Alger Horatio Jr.
Luke Walton

CHAPTER XVIII
HOW JACK KING FARED

Jack King left the house with the money Browning had unwillingly given him. He sought a cheap lodging and the next morning proceeded to make himself respectable. When he had donned some clean linen, a suit of clothes which he bought cheap at a second-hand store, taken a bath, and called into requisition the services of a barber, it would have been hard to recognize him as the same man who had emerged from under the bed of the well-known philanthropist, a typical tramp and would-be burglar.

Jack King counted over the balance of his money, and found that he had nine dollars and thirty-seven cents left.

"This won't support me forever," he reflected. "I must get something to do."

While sauntering along, he fell in with an old acquaintance named Stone.

"What are you up to, King?" he asked.

"Looking for a job."

"You are my man, then. I am keeping a cigar store at the Prairie Hotel, but I have some business calling me away from the city for six weeks or two months. Will you take my place?"

"What are the inducements?"

"Board and lodging and five dollars a week."

"Agreed."

"Come over, then, and I will show you the place."

The hotel was a cheap one, not far from the railway station, and though comfortable, was not patronized by fastidious travelers.

"When do you want me to take hold?" he asked.

"To-morrow."

"All right."

"Come around at ten o'clock. I want to leave Milwaukee in the afternoon."

King could not help reflecting about the extraordinary prosperity of his old comrade, Tom Butler, now Thomas Browning, Esq.

"What does it mean?" he asked himself. "He seemed very uneasy when I asked him about Walton's money. I believe he kept it himself. I wish I knew. If I could prove it, it would be a gold mine for me. I must make inquiries, and, if possible, find out Walton's family."

"Do you know anything of Thomas Browning?" he asked Stone.

"The philanthropist? Yes. What of him?"

"I called on him last evening."

Jack did not think it best to mention the circumstances of his visit.

"Indeed! How did you know him?"

"In California."

"I suppose he laid the foundation of his fortune there."

"Is he so rich, then?"

"Yes, probably worth a quarter of a million."

This was an exaggeration, but rich men's wealth is generally overstated.

"How does he stand in the city?"

"First-class. He has been mentioned for mayor. I shouldn't be surprised if he might get the office some day."

"He has certainly been very lucky."

"I should say so. Was he rich in California?"

"Not when I knew him. At one time there he had to borrow money of me. He paid me back last evening."

"He is on the top of the ladder now, at any rate."

"His respectability would suffer a little," thought Jack King, "if I could prove that he had appropriated Walton's money. I must think the matter over, and secure some information if I can."

The next Sunday evening he called at the house of the philanthropist, and sent in his name.

Thomas Browning went himself to the door. He was afraid King might be wearing the same disreputable suit in which he had made his former visit. But to his relief his visitor looked quite respectable.

"Do you wish to see me?" he asked.

"Yes; but only for a social call. I am not acquainted in Milwaukee, and it does me good to see an old friend and comrade."

"I have not much time to spare, but come in!"

They went into the philanthropist's library, formerly described.

"Have you found anything to do?" asked Browning.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

King answered the question.

"It is not much," he added, "but will do for the present."

"At any rate, it is considerably better than entering a house at night and hiding under the bed," said Browning, dryly.

"So it is," answered King, smiling. "You must make allowance for my destitute condition. I little thought that I was in the house of an old friend. I have been asking about you, Tom Butler – I beg pardon, Mr. Browning – and I find that you stand very high in Milwaukee."

A shade of annoyance showed itself on the philanthropist's face when King referred to him under his former name, but when his high standing was referred to he smiled complacently.

"Yes," he said, "I have been fortunate enough to win the good opinion of my fellow-citizens."

"Some one told me that you would probably run for mayor some day."

"It may be. I have been sounded on the subject."

"The worst of running for office is that if a man has ever done anything discreditable it is sure to be brought out against him."

"I hope you don't mean to imply that I have ever done anything discreditable," said Browning, sharply.

"Oh, dear, no! How could I think such a thing? But sometimes false charges are brought. If you had ever betrayed a trust, or kept money belonging to another, of course, it would hurt you."

"Certainly it would," said the philanthropist, his voice betraying some nervousness, "but I am glad to say that my conscience is clear on that point."

"By the way, Jack, let me send for a bottle of wine. We'll drink to the memory of old time."

