Alger Horatio Jr.
The Young Adventurer: or, Tom's Trip Across the Plains
CHAPTER XVII.
TOM'S ARREST
To one who is scrupulously honest a sudden charge of dishonesty is almost overwhelming. Now, Tom was honest, not so much because he had been taught that honesty was a virtue, as by temperament and instinct. Yet here he saw himself surrounded by hostile faces, for a crowd soon collected. Not one believed in his innocence, not even the lady, who thought it was such a pity that he was "so young and yet so wicked."
"Will somebody call a policeman?" asked Vincent.
A policeman soon made his appearance. He was a stout, burly man, and pushed his way through the crowd without ceremony.
"What's the row?" he inquired.
"This boy has picked a lady's pocket," exclaimed Vincent.
The officer placed his hand roughly on Tom's shoulder.
"You were a little too smart, young feller!" said he. "You must come along with me."
"I didn't take the money," protested Tom, pale, but in a firm voice.
"That's too thin," said Vincent, with a sneer.
"Yes, it's too thin," repeated two or three in the crowd.
"It's true," said Tom.
"Perhaps you'll tell us how the money came in your pocket," suggested a bystander.
"That man put it in," answered Tom, indicating Vincent.
The latter shrugged his shoulders.
"He says so, because I exposed him," he remarked, turning to the crowd.
"Of course; that's a common game," interposed the policeman.
"Have you any reason for what you say, my boy?" asked a quiet-looking man, with a pleasant face.
"Of course he hasn't," replied Vincent hastily.
"I spoke to the boy, sir."
"I have a reason," answered Tom. "A friend of this man roomed with me at Pittsburg, and during the night tried to rob me. We were both passengers on the River Belle on the last trip. During the trip he entered our stateroom, and stole a wallet from my roommate. This man slyly put it into my pocket, in order to escape suspicion."
"It's a lie!" exclaimed Vincent uneasily. "Gentlemen, the boy is very artful, and the greatest liar out."
"Of course he is!" assented the policeman. "Come along, young feller!"
"Wait a minute," said the quiet man. "Have you any proof of your statements, my boy, except your own word?"
"Yes, sir; my roommate will tell you the same thing."
"Who is he? Where can he be found?"
"He is Mr. Nicholas Waterbury, of Marietta. He is now at the Burnet House."
"That's all gammon!" said the officer roughly. "Come along. I can't wait here all day."
"Don't be in a hurry, officer," said the quiet man. "I know Mr. Waterbury, and I believe the boy's story is correct."
"It ain't any of your business!" said the officer insolently. "The boy's a thief, and I'm goin' to lock him up."
"Look out, sir!" said the quiet man sternly. "You are overstepping the limits of your duty, and asserting what you have no possible means of knowing. There is reason to believe that this man" – pointing out Vincent – "is the real thief. I call upon you to arrest him."
"I don't receive no orders from you, sir," said the policeman. "I'm more likely to take you along."
"That's right, officer," said Vincent approvingly. "The man is interfering with you in the exercise of your duty. You have a perfect right to arrest him."
"I have a great mind to," said the officer, who was one of the many who are puffed up by a little brief authority, and lose no opportunity of exercising it.
The quiet man did not seem in the least alarmed. He smiled, and said, "Perhaps, officer, it might be well for you to inquire my name, before proceeding to arrest me."
"Who are you?" demanded the officer insolently.
"I am Alderman Morris."
A great change came over the policeman. He knew now that the quiet man before him was President of the Board of Aldermen, and he began to be alarmed, remembering with what rudeness he had treated him.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said humbly; "I didn't know you."
"What is your name, sir?" demanded the alderman, in a tone of authority.
"Jones, sir."
"How long have you been on the force?"
"Six months, your honor."
"Then you ought to be better fitted for your position by this time."
"I hope you won't take no offense at what I said, not knowing you, alderman."
"That's no personal offense, but I object to your pronouncing upon the guilt of parties arrested when you know nothing of the matter."
"Shall I take the boy along, sir?"
"Yes, and this man also. I don't wish to interfere with the exercise of justice, but it is my opinion that the boy is innocent."
"I protest against this outrage," said Vincent nervously. "Am I to be punished because I expose a thief?"
"Come along, sir," said the policeman. "The alderman says so."
"I appeal to the gentlemen present," said Vincent, hoping for a forcible deliverance.
"Madam," said the alderman to the lady who had been robbed, "did you see the boy take your pocketbook?"
"No, sir! I thought it was the man, till he told me it was the boy, and the money was found on the boy."
