Alger Horatio Jr.
The Erie Train Boy
CHAPTER VII.
FERDINAND MORRIS
When Ferdinand Morris left the train after robbing Joshua Bascom, as described in the first chapter, he was in excellent spirits. He had effected his purpose, and got off scot free. He walked briskly away from the station at which he got out, and didn't stop to examine the wallet till he had got half a mile away.
When he discovered that it contained only ten dollars, he was filled with disgust.
"What could the fellow mean by coming to the city with only ten dollars in his pocketbook?" he muttered. "It's a regular imposition. It wasn't worth taking. Here I am, stranded in the country, and my ticket of no value, for only ten dollars! I should like to see my rural friend's wo-begone look when he discovers the loss of his wallet, though."
This thought helped to reconcile Morris to the situation. The picture which he had conjured up tickled his fancy, and he laughed heartily. But his merriment was short-lived. Incidentally he noticed the loss of the ring, and his countenance changed.
"My ring gone!" he exclaimed. "What can have become of it? It was worth fifty dollars at least. I must have dropped it into that fellow's pocket when I took his wallet. That's a pretty bad exchange. What an unlucky chap I am! I am about forty dollars out of pocket."
The satisfaction of Mr. Morris was quite destroyed. There seemed little hope of his recovering the ring, for he could not make known its loss without betraying himself.
"I may as well be going back to New York," he said moodily. "If I meet that fellow again, I must get up some scheme for recovering the ring from him. He is a countryman and I can frighten him into giving it to me. The worst of it is, the ring is not mine, and the owner will make a fuss about it. She is inclined to be suspicious, and I shall find it hard work to explain."
In a house on Lexington Avenue lived a maiden lady, close upon forty years of age, though she called herself thirty-one. Miss Josephine Harden had been left independent through the will of an aunt who had left her the sum of thirty-five thousand dollars. She had been for eight years an humble attendant, subject to the numerous whims and caprices of her relative, but two years since had been repaid by a legacy. Ever since Miss Marden had been looking about for a suitable matrimonial partner. There were some difficulties in the way, for she was thin, long-nosed, and with a yellow complexion. Three impecunious bachelors, lured by her money, had paid her some attentions, but their courage failed at last, and they silently slunk away. At length, however, Ferdinand Morris met Miss Harden, and conceived the idea of marrying her for her money. When he had once got possession of her fortune, he proposed to leave her in the lurch.
Morris was a stylish-looking man, and the spinster received his attentions very favorably. She knew very little about him except that he was in some mysterious business about which he did not speak definitely, except that it required him to travel constantly. Matters progressed until they became engaged. At this point, rather reversing the usual order of things, Miss Marden gave her suitor the ring which he had now lost.
"If we don't marry," she said cautiously, "I shall expect you to give it back."
"Certainly, my dear Josephine," said Morris, "but I shall hold you to your promise."
"You might see some girl younger and fair," said Hiss Marden coyly.
"How could that be?" said Morris with mock ardor, as he bent over her hand and kissed it with secret facial contortions. "Do you doubt my love?"
"I try not to, Ferdinand, but I am no longer in my first youth. I shudder to say it I am twenty nine."
"You were two years older last week," thought Morris.
"I – I don't feel so old," said the spinster, "but I am afraid it is a fact."
"I don't believe you will ever be forty again," thought Morris. "By the way, Josephine, have you thought of that investment I spoke to you about? I can get a hundred shares of mining stock for you, at five dollars a share – the inside price – while to the general public it is only sold at ten."
"It may be as you say, Ferdinand, but my aunt lost money in mining stocks, and I shall hardly dare to venture."
"Confound your aunt!" said Morris to himself. "I assure you, Josephine, this is a chance to double your money in three months."
"Have you invested in it yourself, Ferdinand?"
"Oh, yes," answered Morris, glibly, "I have a hundred and fifty shares."
Suspicious as she was, Miss Morris believed her suitor to be a man of means, and did not doubt his statement.
"Then I hope for your sake it will prove a good investment."