"With all my heart, Tom. I see you're the right sort. When you are nominated for office I will work for you."

Browning smiled graciously on his visitor, and the interview closed pleasantly.

"He's afraid of me!" thought Jack, as he left the house.

CHAPTER XIX
A SENSATIONAL INCIDENT

When Luke brought home the dress pattern his mother was much pleased.

"I have needed a dress for a good while," she said, "but I never felt that I could spare the money to buy even a common one. This material is very nice."

"It cost seventy-five cents a yard. I was with Mrs. Merton when she bought it."

"I hope you didn't hint to Mrs. Merton that I needed one."

"No, that isn't like me, mother, but I own that I was very glad when she thought of it."

"Please tell her how grateful I am."

"I will certainly do so. Now, mother, I want you to have it made up at once. I can spare the money necessary."

"It will cost very little. I will have it cut by a dress maker and make it up myself. I hope you will long retain the friendship of Mrs. Merton."

"It won't by my fault if I don't. But I can't help seeing that her niece, Mrs. Tracy, and Harold, a boy about my age, look upon me with dislike."

"Why should they? I don't see how anyone can dislike you."

"You are my mother and are prejudiced in my favor. But I am sure they have no reason to dislike me. I think, however, they are jealous, and fear the old lady will look upon me with too much favor. She is very rich, I hear, and they expect to inherit all her fortune."

"Money makes people mean and unjust."

"If I can only get hold of some, I'll run the risk of that," said Luke. "I should feel a good deal more comfortable if I hadn't two enemies in the house."

"Do your duty, my son, and leave the rest to God. It isn't well to borrow trouble."

"No doubt you are right, mother. I will follow your advice."

The next morning Luke was at his usual stand near the Sherman House when a boy who was passing uttered a slight exclamation of surprise. Looking up, Luke recognized Harold Tracy.

"So it's you, is it?" said Harold, not over politely.

"Yes," answered Luke. "I hope you are well."

"I didn't know you were a newsboy."

"I spend a part of my time in selling papers."

"Does Mrs. Merton know you are a newsboy?"

"I think I have told her, but I am not certain."

"It must be inconvenient for you to come so far as our house every day?"

"Of course it takes up some time, but Mrs. Merton does not allow me to work for nothing."

"How much does Aunt Eliza pay you?"

"I would rather you would ask Mrs. Merton. I am not sure that she would care to have me tell."

"You seem to forget that I am her nephew that is, her grandnephew. It is hardly likely she would keep such a thing secret from me."

"That may be, but I would rather you would ask her."

"Does she pay you more than two dollars a week?"

"Again I must refer you to her."

"It is ridiculous to make a secret of such a trifle," said Harold, annoyed.

"How much do you make selling papers?" he asked.

"I averaged about seventy-five cents a day before I began to work for Mrs. Merton. Now I don't make as much."

"Why don't you black boots, too? Many of the newsboys do?"

"I never cared to take up that business."

"If you should go into it, I would give you a job now and then."

"I am not likely to go into that business, but I shall be glad to sell you a paper whenever you need one."

"You are not too proud to black boots, are you?" persisted Harold.

"I don't think it necessary to answer that question. I have always got along without it so far."

Harold carried the news home to his mother that Luke was a newsboy, and Mrs. Tracy found an opportunity to mention it at the supper table.

"Harold saw your paragon this morning, Aunt Eliza," she commenced.

"Have I a paragon? I really wasn't aware of it," returned the old lady.

"Your errand boy."

"Oh, Luke. Where did you see him, Harold?"

"He was selling papers near the Sherman House."

"I hope you bought one of him."

"I didn't have any change."

"Did you know he was a newsboy, Aunt Eliza?" asked Mrs. Tracy.

"Yes; he told me so. You speak of it as if it were something to his discredit."

"It is a low business, of course."

"Why is it a low business?"

"Oh, well, of course it is only poor street boys who engage in it."

"I am aware that Luke is poor, and that he has to contribute to the support of his mother and brother. I hope, if you were poor, that Harold would be willing to work for you."

"I wouldn't sell papers," put in Harold.

"I don't suppose Luke sells papers from choice."

"Aunt Eliza, I don't see why you should so persistently compare Harold with that ragged errand boy of yours."

"Is he ragged? I am glad you noticed it. I must help him to a new suit."