"I should think that told the story," said Vincent. "Any man here might be arrested as soon as I. Fellow citizens, is this a free country, where a man of reputation can be summarily arrested at the bidding of another? If so, I would rather live under a monarchy."
There was a murmur of approval, and some sympathy was excited.
"There will be no injustice done, sir," said the alderman. "I propose to follow up this matter myself. I will see my friend, Mr. Waterbury, and I can soon learn whether the boy's story is correct."
"He may lie, too!" said Vincent, who had very good reasons for fearing Mr. Waterbury's testimony.
"Mr. Waterbury is a gentleman of veracity," said Alderman Morris sharply. "I see you recognize the name."
"Never heard of him," said Vincent. "I suppose it is one of the boy's confederates."
"I will answer for him," said the alderman. "My boy," he said, "I hope we shall be able to prove your innocence. Be under no anxiety. Go with the officer, and I will seek out Mr. Waterbury. Officer, take care to treat him gently."
"All right, sir."
There was no fear now that Tom would be roughly treated. He had too much regard for his own interest, and his tenure of office, to disoblige a man so influential and powerful as Alderman Morris.
Notwithstanding there had been such a turn in his favor, Tom felt humiliated to feel that he was under restraint, and his cheeks burned with shame as he walked beside the officer. Vincent, upon the other side, gnashed his teeth with rage, as he thought of his unexpected detention. Just as revenge was in his grasp, he had been caught in the same trap which he had so willingly set for Tom.
"That Alderman Morris is a fool!" he said. "He isn't fit to be in office."
"Don't you say nothin' against him!" said the policeman. "It won't be best for you. He's one of our leadin' citizens, Alderman Morris is."
"He snubbed you!" sneered Vincent. "He talked to you as if you were a dog."
"No, he didn't. You'd better shut up, prisoner."
"Oh, well, if you're willing to be trampled upon, it isn't any of my business. I wouldn't stand it, alderman or no alderman. Such things wouldn't be allowed in New York, where I live."
"Oh, New York's a model city, so I've heard," retorted the policeman, in a tone of sarcasm. "We don't pretend to come up to New York."
Finding that nothing was to be gained by continuing his attacks upon the alderman, Vincent became silent; but his brain was active. He felt that Mr. Waterbury's testimony would be fatal to him. He must escape, if possible. Soon a chance came. He seized his opportunity, shook off the grasp of the officer, and darted away. Not knowing what to do with Tom, who was also under arrest, the officer paused an instant, then, leaving our hero, hastened in pursuit.
"Now's your chance to escape, boy!" said a sympathetic bystander to him.
"I don't want to escape," answered Tom. "I want my innocence proved. I shall stay where I am till the officer returns."
And he kept his word. Ten minutes later the officer came back, puffing and panting, after an unsuccessful pursuit; prepared to find Tom gone also.
"What, are you there?" he asked, staring in wonder.
"Yes," said Tom; "I don't want to escape. I shall come out right."
"I believe you will," said the officer, with a revulsion of sentiment in Tom's favor. "Just walk along beside me, and I won't take hold of you. I'm not afraid of your running away now."
CHAPTER XVIII.
TOM GETS OUT OF HIS DIFFICULTY
Tom had not been long in the station-house when Alderman Morris, accompanied by Mr. Waterbury, entered. The latter looked at Tom with a humorous smile.
"You don't appear to get along very well without my guardianship, Tom," he said.
"No, sir," answered Tom. "The trouble is, some of my other friends can't let me alone."
"Was it in a fit of emotional insanity that you relieved the lady of her pocketbook?" asked Mr. Waterbury, bent on keeping up the joke.
"If I ever do such a thing, you may be sure it is because I am insane," answered Tom positively.
"I shall," said Mr. Waterbury seriously. "Now, where is this precious acquaintance of ours who got you into this scrape?"
"He has escaped."
"Escaped!" exclaimed the alderman hastily. "How is that?"
Here the policeman took up the story, and explained that Vincent had taken advantage of his double charge to effect his escape.
"I suppose, officer," said Mr. Waterbury, "that you were unwilling to leave Tom in order to pursue him."
"I did leave him, sir, and didn't expect to find him when I got back. But there he was, waiting for me as quietly as – anything."
"Didn't you feel tempted to escape, too, my boy?"
"Why should I, sir? I had done nothing; I had nothing to fear."
"Innocence is not always a protection, for justice is sometimes far from clear-sighted. In the present case, however, I think you will not suffer for your confidence."
Tom was not brought to trial. Mr. Waterbury's statement of what had passed on the voyage of the River Belle was held to be sufficient to establish Tom's innocence, and he was allowed to walk out with Mr. Waterbury.
"Have you anything to do this morning, Tom?" asked his friend.
