Alger Horatio Jr.
Strong and Steady
CHAPTER XXII.
MESSRS. FLINT AND PUSHER
Now that he was again in his native village, Walter realized how unpleasant had been his position at Mr. Drummond's from the new elasticity and cheerfulness which he felt. There had been something gloomy and oppressive in the atmosphere of his temporary home at Stapleton, and he certainly had very little enjoyment in Joshua's society. Mrs. Drummond was the only one for whom he felt the least regard.
He passed a few days quietly, renewing old acquaintances and friendships. Nancy Forbes had gone to live with a brother, who was an old bachelor, and very glad to have her with him. Her savings and the legacy left her by Mr. Conrad together amounted to a thousand dollars, or rather more,—sufficient to make Nancy rich, in her own opinion. But she was not quite satisfied about the legacy.
"They say, Walter, that you'll be left poor," she said. "You'll need this money."
"No, I shan't, Nancy," answered Walter. "Besides, there's a lot of mining stock that'll come to something,—I don't know how much."
"But I don't feel right about taking this money, Walter."
"You needn't feel any scruples, Nancy. I can take care of myself. I can paddle my own canoe."
"But you haven't got any canoe," said Nancy, who did not comprehend the allusion. "Besides, I don't see how that would help you to a living."
Walter laughed.
"I shall get a canoe, then," he said, "and I'll steer it on to Fortune."
"At any rate," said Nancy, "I will leave you my money when I die."
"Who knows but you'll marry and have a lot of children?"
"That isn't very likely, Walter, and me forty-seven a'ready. I'm most an old woman."
So the conversation ended. Nancy agreed, though reluctantly, to take the legacy, resolved some time or other to leave it to Walter. If she had known how little he really had left, she would not have consented to accept it at all.
The same evening Walter sat in the lawyer's comfortable sitting-room, and together they discussed the future.
"So you want to be a book agent, Walter?" said Mr. Shaw. "I can't say I think very highly of this plan."
"Why not, Mr. Shaw?"
"It will lead to nothing."
"I don't mean to spend my life at it. I am more ambitious than that. But it will give me a chance to travel without expense, and I always wanted to see something of the world."
"How old are you now?"
"Fifteen."
"You are well-grown of your age. You might readily be taken for sixteen."
"Do you really think so?" asked Walter, gratified, like most boys of his age, at being thought to look older than he really was.
"Yes; at sixteen I was smaller than you now are."
"You see, Mr. Shaw, that, as I am so young, even if I spend a year at this business, I shall not be too old to undertake something else afterwards. In the mean time I shall see something of the world."
"Well, Walter, I won't oppose you. If I had not so much confidence in you, I should warn you of the temptations that are likely to beset your youth, left, as you will be, entirely to yourself. Of course you will be thrown among all kinds of associates."
"Yes, sir; but I think I shall be wise enough to avoid what will do me no good."
"So I hope and believe. Now, what is the name of this publisher you were speaking of?"
"Pusher. He's of the firm of Flint & Pusher."
"I have heard of them. They are an enterprising firm."
"I think I had better start pretty soon, Mr. Shaw. I shall enjoy myself better when I am at work."
"Next Monday, then, if you desire it."
It was then Friday.
On Monday morning Mr. Shaw handed Walter a pocket-book containing a roll of bills. "You will need some money to defray your expenses," he said, "until you are able to earn something. You will find fifty dollars in this pocket-book. There is no occasion to thank me, for I have only advanced it from money realized from your father's estate. If you need any more, you can write me, and I can send you a check or money-order."
"This will be quite enough, Mr. Shaw," said Walter, confidently. "It won't be long before I shall be paying my way; at least I hope so. I don't mean to be idle."
"I am sure you won't be, or you will belie your reputation. Well, good-by, Walter. Write me soon and often. You know I look upon myself as in some sort your guardian."
"I will certainly write you, Mr. Shaw. By the way, I never thought to ask you about the furniture of my room at the Essex Classical Institute."
"It was purchased by the keeper of the boarding-house; at a sacrifice, it is true, but I thought it best to let it go, to save trouble."
"I should like to see Lem," thought Walter, with a little sigh as he called to mind the pleasant hours he had passed with his school-fellow. "I'll go back and pay the old institute a visit some time, after I've got back from my travels."
