Stratemeyer Edward
Out For Business or Robert Frost's Strange Career
CHAPTER XVI.
TWO DISAPPOINTMENTS
"I must hear all they have to say," thought Robert.
Ordinarily he despised playing the part of an eavesdropper, but in the present instance he felt justified in doing so.
"It ees a great pity zat man came to help Mistair Amberton," went on the Canadian. "Who is he, do you know, Mistair Hammerditch?"
"His name is Marden and he is Amberton's nephew."
"He seem to be verra smart, as you call heem."
"Perhaps he is smart, Le Fevre. But I don't think he can outwit me," returned Oscar Hammerditch. He was one of the kind of men who hold a very exalted opinion of themselves.
The French Canadian nodded his round head rapidly.
"No, he cannot outwit you—nor Jean Le Fevre. Once we have ze map and all will be well."
At that moment the clerk came forward again.
"Mr. Ruggles is at liberty now," he said to Robert. "You had best go in at once, before one of the clerks engages him."
"Thank you, I will," answered the boy.
"I wish he had left me to listen to those schemers a bit longer," was what he thought.
But there seemed no help for it, and leaving the Englishman and the Canadian talking earnestly to each other he entered the private office of the proprietor of the firm.
Mr. Ruggles proved to be a pleasant man past middle age.
"If you have been waiting to see me I am sorry for you," he said, after Robert had stated the object of his visit. "I engaged a clerk less than an hour ago."
This was a set-back and the boy's face fell.
"I am sorry too," he said. "I imagine this office would just suit me."
"You can leave your name and address. Perhaps the other young man may not be suitable. Have you any recommendations?"
"I worked for Mr. Peter Gray, the cut-rate ticket man. We were burnt out, and Mr. Gray doesn't know what he is going to do next."
"I know Mr. Gray, and if he can recommend you that will be sufficient. Here is a sheet of paper. Do you know what I pay a clerk at the start?"
"No, sir?"
"Can you keep an ordinary set of books?"
"Yes, sir."
"How about writing an ordinary business letter?"
"I wrote many letters for Mr. Gray."
"In that case I would be willing to start you at eight dollars per week, and after six months I would raise you to ten dollars."
"That would be satisfactory."
"Then leave your name and address. Even if that new clerk does suit there may be another opening before long—although I would not advise you to lay back and depend upon it."
"I couldn't afford to lay back, sir."
"You have to support yourself?"
"I do."
"Then I trust you get an opening soon—if I cannot use you," concluded Mr. Ruggles.
Robert wrote out his name in his best style, and added the address of his boarding house. The handwriting pleased the map-publisher, but he put it on file without comment. Then the boy bowed himself out.
"What a nice man," he thought. "I like him even better than I do Mr. Gray."
He was pleased to think that, although there was no immediate opening for him, there might be one in the near future.
As Robert entered the outer office he looked around for the Englishman and the Canadian. They were nowhere to be seen.
"They are either in one of the other offices or they have gone," he said to himself. "I'd give a good deal to know just what they are up to. When I write to Mr. Marden I must tell him about the pair."
Once on the sidewalk the boy hardly knew how to turn. He had one more place on his list—that of a wholesale butcher, but the idea of working in a packing house did not please him.
"I don't believe it would suit me," he said to himself. "Especially if I had to work down by the stockyards."
Nevertheless, he was resolved not to remain idle if it could be helped, and so started out to find the address.
The locality was some distance from the center of the city and in a neighborhood filled with factories and saloons. At the corner of the block upon which the packing establishment was located, Robert came to a halt.
"I don't believe mother would like me to work in such a place as this," he mused. "The folks may be honest enough, but they don't know the meaning of the word refinement."
"Lookin' fer sumthin', mister?"
The question came from a very small and very dirty boy who had brushed up against Robert's elbow.
"Hardly," answered Robert. "Is that Rogers' packing house over there?"
"Yes."
"Thank you, that's all I wanted to know."
"Goin' in to see Mr. Rogers?"
"I was thinking of it."
"Better not go now?"
"Why?"
"He jest came out of O'Grady's saloon and he's more'n half full."
"Do you mean drunk?"
"Dat's it."
"Then I don't think I care to see him."
"Does he owe you anything?" went on the street urchin, with a coolness that swallowed up the impertinence of the question.
"No, he doesn't owe me anything. He advertised for a clerk and I had a notion I would strike for the situation," answered Robert, who could not help but like the street lad, he had such an open, friendly face.
"He had a fight with one o' his clerks day before yesterday, an' the clerk got a black eye."
"Indeed. And what did the clerk do?"
"I heard dad say he was going to have old Rogers arrested, but Rogers gave him some extry money to keep still about it."
"And that is the reason he wants a new clerk, eh?" said Robert, with a short laugh. "Well, I don't think I'll apply."