"No, sir."
"Then come around and dine with me at the Burnet House. Afterward we will call upon your friends, the Watsons."
Mrs. Watson and Jennie had altered their plans and gone to a boarding-house, preferring that to a hotel.
"That will be agreeable to me, sir."
The dinner was excellent, and Tom did full justice to it.
"At one time this morning, Tom, it looked as if you would dine at quite a different place," said Mr. Waterbury, when they were eating the dessert.
"Yes, sir."
"You won't think much of Cincinnati's hospitality, eh, Tom?"
"Any place would be the same, where Vincent was," returned Tom.
"Very true; he and Graham will bring discredit on any city which they adopt as a home. How long shall you remain here?"
"I should like to stay long enough to see something of the city, but I cannot afford it. I must reach California as soon as possible."
"No doubt you are right, in your circumstances. I have been inquiring for you, and find that St. Joseph, in Missouri, is the usual starting-point for travelers across the plains. I find an acquaintance here in the hotel, who will start to-morrow for that place. I have mentioned you to him, and he says he shall be glad to have your company so far. Whether you keep together afterward will depend upon yourselves."
"I shall be glad to have company, sir," said Tom. Though manly and self-reliant, he realized that it was quite a serious undertaking for a boy of his age to make the trip alone. He was not sure of meeting with another friend like Mr. Waterbury, and there might be danger of falling in with another brace of worthies like Graham and Vincent.
"My friend's name is Ferguson – a Scotchman, rather sedate, but entirely trustworthy. I will introduce you this evening."
"Thank you, sir."
After dinner they walked to Mrs. Watson's boarding-house. Somewhere on Vine Street, Mr. Waterbury paused in front of a jewelry store.
"I want to step in here a minute, Tom," he said.
"Certainly, sir."
Tom remained near the door, while Mr. Waterbury went into the back part of the store, where he was occupied for a few minutes with one of the proprietors. When he came back he held a small box in his hand.
"Please carry this for me, Tom," he said.
"With pleasure, sir."
They went out into the street together.
"Do you know what is in the box, Tom?" asked Mr. Waterbury.
"No, sir," answered our hero, a little surprised at the question.
"You didn't see what I was buying, then?" continued Mr. Waterbury.
"No, sir; I was watching the crowds on the sidewalk."
"If you have any curiosity, you may open the box."
Previously Tom had felt no curiosity. Now he did feel a little.
Opening the box, his eye rested on a neat silver watch, with a chain attached. The case was a pretty one, and Tom glanced at it with approval.
"It is very pretty, sir," he said; "but I thought you had a watch already."
"I didn't buy it for myself."
"For your son?" asked Tom innocently.
Mr. Waterbury smiled.
"I thought of asking your acceptance of it," he said.
"You don't mean that you are going to give it to me, sir?" said Tom eagerly.
"If you will accept it."
"How kind you are, Mr. Waterbury!" exclaimed Tom gratefully. "There is nothing in the world that I should like so much. How can I thank you?"
"By considering it a proof of my interest in you. I was sure you would like it. Before I had reached your age the great object of my ambition was a watch. I received one from my uncle, as a gift, on my seventeenth birthday. I believe I looked at it once in five minutes on an average during the first day."
"I dare say it will be so with me, sir," said Tom, who, at the moment, had the watch in his hand, examining it.
"As you are to rough it, I thought it best to get you a hunting-case watch, because it will be less liable to injury. When you become a man I hope you will be prosperous enough to buy a gold watch and chain, if you prefer them. While you are a boy silver will be good enough."
"Gold wouldn't correspond very well with my circumstances," said Tom. "I didn't dream of even having a silver watch and chain for years to come. I shall write home this evening, and tell mother of my good luck."
"Will you mention that you have already been under arrest?" asked Mr. Waterbury, smiling.
Tom shook his head.
"I am not proud of that," he answered; "and it would only trouble them at home to have an account of it. When I get home, I may mention it sometime."
"Better put on your watch and chain, Tom, before we reach Mrs. Watson's."
Tom needed no second invitation.
"It's lucky mother put a watch-pocket in my vest," he said. "We didn't either of us suppose there would be any occasion for it; but I asked her to do it."
In a nice-looking brick boarding-house – for brown-stone houses were not then often to be found – Tom and his friend found Mrs. Watson and Jennie.
"I'm so glad to see you, Tom," said Jennie. "I've missed you awfully."
"Thank you," said Tom. "I've come to bid you good-by."
"Good-by! You don't mean that?"
"I expect to start for St. Joseph to-morrow. I am in a hurry to get to California."
"That's real mean. I don't see why you can't stay in Cincinnati a week."