Walter reached New York by ten o'clock. Though his acquaintance with the city streets was very limited, as he had seldom visited it, he found his way without much trouble to the place of business of Messrs. Flint & Pusher. As they did not undertake to do a retail business, but worked entirely through agents, their rooms were not on the first floor, but on the third. Opening the door of the room, to which he was guided by a directory in the entry beneath, Walter found himself in a large apartment, the floor of which was heaped up with piles of books, chiefly octavos. An elderly gentleman, with a partially bald head, and wearing spectacles, was talking with two men, probably agents.
"Well, young man," said he, in rather a sharp voice, "what can I do for you?"
"Is Mr. Pusher in?" asked Walter.
"He went out for a few minutes; will be back directly. Did you wish particularly to see him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take a seat, then, and wait till he comes in."
Walter sat down and listened to the conversation.
"You met with fair success, then?" inquired Mr. Flint.
"Yes, the book takes well. I sold ten in one day, and six and eight in other days."
Walter pricked up his ears. He wondered whether the book was the one recommended to him. If so, a sale of ten copies would enable the agent to realize twelve dollars and a half, which was certainly doing very well.
Just as the agents were going out, Mr. Pusher bustled in. His sharp eyes fell upon Walter, whom he immediately recognized.
"Ha, my young friend, so you have found us out," he said, offering his hand.
"Yes, sir."
"Come to talk on business, I hope?"
"Yes, sir, that is my object in coming."
"Mr. Flint," said Mr. Pusher, "this is a young friend whose acquaintance I made a short time since. I told him, if ever he wanted employment, to come here, and we would give him something to do."
Mr. Flint, who was a slower and a more cautious man than Mr. Pusher, regarded Walter a little doubtfully.
"Do you mean as an agent?" he said.
"Certainly I do."
"He seems very young."
"That's true, but age isn't always an advantage. He looks smart, and I'll guarantee that he is all he looks. I claim to be something of a judge of human nature too."
"No doubt you're right," said Mr. Flint, who was accustomed to defer considerably to his more impetuous partner. "What's the young man's name?"
"You've got me there," said Mr. Pusher, laughing. "If I ever knew, which is doubtful, I've forgotten."
"My name is Walter Conrad," said our hero.
"Very good. Well, Conrad," continued Mr. Pusher, in an off-hand manner, "what are your wishes? What book do you want to take hold of?"
"You mentioned a book the other day,—'Scenes in Bible Lands.'"
"Yes, our new book. That would be as good as any to begin on. How's the territory, Mr. Flint?"
Mr. Flint referred to a book.
"Most of the territory near by is taken up," he said. "Does Mr. Conrad wish to operate near home?"
"I would rather go to a distance," said Walter.
"As far as Ohio?"
"Yes."
"In that case you could map out your own route pretty much. We haven't got the West portioned out as we have the Middle and New England States."
"In other words, we can give you a kind of roving commission, Conrad," put in Mr. Pusher.
"That would suit me, sir," said Walter.
"Still it would be best not to attempt to cover too much territory. A rolling stone gathers no moss, you know. There is one important question I must ask you to begin with. Have you got any money?"
"Yes, sir, I have fifty dollars."
"Good. Of course you will need money to get out to your field of labor, and will have to pay your expenses till you begin to earn something. Fifty dollars will answer very well."
"As I don't know very well how the business is managed," said Walter, "I must ask for instructions."
"Of course. You're a green hand. Sit down here, and I'll make it all plain to you."
So Mr. Pusher, in his brief, incisive way, explained to Walter how he must manage. His instructions were readily comprehended, and Walter, as he listened, felt eager to enter upon the adventurous career which he had chosen.
CHAPTER XXIII.
WALTER LOSES HIS MONEY
Walter, by advice of Mr. Pusher, bought a ticket to Cleveland. There was a resident agent in this city, and a depository of books published by the firm. As Walter would be unable to carry with him as large a supply of books as he needed, he was authorized to send to the Cleveland agency when he got out, and the books would be sent him by express.
"I will give you a letter to Mr. Greene, our agent in Cleveland," said Mr. Pusher, "and you can consult him as to your best field of operations."
The letter was hastily written and handed to Walter.
"Good-by, Mr. Pusher," he said, preparing to leave the office.
"Good-by, my young friend. I shall hope to hear good accounts from you."
So Walter went downstairs, and emerged into the street. He had no particular motive for remaining in New York, and felt eager to commence work. So he went at once to the Erie railway depot, and bought a through ticket to Cleveland, via Buffalo and Niagara Falls. Though he had not much money to spare, he determined not to neglect the opportunity he would have of seeing this great natural wonder, but to stop over a day in order to visit the falls.
