Alger Horatio Jr.
Struggling Upward, or Luke Larkin's Luck
CHAPTER XXVI
THE OTTAWA HOUSE
There was one little circumstance that led Luke to think favorably of his new companion. As the hackman closed the door of the carriage, Luke asked: "How much is the fare?"
"Fifty cents apiece, gentlemen," answered cabby.
Luke was about to put his hand into his pocket for the money, when Coleman touching him on the arm, said: "Never mind, Luke, I have the money," and before our hero could expostulate he had thrust a dollar into the cab-driver's hand.
"All right, thanks," said the driver, and slammed to the door.
"You must let me repay you my part of the fare, Mr. Coleman," said Luke, again feeling for his pocketbook.
"Oh, it's a mere trifle!" said Coleman. "I'll let you pay next time, but don't be so ceremonious with a friend."
"But I would rather pay for myself," objected Luke.
"Oh, say no more about it, I beg. Claflin provides liberally for my expenses. It's all right."
"But I don't want Claflin to pay for me."
"Then I assure you I'll get it out of you before we part. Will that content you?"
Luke let the matter drop, but he didn't altogether like to find himself under obligations to a stranger, notwithstanding his assurance, which he took for a joke. He would have been surprised and startled if he had known how thoroughly Coleman meant what he said about getting even. The fifty cents he had with such apparent generosity paid out for Luke he meant to get back a hundred-fold. His object was to gain Luke's entire confidence, and remove any suspicion he might possibly entertain. In this respect he was successful. Luke had read about designing strangers, but he certainly could not suspect a man who insisted on paying his hack fare.
"I hope you will not be disappointed in the Ottawa House," observed Mr. Coleman, as they rattled through the paved streets. "It isn't a stylish hotel."
"I am not used to stylish living," said Luke, frankly. "I have always been used to living in a very plain way."
"When I first went on the road I used to stop at the tip-top houses, such as the Palmer at Chicago, the Russell House in Detroit, etc., but it's useless extravagance. Claflin allows me a generous sum for hotels, and if I go to a cheap one, I put the difference into my own pocket."
"Is that expected?" asked Luke, doubtfully.
"It's allowed, at any rate. No one can complain if I choose to live a little plainer. When it pays in the way of business to stop at a big hotel, I do so. Of course, your boss pays your expenses?"
"Yes."
"Then you'd better do as I do—put the difference in your own pocket."
"I shouldn't like to do that."
"Why not? It is evident you are a new traveler, or you would know that it is a regular thing."
Luke did not answer, but he adhered to his own view. He meant to keep a careful account of his disbursements and report to Mr. Armstrong, without the addition of a single penny. He had no doubt that he should be paid liberally for his time, and he didn't care to make anything by extra means.
The Ottawa House was nearly a mile and a half distant. It was on one of the lower streets, near the lake. It was a plain building with accommodations for perhaps a hundred and fifty guests. This would be large for a country town or small city, but it indicated a hotel of the third class in Chicago. I may as well say here, however, that it was a perfectly respectable and honestly conducted hotel, notwithstanding it was selected by Mr. Coleman, who could not with truth be complimented so highly. I will also add that Mr. Coleman's selection of the Ottawa, in place of a more pretentious hotel, arose from the fear that in the latter he might meet someone who knew him, and who would warn Luke of his undesirable reputation.
Jumping out of the hack, J. Madison Coleman led the way into the hotel, and, taking pen in hand, recorded his name in large, flourishing letters—as from New York.
Then he handed the pen to Luke, who registered himself also from New York.
"Give us a room together," he said to the clerk.
Luke did not altogether like this arrangement, but hardly felt like objecting. He did not wish to hurt the feelings of J. Madison Coleman, yet he considered that, having known him only six hours, it was somewhat imprudent to allow such intimacy. But he who hesitates is lost, and before Luke had made up his mind whether to object or not, he was already part way upstairs—there was no elevator—following the bellboy, who carried his luggage.
The room, which was on the fourth floor, was of good size, and contained two beds. So far so good. After the ride he wished to wash and put on clean clothes. Mr. Coleman did not think this necessary, and saying to Luke that he would find him downstairs, he left our hero alone.
"I wish I had a room alone," thought Luke. "I should like it much better, but I don't want to offend Coleman. I've got eighty dollars in my pocketbook, and though, of course, he is all right, I don't want to take any risks."
On the door he read the regulations of the hotel. One item attracted his attention. It was this:
"The proprietors wish distinctly to state that they will not be responsible for money or valuables unless left with the clerk to be deposited in the safe."
Luke had not been accustomed to stopping at hotels, and did not know that this was the usual custom. It struck him, however, as an excellent arrangement, and he resolved to avail himself of it.
When he went downstairs he didn't see Mr. Coleman.