"I should like to."
"Then why don't you?" persisted the young girl.
"Jennie," said her mother, "we must remember that Thomas is not traveling for pleasure. He is going to California to seek his fortune. It won't do for him to linger on his way."
"A week won't make much difference; will it, Tom?"
"I am afraid it will, Jennie. Besides, a friend of Mr. Waterbury will start to-morrow, and has agreed to take me with him."
"I suppose you've got to go, then," said Jennie regretfully. "Oh, where did you get that watch, Tom?"
"A kind friend gave it to me."
"Who do you mean – Mr. Graham?" she asked archly.
"He would be more likely to relieve me of it. No, it is Mr. Waterbury."
"I am going to kiss you for that, Mr. Waterbury," said Jennie impulsively; and she suited the action to the word.
"What will Mr. Waterbury think, Jennie?" said her mother.
"He thinks himself well repaid for his gift," answered that gentleman, smiling; "and half inclined to give Tom another watch."
"Isn't it my turn, now?" asked Tom, with a courage at which he afterward rather wondered; but he was fast getting rid of his country bashfulness.
"I never kiss boys," said Jennie demurely.
"Then I will grow into a man as fast as I can," said Tom, "and give somebody a watch, and then – But that will be a good while to wait."
"I may kiss you good-by," said Jennie, "if I feel like it."
She did feel like it, and Tom received the kiss.
"It strikes me, Tom," said Mr. Waterbury, as they were walking home, "that you and Jennie are getting along fast."
"She kissed you first," said Tom, blushing.
"But the kiss she gave me was wholly on your account."
"She seems just like a sister," said Tom. "She's a tip-top girl."
CHAPTER XIX.
A MISSOURI TAVERN
The next day Tom started on his way. His new companion, Donald Ferguson, was a sedate Scotchman, and a thoroughly reliable man. He was possessed to the full of the frugality characteristic of the race to which he belonged, and, being more accustomed to traveling than Tom, saved our hero something in the matter of expense. He was always ready to talk of Scotland, which he evidently thought the finest country in the world. He admitted that Glasgow was not as large a city as London, but that it was more attractive. As for New York, that city bore no comparison to the chief city of Scotland.
"You must go to Scotland some time, Tom," he said. "If you can't visit but one country in the Old World, go to Scotland."
Privately Tom was of opinion that he should prefer to visit England; but he did not venture to hurt the feelings of his fellow-traveler by saying so.
"I wonder, Mr. Ferguson," he could not help saying one day, "that you should have been willing to leave Scotland, since you so much prefer it to America."
"I'll tell you, my lad," answered the Scotchman. "I would rather live in Scotland than anywhere else on God's footstool; but I won't be denying that it is a poor place for a man to make money, if compared with a new country like this."
"There are no gold-mines, I suppose, sir?"
"No; and the land is not as rich as the land here. It is rich in historical associations; but a man, you know, can't live on those," he added shrewdly.
"No, I should think not," said Tom. "It would be pretty dry diet. How long have you been in the country, Mr. Ferguson?"
"A matter of three months only, my lad. It's the gold-mines that brought me over. I read of them in the papers at home, and I took the first ship across the Atlantic."
"Have you a family, Mr. Ferguson?"
"I've got an old mother at home, my lad, who looks to me for support. I left fifty pounds with her when I came away. It'll last her, I'm thinkin', till I can send her some from California."
"Then Mr. Ferguson, you are like me," said Tom. "I am going to California to work for my father and mother. Father is poor, and I have brothers and sisters at home to provide for. I hope I shall succeed, for their sake."
"You will, my lad," said the Scotchman, in a tone of calm confidence. "It is a noble purpose, and if you keep to it God will bless you in your undertaking, and give you a good fortune."
"I hope we shall both be fortunate."
"I have no fear. I put my trust in the Lord, who is always ready to help those who are working for him."
Tom found that Mr. Ferguson, though his manner was dry and unattractive, was a religious man, and he respected and esteemed him for his excellent traits. He was not a man to inspire warm affection, but no one could fail to respect him. He felt that he was fortunate in having such a man for his companion, and he was glad that Mr. Ferguson appeared to like him in turn.
He also found that the Scotchman, though a man of peace, and very much averse to quarreling, was by no means deficient in the trait of personal courage.
One evening they arrived at a small tavern in a Missouri town. Neither Tom nor his companion particularly liked the appearance of the place nor its frequenters, but it appeared to be the only place of entertainment in the settlement.
The barroom, which was the only public room set apart for the use of the guests, was the resort of a party of drunken roisterers, who were playing poker in the corner, and betting on the game. At the elbow of each player was set a glass of whisky, and the end of each game was marked by a fresh glass all around.
