper, significantly. "In that case, you will hold yourself ready to slip into his place."
"Bully for you, Cousin David," exclaimed Felix, in exultation.
CHAPTER XIX.
MR. FAIRCHILD LEAVES THE CITY
About ten days later, Chester found himself alone in the office with his employer, the bookkeeper having gone out to call upon a man who had commissioned the broker to buy him a house.
"Chester," said Mr. Fairchild, "has Mr. Mullins mentioned to you that I start next Monday on a Western trip?"
"I heard him say so to a gentleman in here on business."
"I shall have to leave Mr. Mullins to take charge of the office and run the business. The time was when I would have done so with confidence, but the affair of James Long has made me distrustful. He thoroughly understands my business, and it would be difficult for me to supply his place. For the present, therefore, I feel obliged to retain him. During my absence, however, I wish, if you see anything wrong, that you would apprise me of it by letter. You may direct letters to Palmer's Hotel, Chicago, and they will be forwarded to me from there. What is your address?"
Chester gave it, and Mr. Fairchild wrote it down.
"It is rather unusual," continued Mr. Fairchild, "for a man in my position to make a confidant of his office boy, but I have observed you carefully, and I believe that you are not only intelligent, but are faithful to my interests."
"Thank you, sir," said Chester, with genuine gratification. "I think I can promise you that you will not be disappointed in me."
"Of course Mr. Mullins must not know of the understanding between us. Don't breathe a hint of what I have said."
"No, sir, I will not."
"In case you think it necessary you may telegraph to me. I hope, however, that no such emergency will arise."
Chester asked himself whether it was his duty to apprise Mr. Fairchild of his seeing Mullins in intimate companionship with a gambler, but, on the whole, decided not to do so. He did not wish needlessly to prejudice his employer against the bookkeeper.
On Monday morning Mr. Fairchild left the office and took the Sixth Avenue Elevated train to Cortlandt Street station, from which it is only five minutes' walk to the ferry connecting with the train on the Pennsylvania Railroad.
"How long shall you be away, Mr. Fairchild?" asked the bookkeeper.
"I cannot yet tell. It will depend on the success I meet with in my business. I am afraid I may be absent four weeks."
"Don't hurry back," said Mullins. "I will keep things running."
"I rely upon your fidelity," said the broker, not without significance.
"You may be assured of that. I have been in your employ for over five years."
"And of course understand all the details of my business. That is true. Continue faithful to me and you will have no cause to repent it."
"Thank you, sir. You need have no anxiety."
"Chester," said Mr. Fairchild, "you may go with me as far as the station and carry my grip."
When they were outside, the broker said:
"I could have carried the grip myself, but I wished to have a parting word with you. Mr. Mullins is thoroughly acquainted with my business, but within the last six months I found myself distrusting him. In four weeks, for I shall be likely to be away that length of time, something may occur detrimental to my interests, and I heartily wish I had some one else in charge. I may rely upon you bearing in mind what I told you the other day?"
"Yes, sir; I won't forget."
"I know that you are faithful, and I only wish you understood the business well enough to be placed in charge."
"I wish so, too," said Chester, frankly.
"I think, however," Mr. Fairchild added, with a smile, "that it would be hardly prudent to trust my business to an office boy."
"You are already trusting me very much, Mr. Fairchild."
"Yes; I feel safe in doing so."
Chester took the grip up the Elevated stairway and parted with Mr. Fairchild at the ticket office.
As he went down to the street he reflected that his own position during the broker's absence might not be very comfortable. Still he had his employer's confidence, and that gave him much pleasure.
He had reached Harris' large store on his way home when a rakish-looking figure, springing from he knew not where, overtook and touched him on the arm. Chester immediately recognized him as the gambler with whom he had seen the bookkeeper walking on the evening of his first visit to the house of Prof. Hazlitt.
"I say, boy," said Ralston, "you're employed by Fairchild, the real estate man, ain't you?"
"Yes, sir," answered Chester, coldly.
"Didn't I see him going to the Elevated station with you just now?"
"Yes, sir."