"Couldn't you lick old Rogers if he hit you first?"
"I wouldn't want to get into a fight with him."
"He's a terror when he's half drunk—my dad says so."
"Does he work in the place?"
"Yes, he's a butcher."
"And did he ever have any trouble?"
"Lots of times. Once old Rogers followed my dad with a butcher knife, but dad up and knocked the knife from his hand with a club."
"And what did your father do then?"
"He was goin' to have old Rogers locked up for salt the battery, or sumt'ing like that, but Rogers he raised dad's wages a dollar a week, an' so dad didn't do nuthin."
"Evidently Mr. Rogers thinks money will cover everything," said Robert. "Well, it wouldn't cover everything with me."
"I'd like to see old Rogers git one good wallopin'—an' so would all of the boys around here. He won't let none of us around the packing house to see what's going on. He calls us all a set of thieves."
"He certainly must be a hard man to work for," concluded Robert. "I don't want to go near him," and with this remark he walked back the way he had come.
CHAPTER XVII.
ROBERT IS GIVEN A MISSION
"Well, what luck?" asked Livingston Palmer, when he and Robert met again.
"No luck at all," answered Robert.
"That's bad."
"One man said he might have an opening in the near future."
"That's all right, but a fellow can't live on promises."
"Exactly my idea."
"Why don't you try the stage, as I am going to do."
"I don't believe I can act."
"No one knows what is in him until he tries. Didn't you ever recite?"
"In school, yes. But I don't think I ever made a hit, as actors call it."
"If you managed to get in with Jack Dixon I might be able to coach you in your part," said Livingston Palmer loftily.
"Have you had a part assigned to you yet?" asked Robert curiously.
"Yes. We are to play two plays, 'The Homeless Sister,' and 'All for Love.' In 'The Homeless Sister' I am to take the part of a heartless landlord, and in 'All for Love' I am a butler in a Fifth Avenue mansion in New York."
"Are they leading parts?"
"Well—er—hardly. Dixon says he can't put me in leading parts yet, for it would make the older actors jealous."
"I see."
"He says he will shove me ahead as soon as I've made a hit."
"Then I trust you make a hit on the opening night."
"Oh, I certainly shall. I have my lines down fine, and Dixon says my make-up is just what it ought to be."
"Aren't you afraid of being nervous?"
"Nervous? Not a bit. Did you ever see me nervous, Frost?"
"No—excepting–" Robert was going to mention the time when the adorable Alameda's husband had called at the ticket office, but cut himself short.
"Excepting when?"
"It's of no consequence, Palmer."
"But I demand to know when I was ever nervous," insisted the would-be actor.
"Well, you were rather put out when the husband of that variety actress called upon you."
"Oh! Well—er—I'll admit it. But that was an unusual case, wasn't it?"
"I presume so. Does she know you are going on the stage?"
"Yes; I took particular pains to let her hear of it, through one of the ladies of our combination."
"And did you hear what she said?"
"The lady says she laughed and said I would ruin Dixon. But I'll show her that she is mistaken," added Livingston Palmer, drawing himself up to his full height and inflating his chest. "Robert, I am a born actor—I feel it in my bones."
"Do your bones ache?"
"You know what I mean. Shall I give you a sample of what I am to do?"
"If you get through by the time the supper bell rings. My walk has made me tremendously hungry."
"The part of the landlord is not a long one—in fact it contains but six speeches each about thirty words in length. At first I come into the parlor where the guests have arrived. I make a low bow and turn to the gentleman and say: 'What, it is my father's friend, Roger Brockbury, as I live! Thrice welcome to the Lion Inn, sir. And what is the matter with the lady, sir?'"
As Palmer began to recite he strutted around in grand style, ending by elevating his eyebrows, clenching his fists and throwing his head so far back that he nearly lost his balance.
"Is that what you have to say?" questioned Robert, who could scarcely keep from laughing outright.
"Yes. How do you like it?"
"You'll certainly make them take notice of you?"
"I knew you would say that. Why, Robert, it won't be a month before I'm the star of the combination."
"You have my best wishes."
"Shall I take you to see Jack Dixon?"
"No—at least, not for the present."
"But you may be missing the chance of your life."
"No, I'm no actor. I believe I was cut out for some office business and nothing else."
"Do you mean to say you would be content to sit on a high stool keeping books all your life? That wouldn't suit me."
"No, I don't mean that exactly. I would like to manage some large office business—after I had learned it thoroughly."
"Of course that is somewhat better."
At that moment the supper bell rang, and Palmer took his leave, to go to the theater for rehearsal. As Robert went down to the dining room of the boarding house he could not help but utter a short sigh.
"Poor Palmer," he mused. "He means well, but I'm afraid he will make an awful mess of it."
The evening was spent in his room reading a paper, for Robert was in no humor to go anywhere, even if he had felt like spending any money.