"Your friend has gone out," said the clerk. "He wished me to say that he would be back in half an hour."
"All right," answered Luke. "Can I leave my pocketbook with you?"
"Certainly."
The clerk wrapped it up in a piece of brown paper and put it away in the safe at the rear of the office, marking it with Luke's name and the number of his room.
"There, that's safe!" thought Luke, with a feeling of relief. He had reserved about three dollars, as he might have occasion to spend a little money in the course of the evening. If he were robbed of this small amount it would not much matter.
A newsboy came in with an evening paper. Luke bought a copy and sat down on a bench in the office, near a window. He was reading busily, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Looking up, he saw that it was his roommate, J. Madison Coleman.
"I've just been taking a little walk," he said, "and now I am ready for dinner. If you are, too, let us go into the dining-room."
Luke was glad to accept this proposal, his long journey having given him a good appetite.
CHAPTER XXVII
COLEMAN ACTS SUSPICIOUSLY
After dinner, Coleman suggested a game of billiards, but as this was a game with which Luke was not familiar, he declined the invitation, but went into the billiard-room and watched a game between his new acquaintance and a stranger. Coleman proved to be a very good player, and won the game. After the first game Coleman called for drinks, and invited Luke to join them.
"Thank you," answered Luke, "but I never drink."
"Oh, I forgot; you're a good boy," said Coleman. "Well, I'm no Puritan. Whisky straight for me."
Luke was not in the least troubled by the sneer conveyed in Coleman's words. He was not altogether entitled to credit for refusing to drink, having not the slightest taste for strong drink of any kind.
About half-past seven Coleman put up his cue, saying: "That'll do for me. Now, Luke, suppose we take a walk."
Luke was quite ready, not having seen anything of Chicago as yet. They strolled out, and walked for an hour. Coleman, to do him justice, proved an excellent guide, and pointed out whatever they passed which was likely to interest his young companion. But at last he seemed to be tired.
"It's only half-past eight," he said, referring to his watch. "I'll drop into some theater. It is the best way to finish up the evening."
"Then I'll go back to the hotel," said Luke. "I feel tired, and mean to go to bed early."
"You'd better spend an hour or two in the theater with me."
"No, I believe not. I prefer a good night's rest."
"Do you mind my leaving you?"
"Not at all."
"Can you find your way back to the hotel alone?"
"If you'll direct me, I think I can find it."
The direction was given, and Coleman was turning off, when, as if it had just occurred to him, he said: "By the way, can you lend me a five? I've nothing less than a fifty-dollar bill with me, and I don't want to break that."
Luke congratulated himself now that he had left the greater part of his money at the hotel.
"I can let you have a dollar," he said.
Coleman shrugged his shoulders, but answered: "All right; let me have the one."
Luke did so, and felt now that he had more than repaid the fifty cents his companion had paid for hack fare. Though Coleman had professed to have nothing less than fifty, Luke knew that he had changed a five-dollar bill at the hotel in paying for the drinks, and must have over four dollars with him in small bills and change.
"Why, then," thought he, "did Coleman want to borrow five dollars of me?"
If Luke had known more of the world he would have understood that it was only one of the tricks to which men like Coleman resort to obtain a loan, or rather a gift, from an unsuspecting acquaintance.
"I suppose I shall not see my money back," thought Luke. "Well, it will be the last that he will get out of me."
He was already becoming tired of his companion, and doubted whether he would not find the acquaintance an expensive one. He was sorry that they were to share the same room. However, it was for one night only, and to-morrow he was quite resolved to part company.
Shortly after nine o'clock Luke went to bed, and being fatigued with his long journey, was soon asleep. He was still sleeping at twelve o'clock, when Coleman came home.
Coleman came up to his bed and watched him attentively.
"The kid's asleep," he soliloquized. "He's one of the good Sunday-school boys. I can imagine how shocked he would be if he knew that, instead of being a traveler for H. B. Claflin, I have been living by my wits for the last half-dozen years. He seems to be half asleep. I think I can venture to explore a little."
He took Luke's trousers from the chair on which he had laid them, and thrust his fingers into the pockets, but brought forth only a penknife and a few pennies.
"He keeps his money somewhere else, it seems," said Coleman.
Next he turned to the vest, and from the inside vest pocket drew out Luke's modest pocketbook.
"Oh, here we have it," thought Coleman, with a smile. "Cunning boy; he thought nobody would think of looking in his vest pocket. Well, let us see how much he has got."
He opened the pocketbook, and frowned with disappointment when he discovered only a two-dollar bill.
"What does it mean? Surely he hasn't come to Chicago with only this paltry sum!" exclaimed Coleman. "He must be more cunning than I thought."
He looked in the coat pockets, the shoes, and even the socks of his young companion, but found nothing, except the silver watch, which Luke had left in one of his vest pockets.