"With a grip in his hand?"
"Yes."
"Is he off for a journey?"
"He has started for the West."
"So? I had business with him, but I suppose I can transact it with Mullins just as well."
"You will find him in the office."
"All right! I'll go there."
Chester turned his glance upon Dick Ralston and rapidly took note of his appearance. He was rather a stocky man, with a red, pimpled face, a broad nose, small, twinkling eyes and intensely black hair. He wore a "loud," striped sack suit, and on one of his pudgy fingers was a diamond ring. It was really a diamond, and he had often found it serviceable. When he was in very bad luck he pawned it for a comfortable sum, but invariably redeemed it when fortune smiled upon him again.
He followed Chester into the broker's office. Mullins sat on a stool at the desk, picking his teeth. He looked like a man of leisure, with little upon his mind.
"Hello, Mullins, old boy!" said Dick, pushing forward with extended hand. "So you're promoted to boss?"
"Yes," answered the bookkeeper, showing his teeth in a complacent smile. "Can I sell you a house this morning?"
"Well, not exactly. I'm not quite up to that in the present state of my funds. If you have on your list a one-story shanty on the rocks near Central Park I may invest."
"Cash down, or do you want to have part of the purchase money on mortgage?"
Then both laughed, and Ralston made a playful dig at Mullins' ribs.
Chester could not help hearing the conversation. He saw in it a proof of the friendly relations between the two. This, so far as he knew, was the first visit made by Ralston to Mr. Mullins. It was clear that the bookkeeper felt that such a caller would injure him in the eyes of Mr. Fairchild.
"I am glad old Fairchild is gone," said Dick Ralston, lowering his tone. "Now I can come in freely."
"Don't come in too often," replied Mullins, with a cautioning look at Chester. "It might–"
Chester lost the rest of the sentence.
"Send him out!" suggested Dick, in a still lower tone, but Chester caught the words.
"Chester," said the bookkeeper, "you may go up to the Fifth Avenue Hotel and ask at the office if Mr. Paul Perkins, of Minneapolis, has arrived?"
"Yes, sir."
After Chester went out, Ralston inquired, "Is there a man named Paul Perkins?"
"Not that I know of," answered Mullins, with a laugh.
"I see. You're a sharp fellow. You only wanted to get rid of the kid."
"Exactly. Now we can talk freely."
"That's what I came about. Do you know, Mullins, you are owing me seven hundred and fifty dollars?"
"Is it so much as that?" asked the bookkeeper, anxiously.
"Yes; I can show you the account. Now, to tell you the truth, Mullins, I'm in a tight fix, and my bank account needs replenishing."
"So does mine," returned Mullins, with a sickly smile.
Dick Ralston frowned slightly.
"No joking, please!" he said, roughly. "I'm in earnest."
"I don't see what I am going to do about it," muttered Mullins, defiantly.
"Don't you. Then perhaps I can help you by a suggestion."
"I wish you would."
"You are left in charge here during Mr. Fairchild's absence?"
"Well, suppose I am."
"And you handle the funds?"
"Yes."
"Then," and Dick Ralston bent over and whispered something in the bookkeeper's ear.
Mullins started, and looked agitated.
"What would you have me do?" he inquired.
"Borrow a little money from the office," answered Dick, coolly.
"But, good heavens, man, it would ruin me. Must you have me risk prison?"
"Don't be alarmed! I only want you to borrow two or three hundred dollars. You can return it before Fairchild gets back."
"How am I to return it?"
"You can win it back in one evening at the gaming table."
"Or lose more."
There was considerable further conversation, Dick Ralston urging, and Mullins feebly opposing something which the gambler proposed. Then a customer came in, who had to receive attention. Inside of an hour Chester re-entered the office, accompanied by a sandy-complexioned stranger, his head covered with a broad, flapping, Western sombrero, and wearing a long, brown beard descending at least eighteen inches.
"I hear you want to see me," he said to Mullins.
"Who are you?" asked the astonished bookkeeper.
"I am Paul Perkins, of Minneapolis," was the surprising reply.