This was far from a welcome suggestion to Mrs. Tracy, and she made haste to add: "I don't think he's ragged. He dresses well enough for his position in life."

"Still, I think he needs some new clothes, and I thank you for suggesting it, Louisa."

The next day, Luke, to his surprise, was asked to ac company Mrs. Merton to a ready-made clothing house on Clark Street, where he was presented with a fine suit, costing twenty dollars.

"How kind you are, Mrs. Merton!" said Luke.

"I didn't notice that you needed a new suit," returned the old lady, "but my niece, Mrs. Tracy, spoke of it, and I was glad to take the hint."

It was in the afternoon of the same day that Luke, having an errand that carried him near the lake shore, strolled to the end of North Pier. He was fond of the water, but seldom had an opportunity to go out on it.

"How are you, Luke?" said a boy in a flat-bottomed boat a few rods away.

In the boy who hailed him Luke recognized John Hagan, an acquaintance of about his own age.

"Won't you come aboard?" asked John.

"I don't mind, if you'll come near enough."

In five minutes Luke found himself on board the boat, He took the oars and relieved John, who was disposed to rest.

They rowed hither and thither, never very far from the pier. Not far away was a boat of the same build, occupied by a man of middle size, whose eccentric actions attracted their attention. Now he would take the oars and row with feverish haste, nearly fifty strokes to a minute; then he would let his oars trail, and seem wrapped in thought. Suddenly the boys were startled to see him spring to his feet and, flinging up his arms, leap head first into the lake.

CHAPTER XX
AMBROSE KEAN'S IMPRUDENCE

Luke and his companion were startled by the sudden attempt at suicide, and for an instant sat motionless in their boat. Luke was the first to regain his self-possession.

"Quick, let us try to save him," he called to John Hagan.

They plunged their oars into the water, and the boat bounded over the waves. Fortunately they were but half a dozen rods from the place where the would-be suicide was now struggling to keep himself up. For, as frequently happens, when he actually found himself in the water, the instinct of self-preservation impelled the would-be self-destroyer to attempt to save himself. He could swim a very little, but the waters of the lake were in lively motion, his boat had floated away, and he would inevitably have drowned but for the energetic action of Luke and John. They swept their boat alongside, and Luke thrust his oar in the direction of the struggling man.

"Take hold of it," he said, "and we will tow you to your own boat."

Guided and sustained by the oar, the man gripped the side of Luke's boat, leaving the oar free. His weight nearly overbalanced the craft, but with considerable difficulty the boys succeeded in reaching the other boat, and, though considerably exhausted, its late occupant managed to get in.

As he took his place in the boat he presented a sorry spectacle, for his clothes were wet through and dripping.

"You will take your death of cold unless you go on shore at once," said Luke.

"It wouldn't matter much if I did," said the young man, gloomily.

"We will row to shore also," said Luke to John Hagan. "He may make another attempt to drown himself. I will see what I can do to reason him out of it."

They were soon at the pier, and the three landed.

"Where do you live?" asked Luke, taking his position beside the young man.

The latter named a number on Vine Street. It was at a considerable distance, and time was precious, for the young man was trembling from the effects of his immersion.

"There is no time to lose. We must take a carriage," said Luke.

He summoned one, which fortunately had just returned from the pier, to which it had conveyed a passenger, and the two jumped in.

Luke helped him up to his room, a small one on the third floor, and remained until he had changed his clothes and was reclining on the bed.

"You ought to have some hot drink," he said. "Can any be got in the house?"

"Yes; Mrs. Woods, the landlady, will have some hot water."

Luke went downstairs and succeeded in enlisting the sympathetic assistance of the kind-hearted woman by representing that her lodger had been upset in the lake and was in danger of a severe cold.

When the patient had taken down a cup of hot drink, he turned to Luke and said: "How can I thank you?"

"There is no need to thank me. I am glad I was at hand when you needed me."

"What is your name?"

"Luke Walton."

"Mine is Ambrose Kean. You must think I am a fool,"

"I think," said Luke, gently, "that you have some cause of unhappiness."

"You are right there. I have been unfortunate, but I am also an offender against the law, and it was the fear of exposure and arrest that made me take the step I did. I thought I was ready to die, but when I found myself in the water life seemed dearer than it had before, and I tried to escape. Thanks to you, I am alive, but now I almost wish that I had succeeded. I don't know how to face what is before me."