"Confound her!" thought Morris, "there seems no chance to make her open her purse strings. She has got to come down liberally, or I won't marry her."
It was at Miss Marden's door that Ferdinand Morris rang on the evening after the loss of the ring. He would have kept away, but he had promised to call, and Miss Morris was very strict in requiring him to keep his engagements.
He had hardly entered the room when she discovered the loss of the ring.
"What has become of the ring, Ferdinand?" she asked quickly.
"I thought you would miss it," he replied in some confusion.
"Where is it?" I asked Miss Harden peremptorily.
"Plague take the old cat," thought Morris. "I suppose I may as well tell the truth."
"The fact is," he stammered, "it was stolen from me on an Erie train to-day by a pickpocket."
"And you let him do it? What could you be thinking of, Ferdinand?"
"You have no idea how expert these fellows are, Josephine," said Morris, who certainly ought to know.
"I think a man must be inexcusably careless or simple," returned the spinster, "to allow a man to steal a ring from his finger. Do you suspect anybody?"
"Yes; I sat beside a young man dressed up as a countryman. He was such a good imitation, that I was positively taken in. He looked as if he had been driving the plow all his life."
"And he stole the ring?"
"He must have done it. There was no one else near who had the chance."
"But how could he slip it off your finger without your knowing it?"
"The fact is, I fell into a doze, and when I was half asleep the ring was taken. After he had got it he got out at some station, and I am afraid I never shall see him again."
"I am not satisfied with your explanation, Ferdinand."
"You don't mean to say you doubt my word, Josephine?"
"I paid fifty dollars for that ring at a jeweler's on Sixth Avenue, and I don't feel like losing so much money."
"But it is my loss, as you gave it to me."
"You forget that in case our engagement was broken, it was to be returned."
"But you really don't think of breaking the engagement? You don't want to drive me to despair?"
"Do you really love me so much, Ferdinand?" said the spinster, smiling complacently.
"Can you doubt it? It makes me very unhappy to have you find fault with me."
"But you must admit that you were very careless."
"I confess it, but the man looked so innocent."
"Do you think you shall ever meet him again?"
"I think so. He may be in another disguise."
"I will give you four weeks to do so, Ferdinand. If you don't succeed I shall require you to buy another in its place."
"I will do my best," said Morris.
"I really thought you were sharper, Ferdinand. No pickpocket could rob me."
"I may try it some time," thought Morris. "It would be rather a satisfaction to do it too."
"I wonder if I shall meet that country fellow again," thought Morris as he left the house. "If I do I'll see if I can't frighten him into returning my ring."
The very next evening, in passing the Standard Theater, near the corner of Thirty-Third Street Morris saw and instantly recognized the tall, rustic figure and slouching walk of Joshua Bascom. He paused a moment in indecision, then summoning up all his native bravado, he stepped forward, and laid his hand on Joshua's shoulder.
"Look here, my friend," he said in tone of authority, "I have some business with you."
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. BASCOM'S SAD PLIGHT
Joshua turned in alarm, fearing that he was in the hands of a policeman.
"What have I done?" he began. Then recognizing Morris, he said, "Why, it's the man who stole my wallet."
"You must be crazy," rejoined Morris. "I charge you with theft."
"Well, that beats all!" ejaculated Joshua. "Just give me back my ten dollars."
"I admire your cheek, my friend," said Morris, "but it won't go down.
Where is that ring you stole from my finger?"
"You left it in my pocket when you put in your hand and stole my wallet."
"Ha, you confess that you have got it. Where is it?"
"Give me back my wallet and I may tell you."
"My rural friend, you are in great danger. Do you see that policeman coming up the street? Well, I propose to give you in charge unless you give me back my ring."
"I haven't got it," said Joshua, beginning to feel uneasy.
"Then give me fifty dollars, the sum I paid for it."
"Gosh all hemlock!" exclaimed Joshua impatiently. "You talk as if I was a thief instead of you."
"So you are."
"It's a lie."