He selected a comfortable seat by a window, and waited till the train was ready to start. He realized that he had engaged in rather a large enterprise for a boy of fifteen, who had hitherto had all his wants supplied by others. He was about to go a thousand miles from home, to earn his own living,—in other words, to paddle his own canoe. But he did not feel in the least dismayed. He was ambitious and enterprising, and confident that he could earn his living as well as other boys of his age. He had never been far from home, but felt that he should enjoy visiting new and unfamiliar scenes. So he felt decidedly cheerful and hopeful as the cars whirled him out of the depot, and he commenced his Western journey.
Walter put his strip of railway tickets into his vest-pocket, and his porte-monnaie, containing the balance of his money, into the pocket of his pantaloons. He wished to have the tickets at hand when the conductor came round. He sat alone at first, but after a while a lady got in who rode thirty miles or more, and then got out. A little later a young man passed through the cars, looking about him on either side. He paused at Walter's seat, and inquired, "Is this seat taken?"
"No, sir," said Walter.
"Then, with your permission, I will take it," said the stranger. "Tiresome work travelling, isn't it?"
"I don't know," said Walter. "I rather like it; but then I never travelled much."
"I have to travel a good deal on business," said the other, "and I've got tired of it. How many times do you think I have been over this road?"
"Couldn't guess."
"This is the fifteenth time. I know it like a book. How far are you going?"
"To Cleveland."
"Got relations there, I suppose?"
"No," said Walter; "I am going on business."
He was rather glad to let his companion know that he, too, was in business.
"You're young to be in business," said his companion. "What sort of business is it?"
"I am an agent for Flint & Pusher, a New York firm."
"Publishers, aint they?"
"Yes, sir."
Walter's companion was a young man of twenty-five, or possibly a year or two older. He was rather flashily attired, with a cut-away coat and a low-cut vest, double-breasted, across which glittered a massive chain, which might have been gold, or might only have been gilt, since all that glitters is not gold. At any rate, it answered the purpose of making a show. His cravat was showy, and his whole appearance indicated absence of good taste. A cautious employer would scarcely have selected him from a crowd of applicants for a confidential position. Walter was vaguely conscious of this. Still he had seen but little of the world, and felt incompetent to judge others.
"Are you going right through to Cleveland?" inquired the stranger.
"No; I think I shall stop at Buffalo. I want to see Niagara Falls."
"That's right. Better see them. They're stunning."
"I suppose you have been there?" said Walter, with some curiosity.
"Oh, yes, several times. I've a great mind to go again and show you round, but I don't know if I can spare so long a time from business."
"I should like your company," said Walter, politely; "but I don't want to interfere with your engagements."
"I'll think of it, and see how I can arrange matters," said the other.
Walter was not particularly anxious for the continued society of his present companion. He was willing enough to talk with him, but there was something in his appearance and manner which prevented his being attracted to him. He turned away and began to view the scenery through which they were passing. The stranger took out a newspaper, and appeared to be reading attentively. Half an hour passed thus without a word being spoken on either side. At length his companion folded up the paper.
"Do you smoke?" he asked.
"No," said Walter.
"I think I'll go into the smoking-car, and smoke a cigar. I should like to offer you one if you will take one."
"No, thank you," said Walter; "I don't smoke, and I am afraid my first cigar wouldn't give me much pleasure."
"I'll be back in a few minutes. Perhaps you'd like to look over this paper while I am gone."
"Thank you," said Walter.
He took the paper,—an illustrated weekly,—and looked over the pictures with considerable interest. He had just commenced reading a story when a boy passed through the car with a basket of oranges and apples depending from his arm.
"Oranges—apples!" he called out, looking to the right and left in quest of customers.
The day was warm, and through the open window dust had blown into the car. Walter's throat felt parched, and the oranges looked tempting.
"How much are your oranges?" he inquired.
"Five cents apiece, or three for a dime," answered the boy.
"I'll take three," said Walter, reflecting that he could easily dispose of two himself, and considering that it would only be polite to offer one to his companion, whose paper he was reading, when he should return.
"Here are three nice ones," said the boy, picking them out, and placing them in our hero's hands.
Walter felt in his vest-pocket, thinking he had a little change there. He proved to be mistaken. There was nothing in that pocket except his railway tickets.
Next, of course, he felt for his porte-monnaie, but he felt for it in vain.
He started in surprise.
"I thought my pocket-book was in that pocket," he reflected. "Can it be in the other?"
He felt in the other pocket, but search here was equally fruitless. He next felt nervously in the pocket of his coat, though he was sure he couldn't have put his porte-monnaie there. Then it flashed upon him, with a feeling of dismay, that he had lost his pocket-book and all his remaining money. How or where, he could not possibly imagine, for the suddenness of the discovery quite bewildered him.