"Would you mind telling me what it is?"

"No; I need someone to confide in, and you deserve my confidence. Let me tell you, then, that I am employed in an office on Dearborn Street. My pay is small, twelve dollars a week, but it would be enough to support me if I had only myself to look out for. But I have a mother in Milwaukee, and I have been in the habit of sending her four dollars a week. That left me only eight dollars, which I found it hard to live on, and there was nothing left for clothes."

"I can easily believe that," said Luke.

"I struggled along, however, as best I might, but last week I received a letter from my mother saying that she was sick. Of course her expenses were increased, and she wrote to know if I could send her a little extra money. I have been living so close up to my income that I absolutely had less than a dollar in my pocket. Unfortunately, temptation came at a time when I was least prepared to resist it. One of our customers from the country came in when I was alone, and paid me fifty dollars in bills, for which I gave him a receipt. No one saw the payment made. It flashed upon me that this sum would make my mother comfortable even if her sickness lasted a considerable time. Without taking time to think, I went to an express office, and forwarded to her a package containing the bills. It started yesterday, and by this time is in my mother's hands. You see the situation I am placed in. The one who paid the money may come to the office at any time and reveal my guilt."

"I don't wonder that you were dispirited," returned Luke. "But can nothing be done? Can you not replace the money in time?"

"How can I? I have told you how small my salary is."

"Have you no friend or friends from whom you could borrow the money?"

"I know of none. I have few friends, and such as they are, are, like myself, dependent on small pay. I must tell you, by the way, how we became poor. My mother had a few thousand dollars, which, added to my earnings, would have made us comparatively independent, but in an evil hour she invested them in a California mine, on the strength of the indorsement of a well-known financier of Milwaukee, Mr. Thomas Browning – "

"Who?" asked Luke, in surprise.

"Thomas Browning. Do you know him?"

"I have seen him. He sometimes comes to Chicago, and stops at the Sherman House."

"He recommended the stock so highly – in fact, he was the president of the company that put it on the market – that my poor mother thought it all right, and invested all she had. The stock was two dollars a share. Now it would not fetch two cents. This it was that reduced us to such extreme poverty."

"Do you think Mr. Browning was honest in his recommendation of the mine?" asked Luke, thoughtfully.

"I don't know. He claimed to be the principal loser himself. But it is rather remarkable that he is living like a rich man now. Hundreds lost their money through this mine. As Mr. Browning had himself been in California – "

"What is that?" asked Luke, in excitement. "You say this Browning was once in California? Can you tell when?"

"Half a dozen years ago, more or less."

"And he looks like the man to whom my poor father confided ten thousand dollars for us," thought Luke. "It is very strange. Everything tallies but the name. The wretch who swindled us was named Butler."

"Why do you ask when Mr. Browning was in California?" asked the young man.

"Because my father died in California," answered Luke, evasively, "and I thought it possible that Mr. Browning might have met him."

CHAPTER XXI
A FRIEND IN NEED

"Mr. Browning is a man of very peculiar appearance," said Kean.

"You refer to the wart on the upper part of his right cheek?"

"Yes, it gives him a repulsive look."

"And yet he is popular in Milwaukee?"

"Yes, among those who were not swindled by his mining scheme. He has done more harm than he can ever repair. For instance," added the young man, bitterly, "this crime which I have committed – I will call it by its right name – I was impelled to do by my mother's poverty, brought on by him."

"How does it happen that you are not at the office to day?"

"I felt sick – sick at heart, rather than sick in body, and I sent word to my employer that I could not be there. I dread entering the office, for at any time exposure may come."

"If you could only raise the fifty dollars, you could replace the money before it was inquired for."

Ambrose Kean shook his head.

"I can't possibly raise it," he said, despondently.

"I would let you have it if I possessed as much money, but, as you may suppose, I am poor."

"I am no less grateful to you, Luke. You have a good heart, I am sure. You don't despise me?"

"No, why should I?"

"I have been guilty of a crime."

"But you are sorry for it. Is there positively no one with whom you are acquainted who is rich enough to help you?"

"There is one lady in Chicago – a rich lady – who was a schoolmate of my mother. She was older and in better circumstances, but they were good friends."

"Who is this lady?"