Tom and Mr. Ferguson took a walk after supper, and then sat down quietly at a little distance from the card-players, attracting at first but little attention from them.
Presently, at the close of a game, glasses were ordered for the party, at the expense of those who had suffered defeat.
"What'll you have, strangers?" inquired a tipsy fellow, with an Indian complexion and long black hair, staggering toward Ferguson.
"Thank you, sir," said the Scotchman; "but I don't drink."
"Don't drink!" exclaimed the former, in evident surprise. "What sort of a man, pray, may you be?"
"I am a temperance man," said Ferguson, adding indiscreetly, "and it would be well for you all if you would shun the vile liquor which is destroying soul and body."
" – your impudence!" ejaculated the other, in a rage. "Do you dare to insult gentlemen like us?"
"I never insult anybody," said the Scotchman calmly. "What I have said is for your good, and you would admit it if you were sober."
"Do you dare to say I'm drunk?" demanded the man, in a fury.
"Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, in a low voice, "I wouldn't provoke him if I were you."
But the Scotchman was no coward, and, though generally prudent, he was too fond of argument to yield the point.
"Of course, you're drunk," he said calmly. "If you will reflect, you show all the signs of a man that has taken too much liquor. Your face is flushed, your hand is unsteady, and – "
He was interrupted by a volley of execrations from the man whom he was coolly describing, and the latter, in a fit of fury, struck the Scotchman in the face. Had the blow been well directed it would, for the time, have marred the small share of personal beauty with which nature had endowed Mr. Ferguson; but it glanced aside and just struck him on his prominent cheek-bone.
"A ring! a ring!" shouted the men in the corner, jumping to their feet in excitement. "Let Jim and the Scotchman fight it out."
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Ferguson, "I don't wish to fight with your friend. He is drunk, as you can see plainly enough. I don't wish to fight with a drunken man."
"Who says I am drunk?" demanded the champion of whisky. "Let me get at him."
But his friends were now holding him back. They wanted to see a square fight, according to rule. It would prove, in their opinion, a pleasant little excitement.
"I meant no offense," said Ferguson; "I only told the truth."
"You are a – liar!" exclaimed the man, known as Jim.
"I do not heed the words of a man in your condition," said the Scotchman calmly.
"Pull his nose, Jim! Make him fight!" exclaimed the friends of the bully. "We'll back you!"
The hint was taken. Jim staggered forward, and, seizing the Scotchman's prominent nose, gave it a violent tweak.
Now there are few men, with or without self-respect, who can calmly submit to an insult like this. Certainly Mr. Donald Ferguson was not one of them. The color mantled his high cheek-bones, and anger gained dominion over him. He sprang to his feet, grasped the bully in his strong arms, dashed him backward upon the floor of the barroom, and, turning to the companions of the fallen man, he said, "Now come on, if you want to fight. I'll take you one by one, and fight the whole of you, if you like."
Instead of being angry, they applauded his pluck. They cared little for the fate of their champion, but were impressed by the evident strength of the stranger.
"Stranger," said one of them, "you've proved that you're a man of honor. We thought you were a coward. It's a pity you don't drink. What may your name be?"
"Donald Ferguson."
"Then, boys, here's to the health of Mr. Ferguson. He's a bully boy, and no coward."
"Gentlemen," said the Scotchman, "it's a compliment you mean, no doubt, and I'm suitably thankful. If you'll allow me, I'll drink your health in a liquor which will not injure any one. I'll wish you health and prosperity in a glass of cold water, if the barkeeper happens to have any of that beverage handy. Tom, join with me in the toast."
Tom did so, and the speech was well received.
"As for this gentleman," said Mr. Ferguson, addressing Jim, who had struggled to his feet, and was surveying the scene in rather a bewildered way, "I hope he won't harbor malice; I've only got even with him. We may as well forgive and forget."
"That's the talk! Jim, drink the stranger's health!"
Jim looked a little doubtful, but when a glass of whisky was put into his hand he could not resist the seductive draft, and tossed it down.
"Now shake hands!" said one of the players.
"With all my heart," said Ferguson, and the two shook hands, to the great delight of the company.
"You got off pretty well, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, when they retired for the night.
"Yes, my lad, better than I expected. I thought once I would have to fight the whole pack. Poor fellows! I pity them. They are but slaves to their appetites. I hope, my lad, you'll never yield to a like temptation."
"No fear for me, Mr. Ferguson. I feel as you do on the subject."
The journey continued till one day, about noon, they reached the town of St, Joseph, popularly called St. Joe.