"I won't take the oranges," he said to the boy. "I can't find my money."
The boy, who had made sure of a sale, took back the fruit reluctantly, and passed on, crying out, "Here's your oranges and apples!"
Walter set about thinking what had become of his money. The more he thought, the more certain he felt that he had put his porte-monnaie in the pocket in which he had first felt for it. Why was it not there now? That was a question which he felt utterly incompetent to answer.
"Have you lost anything?" inquired a gentleman who sat just behind Walter. Looking back, he found that it was a gentleman of fifty who addressed him.
"Yes, sir," he said, "I have lost my pocket-book."
"Was there much money in it?"
"About forty dollars, sir."
"That is too much to lose. Was your ticket in it also?"
"No, sir; that I have in my vest-pocket."
"Where was your pocket-book when you last saw it?" inquired the gentleman.
"In this pocket, sir."
"Humph!" commented the other. "Who was that young man who was sitting with you a few minutes since?"
"I don't know, sir."
"He was a stranger, then?"
"Yes, sir; I never met him till this morning."
"Then I think I can tell you where your money has gone."
"Where, sir?" demanded Walter, beginning to understand him.
"I think your late companion was a pickpocket, and relieved you of it, while he pretended to be reading. I didn't like his appearance much."
"I don't see how he could have done it without my feeling his hand in my pocket."
"They understand their business, and can easily relieve one of his purse undetected. I once had my watch stolen without being conscious of it. Your porte-monnaie was in the pocket towards the man, and you were looking from the window. It was a very simple thing to relieve you of it."
CHAPTER XXIV.
SLIPPERY DICK
It is not natural for a boy of Walter's age to distrust those with whom he becomes acquainted even slightly. This lesson unfortunately is learned later in life. But the words of his fellow-traveller inspired him with conviction. He could think of no other way of accounting for his loss.
He rose from his seat.
"Where are you going?" asked the old gentleman.
"I am going to look for the thief."
"Do you expect to find him?"
"He said he was going into the smoking-car."
"My young friend, I strongly suspect that this was only to blind you. The cars have stopped at two stations since he left his seat, and if he took your money he has doubtless effected his escape."
Walter was rather taken aback by this consideration. It seemed reasonable enough, and, if true, he didn't see how he was going to get back his money.
"I dare say you are right," he said; "but I will go into the smoking-car and see."
"Come back again, and let me know whether you find him."
"Yes, sir."
Walter went through two cars, looking about him on either side, thinking it possible that the thief might have taken his seat in one of them. There was very little chance of this, however. Next he passed into the smoking-car, where, to his joy no less than his surprise, he found the man of whom he was in search playing cards with three other passengers.
He looked up carelessly as Walter approached, but did not betray the slightest confusion or sign of guilt. To let the reader into a secret, he had actually taken Walter's pocket-book, but was too cunning to keep it about him. He had taken out the money, and thrown the porte-monnaie itself from the car platform, taking an opportunity when he thought himself unobserved. As the money consisted of bills, which could not be identified as Walter's, he felt that he was in no danger of detection. He thought that he could afford to be indifferent.
"Did you get tired of waiting?" he asked, addressing our hero.
"That's pretty cool if he took the money," thought Walter.
"May I speak to you a moment?" asked Walter.
"Certainly."
"I mean alone."
"If you'll wait till I have finished the game," said the pickpocket, assuming a look of surprise. "Something private, eh?"
"Yes," said Walter, gravely.
He stood by impatiently while the game went on. He was anxious to find out as soon as possible what had become of his money, and what was the chance of recovering it.
At length the game was finished, and a new one was about to be commenced, when Walter tapped his late companion on the shoulder.
"Oh, you wanted to speak to me, did you?" he said indifferently. "Can't you wait till we have finished this game?"
"No," said Walter, resolutely, "I can't wait. It is a matter of great importance."
"Then, gentlemen, I must beg to be excused for five minutes," said the pickpocket, shrugging his shoulders, as if to express good-natured annoyance. "Now, my young friend, I am at your service."
Walter proceeded to the other end of the car, which chanced to be unoccupied. Now that the moment had come, he hardly knew how to introduce the subject. Suppose that the person he addressed were innocent, it would be rather an awkward matter to charge him with the theft.
"Did you see anything of my pocket-book?" he said, at length.
"Your pocket-book?" returned the pickpocket, arching his brows. "Why, have you lost it?"
"Yes."
"When did you discover its loss?"