"A Mrs. Merton."

"Mrs. Merton!" exclaimed Luke, in excitement. "Of Prairie Avenue?"

"Yes; I believe she lives there."

"Why, I know her – I am in her employ," said Luke.

Ambrose Kean stared at Luke in open amazement.

"Is this true?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Is she a kind lady? Do you think she would help me in this trouble of mine?"

"She is very kind-hearted, as I know from my own experience. I will go to her at once, and see what I can do."

Ambrose Kean grasped Luke's hand with fervor.

"You are a friend sent from heaven, I truly believe," he said. "You have given me hope of retrieving myself."

"I will leave you for a time," said Luke. "There is no time to be lost."

"I shall be full of anxiety till I see you again."

"Be hopeful. I think I shall bring you good news."

When Luke reached the house on Prairie Avenue he was about to ring the bell when Harold Tracy opened the door.

"You here again!" he said, in a tone of displeasure. "Weren't you here this morning?"

"Yes."

"Did Aunt Eliza ask you to come this afternoon?"

"No."

"Then what brings you?"

"Business," answered Luke, curtly, and he quietly entered the hall, and said to a servant who was passing through, "Will you be kind enough to ask Mrs. Merton if she will see me?"

"Well, you're cheeky!" ejaculated Harold, who had in tended to keep him out.

"As long as Mrs. Merton doesn't think so, I shall not trouble myself," said Luke, coldly.

"Sooner or later Aunt Eliza will see you in your true colors," said Harold, provoked.

"I think she does now."

At this moment the servant returned.

"You are to go upstairs," she said. "Mrs. Merton will see you."

The old lady was sitting back in an easy-chair when Luke entered. She smiled pleasantly.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," she said, "this after-noon call."

"I will tell you at once what brought me, Mrs. Merton."

"It isn't sickness at home, I hope?"

"No, I came for a comparative stranger."

Then Luke told the story of Ambrose Kean, his sudden yielding to temptation, his repentance and remorse.

"I am interested in your friend," said Mrs. Merton. "You say he appropriated fifty dollars?"

"Yes, but it was to help his mother."

"True, but it was a dangerous step to take. It won't be considered a valid excuse."

"He realizes all that. His employer is a just but strict man, and if the theft is discovered Kean will be arrested, and, of course, convicted."

"And you think I will help him? Is that why you have come to me with this story?"

"I don't think I would have done so if he had not mentioned you as an old friend and schoolmate of his mother."

"What's that?" added Mrs. Merton, quickly. "His mother an old schoolmate of mine?"

"That is what he says."

"What was her name before marriage?"

"Mary Robinson."

"You don't say so!" Mrs. Merton exclaimed with vivacity. "Why, Mary was my favorite at school. And this young man is her son?

"I would have helped him without knowing this, but now I won't hesitate a moment. Mary's boy! You must bring him here. I want to question him about her."

"I can tell you something about her. She lost her money by investing in a California mine – I think it was the Excelsior Mine."

"She, too?"

Luke looked surprised. He did not understand the meaning of this exclamation.

"I have a thousand shares of that worthless stock myself," continued the old lady. "It cost me two thousand dollars, and now it is worth nothing."

"The one who introduced the stock was a Mr. Browning, of Milwaukee."

"I know. He was an unscrupulous knave, I have no doubt. I could afford the loss, but hundreds invested, like poor Mary, who were ruined. Is the man living, do you know?"

"Yes, he is living in Milwaukee. He is rich, and is prominently spoken of as a candidate for mayor."

"If he is ever a candidate I will take care that his connection with this swindling transaction is made known. A man who builds up a fortune on the losses of the poor is a contemptible wretch, in my opinion."

"And mine, too," said Luke. "It is very strange that he answers the description of a man who cheated our family out of ten thousand dollars."

"Indeed! How was that?"

Luke told the story, and Mrs. Merton listened with great interest.

"So all corresponds except the name?"

"Yes."

"He may have changed his name."

"I have thought of that. I mean to find out some time."

"I won't keep you any longer. Your friend is, no doubt, in great anxiety. I have the money here in bills. I will give them to you for him."

Mrs. Merton was in the act of handing a roll of bills to Luke when the door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Tracy entered.

She frowned in surprise and displeasure when she saw her aunt giving money to "that boy," as she contemptuously called him.