"Confound the boy! He's foiled me this time!" muttered Coleman. "Shall I take the watch? No; it might expose me, and I could not raise much on it at the pawnbroker's. He must have left his money with the clerk downstairs. He wouldn't think of it himself, but probably he was advised to do so before he left home. I'll get up early, and see if I can't get in ahead of my young friend."
Coleman did not venture to take the two-dollar bill, as that would have induced suspicion on the part of Luke, and would have interfered with his intention of securing the much larger sum of money, which, as he concluded rightly, was in the safe in the office.
He undressed and got into bed, but not without observation. As he was bending over Luke's clothes, examining them, our hero's eyes suddenly opened, and he saw what was going on. It flashed upon him at once what kind of a companion he had fallen in with, but he had the wisdom and self-control to close his eyes again immediately. He reflected that there was not much that Coleman could take, and if he took the watch he resolved to charge him openly with it. To make a disturbance there and then might be dangerous, as Coleman, who was much stronger than he, might ill-treat and abuse him, without his being able to offer any effectual resistance.
CHAPTER XXVIII
COLEMAN'S LITTLE PLAN
Though Coleman went to bed late, he awoke early. He had the power of awaking at almost any hour that he might fix. He was still quite fatigued, but having an object in view, overcame his tendency to lie longer, and swiftly dressing himself, went downstairs. Luke was still sleeping, and did not awaken while his companion was dressing.
Coleman went downstairs and strolled up to the clerk's desk,
"You're up early," said that official.
"Yes, it's a great nuisance, but I have a little business to attend to with a man who leaves Chicago by an early train. I tried to find him last night, but he had probably gone to some theater. That is what has forced me to get up so early this morning."
"I am always up early," said the clerk.
"Then you are used to it, and don't mind it. It is different with me."
Coleman bought a cigar, and while he was lighting it, remarked, as if incidentally:
"By the way, did my young friend leave my money with you last evening?"
"He left a package of money with me, but he didn't mention it was yours."
"Forgot to, I suppose. I told him to leave it here, as I was going out to the theater, and was afraid I might have my pocket picked. Smart fellows, those pickpockets. I claim to be rather smart myself, but there are some of them smart enough to get ahead of me.
"I was relieved of my pocketbook containing over two hundred dollars in money once. By Jove! I was mad enough to knock the fellow's head off, if I had caught him."
"It is rather provoking."
"I think I'll trouble you to hand me the money the boy left with you, as I have to use some this morning."
Mr. Coleman spoke in an easy, off-hand way, that might have taken in some persons, but hotel clerks are made smart by their positions.
"I am sorry, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk, "but I can only give it back to the boy."
"I commend your caution, my friend," said Coleman, "but I can assure you that it's all right. I sent it back by Luke when I was going to the theater, and I meant, of course, to have him give my name with it. However, he is not used to business, and so forgot it."
"When did you hand it to him?" asked the clerk, with newborn suspicion.
"About eight o'clock. No doubt he handed it in as soon as he came back to the hotel."
"How much was there?"
This question posed Mr. Coleman, as he had no idea how much money Luke had with him.
"I can't say exactly," he answered. "I didn't count it. There might have been seventy-five dollars, though perhaps the sum fell a little short of that."
"I can't give you the money, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk, briefly.
"I have no evidence that it is yours."
"Really, that's ludicrous," said Coleman, with a forced laugh. "You don't mean to doubt me, I hope," and Madison Coleman drew himself up haughtily.
"That has nothing to do with it. The rule of this office is to return money only to the person who deposited it with us. If we adopted any other rule, we should get into no end of trouble."
"But, my friend," said Coleman, frowning, "you are putting me to great inconvenience. I must meet my friend in twenty minutes and pay him a part of this money."
"I have nothing to do with that," said the clerk.
"You absolutely refuse, then?"
"I do," answered the clerk, firmly. "However, you can easily overcome the difficulty by bringing the boy down here to authorize me to hand you the money."
"It seems to me that you have plenty of red tape here," said Coleman, shrugging his shoulders. "However, I must do as you require."
Coleman had a bright thought, which he proceeded to carry into execution.
He left the office and went upstairs. He was absent long enough to visit the chamber which he and Luke had occupied together. Then he reported to the office again.
"The boy is not dressed," he said, cheerfully. "However, he has given me an order for the money, which, of course, will do as well."
He handed a paper, the loose leaf of a memorandum book, on which were written in pencil these words:
"Give my guardian, Mr. Coleman, the money I left on deposit at the office. LUKE LARKIN."
"That makes it all right, doesn't it?" asked Coleman, jauntily. "Now, if you'll be kind enough to hand me my money at once, I'll be off."
"It won't do, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk. "How am I to know that the boy wrote this?"
"Don't you see his signature?"
The clerk turned to the hotel register, where Luke had enrolled his name.