"Of course you say so. If you haven't fifty dollars, give me all you have, and I'll let you off."
"I won't do it."
"Then you must take the consequences. Here, policeman, I give this man in charge for stealing a valuable ring from me."
"When did he do it – just now?"
"Yes," answered Morris, with unexpected audacity. "He looks like a countryman but he is a crook in disguise."
"Come along, my man!" said the policeman, taking Joshua in tow. "You must come with me."
"I hain't done nothing," said Joshua. "Please let me go, Mr.
Policeman."
"That's what they all say," remarked Morris, shrugging his shoulders.
"I see, he's an old offender," said the intelligent policeman, who had only been on the force three months.
"He's one of the most artful crooks I ever met," said Morris. "You'd swear he was a countryman."
"So I be," insisted Joshua. "I came from Barton, up Elmira way, and I've never been in the city before."
"Hear him!" said Morris, laughing heartily. "Ask him his name."
"My name's Joshua Bascom, and I go to the Baptist church reg'lar – just write and ask Parson Peabody, and he'll tell you I'm perfectly respectable."
"My friend," said Morris, "you can't fool an experienced officer by any such rigmarole. He can read you like a book."
"Of course I can," said the policeman, who felt the more flattered by this tribute because he was really a novice. "As this gentleman says, I knew you to be a crook the moment I set eyes on you."
They turned the corner of Thirtieth Street on their way to the station house. Poor Joshua felt keenly the humiliation and disgrace of his position. It would be in all the papers, he had no doubt, for all such items got into the home papers, and he would not dare show his face in Barton again.
"Am I going to jail?" he asked with keen anguish.
"You'll land there shortly," said Morris.
"But I hain't done a thing."
"Is it necessary for me to go in?" asked Ferdinand Morris, with considerable uneasiness, for he feared to be recognized by some older member of the force.
"Certainly." replied the policeman, "you must enter a complaint against this man."
Morris peered into the station house, but saw no officer likely to remember him, so he summoned up all his audacity and followed the policeman and his prisoner inside. There happened to be no other case ahead, so Joshua was brought forward.
"What has this man done?" asked the sergeant.
"Stolen a ring from this gentleman here," answered the policeman.
"Was the ring found on his person?"
"No, sergeant. He has not been searched."
"Search me if you want to. You won't find anything," said Joshua.
"He has probably thrown it away," said Ferdinand Morris, sotto voce.
"No, I hain't."
"What is your name, sir?" asked the sergeant, addressing Morris.
"My name is Clarence Hale," answered Morris, boldly, taking the name of a young man of respectable family whom he had met casually.
"Where do you live?"
"On Fourth Avenue, sir, near Eleventh Street."
"Do you swear that this man stole your ring?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"In front of the Standard Theater."
"How could he do it?" continued the sergeant. "He could not take it from your hand?"
"It was in my pocket. I found him with his hand in my pocket," answered Morris, glibly.
"By gracious!" ejaculated Joshua, his eyes distended with amazement, "I never heard a fellow lie so slick before, in all my life."
"Silence!" said the sergeant. "Mr. Hale, will you appear to-morrow morning at Jefferson Market, and testify against this man?"
"Yes, sir."
"Officer, have you ever arrested this man before?" went on the sergeant.
"I'm not quite sure, sir. You see he's in disguise now. I think he'swan of the gang."
Things began to look bad for poor Joshua, who was in a fair way to be railroaded to the penitentiary, as no doubt more than one innocent man has been before now, through an unfortunate complication.
"I wish I had some friend to speak up for me," he said, almost sobbing.
"This is awful!"
"So you have!" said an unexpected voice.
Joshua turned, and to his inexpressible relief saw Fred standing on the threshold.
"It's the train boy!" he exclaimed joyfully.
Fred had set out to call upon Joshua that evening, and had chanced to see him going into the station house with the confidence man. He had followed to find out what it meant.
There was one who was not so well pleased to see him. Ferdinand Morris turned pale, and tried to make his escape.
"Excuse me," he said. "I am faint, and must get out into the air."