"Shortly after you left me," said Walter, significantly.
"Indeed! was there much money in it?"
"Over thirty dollars."
"That is quite a loss. I hope you have some more with you."
"No, it is all I have."
"I'm very sorry indeed. I did not see it. Have you searched on the floor?"
"Yes; but it isn't there."
"That's awkward. Was your ticket in the pocket-book?"
"No, I had that in my vest-pocket."
"That's fortunate. On my honor, I'm sorry for you. I haven't much money with me, but I'll lend you a dollar or two with the greatest of pleasure."
This offer quite bewildered Walter. He felt confident that the other had stolen his money, and now here he was offering to lend him some of it. He did not care to make such a compromise, or to be bought off so cheap; so, though quite penniless, he determined to reject the offer.
"I won't borrow," he said, coldly. "I was hoping you had seen my money."
"Sorry I didn't. Better let me lend you some."
"I would rather not borrow."
Walter could not for the life of him add "Thank you," feeling no gratitude to the man who he felt well assured had robbed him.
The pickpocket turned and went back to his game, and Walter slowly left the car. He had intended to ask him point-blank whether he had taken the money, but couldn't summon the necessary courage. He went back to his old seat.
"Well," said the old gentleman who sat behind him, "I suppose you did not find your man?"
"Yes, I did."
"You didn't get your money?" he added, in surprise.
"No, he said he had not seen it."
"Did you tax him with taking it?"
"No, I hardly ventured to do that."
"Did he show any confusion?"
"No, sir, he was perfectly cool. Still, I think he took it. He offered to lend me a dollar or two."
"That was cool, certainly."
"What would you advise me to do?" asked Walter.
"I hardly know what to advise," said the other, thoughtfully.
"I don't want him to make off with my money."
"Of course not. That would be far from agreeable."
"If he could only be searched, I might find the pocket-book on him."
"In order to do that, he must be charged with the robbery."
"That is true. It will be rather awkward for a boy like me to do that."
"I'll tell you what you had better do, my young friend. Speak to the conductor."
"I think I will," said Walter.
Just at that moment the conductor entered the car. As he came up the aisle Walter stopped him, and explained his loss, and the suspicions he had formed.
"You say the man is in the smoking-car?" said the conductor, who had listened attentively.
"Yes."
"Could you point him out?"
"Yes."
"I am glad of it. I have received warning by telegraph that one of the New York swell-mob is on the train, probably intent on mischief, but no description came with it, and I had no clue to the person. I have no doubt that the man you speak of is the party. If so, he is familiarly known as 'Slippery Dick.'"
"Do you think you can get back my money?" asked Walter, anxiously.
"I think there is a chance of it. Come with me and point out your man."
Walter gladly accompanied the conductor to the smoking-car. His old acquaintance was busily engaged as before in a game, and laughing heartily at some favorable turn.
"There he is," said Walter, indicating him with his finger.
The conductor walked up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder.
"What's wanted?" he asked, looking up. "You've looked at my ticket."
"I wish to speak to you a moment."
He rose without making any opposition, and walked to the other end of the car.
"Well," he said, and there was a slight nervousness in his tone, "what's the matter? Wasn't my ticket all right?"
"No trouble about that. The thing is, will you restore this boy's pocket-book?"
"Sir," said the pickpocket, blustering, "do you mean to insult me? What have I to do with his pocket-book?"
"You sat beside him, and he missed it directly after you left him."
"What is that to me? You may search me if you like. You will find only one pocket-book upon me, and that is my own."
"I am aware of that," said the conductor, coolly. "I saw you take the money out and throw it from the car platform."
The pickpocket turned pale.
"You are mistaken in the person," he said.
"No, I am not. I advise you to restore the money forthwith."
Without a word the thief, finding himself cornered, took from his pocket a roll of bills, which he handed to Walter.
"Is that right?" asked the conductor.
"Yes," said our hero, after counting his money.
"So far, so good. And now, Slippery Dick," he continued, turning to the thief, "I advise you to leave the cars at the next station, or I will have you arrested. Take your choice."
The detected rogue was not long in making his choice. Already the cars had slackened their speed, and a short distance ahead appeared a small station. The place seemed to be one of very little importance. One man, however, appeared to have business there. Walter saw his quondam acquaintance jump on the platform, and congratulated himself that his only loss was a porte-monnaie whose value did not exceed one dollar.
I will only add that the conductor on seeing the pocket-book thrown away had thought nothing of it, supposing it to be an old one, but as soon as he heard of the robbery suspected at once the thief and his motive.