"The handwriting is not the same," he said, coldly.
"Oh, confound it!" exclaimed Coleman, testily. "Can't you understand that writing with a pencil makes a difference?"
"I understand," said the clerk, "that you are trying to get money that does not belong to you. The money was deposited a couple of hours sooner than the time you claim to have handed it to the boy—just after you and the boy arrived."
"You're right," said Coleman, unabashed. "I made a mistake."
"You cannot have the money."
"You have no right to keep it from me," said Coleman, wrathfully.
"Bring the boy to the office and it shall be delivered to him; then, if he chooses to give it to you, I have nothing to say."
"But I tell you he is not dressed."
"He seems to be," said the clerk, quietly, with a glance at the door, through which Luke was just entering.
Coleman's countenance changed. He was now puzzled for a moment. Then a bold plan suggested itself. He would charge Luke with having stolen the money from him.
CHAPTER XXIX
MR. COLEMAN IS FOILED IN HIS ATTEMPT
Luke looked from Coleman to the clerk in some surprise. He saw from their looks that they were discussing some matter which concerned him.
"You left some money in my charge yesterday, Mr. Larkin," said the clerk.
"Yes."
"Your friend here claims it. Am I to give it to him?"
Luke's eyes lighted up indignantly.
"What does this mean, Mr. Coleman?" he demanded, sternly.
"It means," answered Coleman, throwing off the mask, "that the money is mine, and that you have no right to it."
If Luke had not witnessed Coleman's search of his pockets during the night, he would have been very much astonished at this brazen statement. As it was, he had already come to the conclusion that his railroad acquaintance was a sharper.
"I will trouble you to prove your claim to it," said Luke, not at all disturbed by Coleman's impudent assertion.
"I gave it to you yesterday to place in the safe. I did not expect you would put it in in your own name," continued Coleman, with brazen hardihood.
"When did you hand it to me?" asked Luke, calmly.
"When we first went up into the room."
This change in his original charge Coleman made in consequence of learning the time of the deposit.
"This is an utter falsehood!" exclaimed Luke, indignantly.
"Take care, young fellow!" blustered Coleman. "Your reputation for honesty isn't of the best. I don't like to expose you, but a boy who has served a three months' term in the penitentiary had better be careful how he acts."
Luke's breath was quite taken away by this unexpected attack. The clerk began to eye him with suspicion, so confident was Coleman's tone.
"Mr. Lawrence," said Luke, for he had learned the clerk's name, "will you allow me a word in private?"
"I object to this," said Coleman, in a blustering tone. "Whatever you have to say you can say before me."
"Yes," answered the clerk, who did not like Coleman's bullying tone, "I will hear what you have to say."
He led the way into an adjoining room, and assumed an air of attention.
"This man is a stranger to me," Luke commenced. "I saw him yesterday afternoon for the first time in my life."
"But he says he is your guardian."
"He is no more my guardian than you are. Indeed, I would much sooner select you."
"How did you get acquainted?"
"He introduced himself to me as a traveler for H. B. Claflin, of New York. I did not doubt his statement at the time, but now I do, especially after what happened in the night."
"What was that?" asked the clerk, pricking up his ears.
Luke went on to describe Coleman's search of his pockets.
"Did you say anything?"
"No. I wished to see what he was after. As I had left nearly all my money with you, I was not afraid of being robbed."
"I presume your story is correct. In fact, I detected him in a misstatement as to the time of giving you the money. But I don't want to get into trouble."
"Ask him how much money I deposited with you," suggested Luke.
"He has no idea, and will have to guess."
"I have asked him the question once, but will do so again."
The clerk returned to the office with Luke. Coleman eyed them uneasily, as if he suspected them of having been engaged in a conspiracy against him.
"Well," he said, "are you going to give me my money?"
"State the amount," said the clerk, in a businesslike manner.
"I have already told you that I can't state exactly. I handed the money to Luke without counting it."
"You must have some idea, at any rate," said the clerk.
"Of course I have. There was somewhere around seventy-five dollars."
This he said with a confidence which he did not feel, for it was, of course, a mere guess.
"You are quite out in your estimate, Mr. Coleman. It is evident to me that you have made a false claim. You will oblige me by settling your bill and leaving the hotel."
"Do you think I will submit to such treatment?" demanded Coleman, furiously.
"I think you'll have to," returned the clerk, quietly. "You can go in to breakfast, if you like, but you must afterward leave the hotel. John," this to a bellboy, "go up to number forty-seven and bring down this gentleman's luggage."
"You and the boy are in a conspiracy against me!" exclaimed Coleman, angrily. "I have a great mind to have you both arrested!"
"I advise you not to attempt it. You may get into trouble."
Coleman apparently did think better of it. Half an hour later he left the hotel, and Luke found himself alone. He decided that he must be more circumspect hereafter.