But Fred stood in his way.
"Not so fast, Mr. Ferdinand Morris," he said. "What trick are you up to now?"
"Do you know this man, Fred?" asked the sergeant, who had known the train boy for three years, for he lived only one block away on the same street.
"Yes, sir, he stole the wallet of this young man on my train on the Erie less than a week since."
"But he said the prisoner stole his ring."
"He left the ring in Mr. Bascom's pocket, when he was feeling for the wallet."
"This is a great mistake," said Morris, hurriedly. "I never saw this train boy before, and haven't traveled on the Erie road for a year."
"This man is telling a falsehood," said Fred.
"Will you swear that he was on your train and robbed this countryman?" asked the sergeant.
"Yes, sir."
"Is there any officer who recognizes him?" the sergeant inquired, looking round the room.
"I do," answered a stout policeman, who just then entered the station house. "I arrested him six months since, but he managed to slip away."
"The prisoner is discharged," said the sergeant. "Hold the complainant instead."
To his great joy Joshua was set free, and Mr. Morris, alias Hale, was collared by a policeman, though he made a desperate struggle to escape.
"I'll get even with you, boy!" said Morris savagely, addressing Fred.
"Come along, Mr. Bascom," said Fred. "I presume you don't care to stay here any longer."
"Not if I know it," said Joshua, fervently. "If I live till to-morrow morning, I'll start back to Barton. I've seen all I want to of York. I won't feel safe till I get home, in sight of the old meetin' house. I wouldn't have dad know I'd been arrested for a load of pumpkins."
CHAPTER IX.
A LONG TRIP
Fred appeared at the depot the next morning the superintendent said to him, "I shall have to change your train to-day. You will wait for the nine o'clock train for Suspension Bridge."
"When shall I get there?"
The superintendent, referring to his schedule of trains, answered, "At 11.44 to-night. The boy who usually goes on this train is sick."
"When shall I return?"
"Let me see, it is Saturday. If you would like to stay over a day and see Niagara Falls, you can do so, and start on your return Monday morning at 8.35. How do you like the arrangement?"
"Very much. I was only thinking how I could get word to my mother. She will feel anxious if I am not back at the usual time."
"You might send her a note by a telegraph messenger."
At this moment Fred espied a boy of his acquaintance in the street outside.
"Here, Charlie Schaeffer," he called, "do you want to earn a quarter?"
"Yes," answered the boy quickly. "What do you want me to do?"
"Take a note to my mother."
"It'll cost me almost a quarter for expenses."
"I will pay that besides."
"All right! Give me the letter."
Fred scribbled these few lines:
DEAR MOTHER,
I am sent to Suspension Bridge and shall not probably be back till late Monday evening, or perhaps Tuesday morning. Don't worry.
FRED.
Charlie Schaeffer, a stout German boy, who was temporarily out of work, was glad of the chance of earning a quarter for himself, and started at once on his errand. Fred, quite elated at the prospect of seeing Niagara Falls, prepared for his trip. He had to carry a larger supply of stock on account of the length of the journey, and was instructed to lay in a fresh supply at Buffalo for the home trip.
He was about to enter the car at ten minutes of nine when Joshua Bascom appeared on the platform with a well-worn carpet-bag in his hand.
"Are you going back, Mr. Bascom?" asked the train boy.
"Yes," answered Joshua. "I don't want to go to no more station houses. I shan't rest easy til I'm back in Barton. You hain't seen any policeman lookin' for me, have you?"
"No; you haven't done anything wrong, have you?"
"Not as I know of, but them cops is very meddlesome. I thought that pickpocket might have set 'em on my track."
"You are safe here. This is New Jersey, and a New York policeman can't arrest you here."
"That's good," said Joshua with an air of relief. "Where are you going to-day?"
"I'm going all the way with you."
"You ain't goin' as far as Barton?"
"Yes, I am, and farther too. I'm going to Niagara."
"You don't say? And you don't have to pay a cent either?"
"No, I get paid for going."
"I wish I was goin' to Niagara with you. By hokey, wouldn't the folks stare if I was to come home and tell 'em I'd seen the Falls!"
"Can't you go?"
"No, I've spent all the money I can afford. I must wait till next year."
"Did you spend all of your money, Mr. Bascom?"
"No," chuckled Joshua. "I've only spent the fifteen dollars I got for that ring, and shall carry home the ten dollars."
"You are an able financier, Mr. Bascom. You've made your expenses, and can afford to go again. You must tell your father how you got the best of a pickpocket."
"So I will. I guess he'll think I'm smarter than he reckoned for."
At about half-past four in the afternoon, Fred was called upon to bid his country friend good-by. Looking from the door of the car, he saw Joshua climb into a hay wagon driven by an elderly man whose appearance led him to conclude that he was the "dad" to whom Joshua had frequently referred.
The sun sank, the darkness came on, but still the train sped swiftly over its iron pathway. The passengers settled back in their seats, some fell asleep, and the hum of conversation ceased. Fred too gave up his trips through the cars, and stretching himself out on a seat, closed his eyes. Presently the train came to a stop, and the conductor, putting in his head at the door, called out "Niagara Falls."
Fred rose hastily, for he had made up his mind to get out at this point. He descended from the train, and found himself on the platform of the station.
He had already selected the hotel, a small one where the rate was very moderate, and as there was no carriage representing it at the train he set out to walk. It was a small, plain-looking inn, of perhaps thirty rooms, named after the proprietor:
THE LYNCH HOUSE.
On the road thither he was overtaken by a stranger, whom he remembered as one of the passengers on the second car. He appeared to be about forty years of age, and though it was a warm summer evening he was muffled up about the neck.
"Are you going to stop here over night?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"You are the train boy, are you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"What hotel shall you put up at?"
"One recommended to me by the conductor – the Lynch House."
"I think I will stop there too."
"You may not like it. It is a small, cheap house."
"It doesn't matter. I am well provided with money, but I don't care for style or fashion. I am an invalid, and I prefer the quiet of a small hotel. There will be less noise and confusion."
"Very well, sir. I think that is the hotel yonder."
Such proved to be the case. It was large on the ground, but only three stories in height. Over the portico was a sign, bearing the name. It was by no means fashionable in its appearance, but looked comfortable.
Fred and the stranger entered. A sleepy-looking clerk sat behind the desk. He opened his eyes, and surveyed the late comers.
"Can you give me a room?" asked Fred.
"I would like one too," said the other.
"We've only got one room left," said the clerk. "That's a back room on the second story. Are you gentlemen in company?"
"No," answered Fred. "We are strangers to each other."
"Then I can't give but one of you a room. If you don't mind rooming together, you can both be accommodated."
"Are there two beds in a room?" asked the stranger.
"Yes."
"Then I don't object to occupying it with this young man. He is a stranger to me, but I watched him on board the train, and I am sure he is all right."
"Thank you, sir," said Fred.
"Well," said the clerk, "what does the boy say?"
Fred looked curiously at his companion. He was so muffled up that he could only see a pair of black eyes, a long sallow nose, and cheeks covered with dark whiskers. The train boy did not fancy his looks much, but could think of no good reason for declining him as a room companion. He felt that the gentleman had paid him a compliment in offering to room with him, particularly when, as he stated, he had a considerable amount of money about him. He paused a moment only, before he said, "Perhaps we may as well room together, then."
"All right! I will go up with you, as the hall boy has gone to bed. I hardly expected any guests by this late train."
The clerk took the stranger's valise – Fred had only a small paper parcel in his hand, containing a clean shirt and a collar which he had bought in Jersey City before taking passage on the train. Up one flight of stairs the clerk preceded them and paused in front of No. 21, the back room referred to. He unlocked the door, and entering, lighted the gas.
It was a room about twelve feet wide by twenty in depth. At each end was a single bedstead.
"I think you will be comfortable," said the clerk. "Is there anything you want before retiring?"
"No," answered both.