"I must try my luck again to-morrow," was his resolve. "And I must get around early, too."
He was up before seven o'clock, and dressing hastily, went out and purchased several newspapers. At the house he sat down in the sitting room to examine the Help Wanted columns, as he had done the day before.
Presently he heard the postman's whistle and ring. Soon after one of the servant girls came in with a letter for him.
It was from Timberville, as he could see by the postmark, and he tore it open eagerly, feeling it must have been sent by Dick Marden.
The communication interested Robert deeply. It ran as follows:
"My Dear Robert:
"I have just learned by the newspapers that Peter Gray's office was burnt out last Sunday. I see that the loss was heavy, and in an interview Gray says he may not resume.
"This will, of course, throw you out of a position. In one way I am sorry of it; in another, I am glad.
"I hate to have you compelled to make a change, yet, as matters have turned, I would like to have a smart boy like you up here to help me, since my uncle is worse than before and those swindlers—for such they are—are determined to get the lumber lands away from him.
"In the crowd are two men, a French Canadian Le Fevre and an Englishman named Hammerditch. They want to get hold of an old map which was in the possession of a certain lumberman named Herman Wenrich. This lumberman used to live in upper Michigan but now resides in Chicago.
"If you can do so, I would like you to find Herman Wenrich and get the map from him, even if you have to pay fifty or a hundred dollars for it. The map will be valuable in showing up the actual grants which belong to my uncle.
"In case Wenrich cannot be found in the course of two or three days you can drop the matter and come on to here without further delay. I send you some money in case the fire has left you short, and in case you have a chance to buy the map.
"Yours truly,
"Richard Marden."
Enclosed in the letter were money orders amounting to one hundred and fifty dollars.
"I'm glad I didn't get a job now," thought Robert. "If I had I would only had to have thrown it up. I'll go down to the post-office at once, get those money orders cashed, and then go on a hunt for Herman Wenrich."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE POST-OFFICE MONEY ORDER
Robert had been to the post-office a number of times for Mr. Gray, so he made his way there after breakfast without difficulty.
He found the money-order department somewhat crowded, and had to take his place at the end of a line numbering a dozen persons or more.
While he was moving toward the window his attention was attracted to a loudly-dressed individual, who came in and glanced around as if looking for somebody he knew.
The man singled out Robert and came up to him.
"Are you acquainted here, young man?" he asked, in a low tone, so that those standing around might not hear.
"What do you mean?" asked the youth.
He was positive he had never seen the loudly-dressed individual before.
"I mean do they know you at yonder window?"
"One of the clerks knows me."
"Then I wish you would do me a favor. My name is Charles Shotmore. I come from Lexington. I received a money order yesterday from my aunt, with whom I reside, and I want to get the order cashed."
"Well?"
"Won't you identify me? Of course, it's a mere matter of form, but it places one in a regular hole if one is not known," went on the man glibly. "You know they are very particular just at present, although they didn't used to be."
"But I don't know you," said Robert, with considerable surprise.
"I have just told you my name—Charles Shotmore, of Lexington. My aunt's name is Caroline Shotmore. And your name is–?" The man paused, expecting Robert to fill in the blank.
But the youth had seen enough of city life to make him shy of strangers, and he did not mention his name.
"Never mind about my name," he said coldly.
"Won't you identify me?"
"How can I when I do not know you."
"I have just told you my name. Isn't that sufficient?"
"Why don't you tell them the same thing at the window?"
"Because they are too particular."
"I don't think they are."
"Then you won't do me the favor?" And the loudly-dressed individual frowned darkly.
"I cannot, conscientiously."
"Humph! it seems to me you are mighty particular."
"And you are very forward," retorted Robert, and turned his back on the fellow. The man started to say more, but suddenly turned and walked to the corner of the room.
Robert had no difficulty in getting his money orders cashed.
"For yourself?" said the clerk, with a smile.
"Yes."
"You're in luck."
"I've got to use most of the money," answered the boy, and left the window.
A hundred and fifty dollars was quite a sum, even for Robert to handle, and he placed the amount in the breast pocket of his coat.
The flashily-dressed man saw the youth stow the bank bills away, and his eyes glistened greedily.
He was a sharper by the name of Andy Cross, and it is doubtful if he had ever done an honest day's work in his life.
The money order he carried was one belonging to a man who had been stopping at the same boarding place at which Andy Cross had put up.
The order had come in a letter the day before, and Cross was anxious to get it cashed before Charles Shotmore should become aware of his loss.
"I've a good mind to follow that boy and see if I can't get hold of that money," said Cross to himself.
As Robert went out of the post-office he came behind him.
Not far away was a drug store, where several directories lay on a stand for the use of the public.
Robert stepped into the drug store to look for Herman Wenrich's name in the directory, and Andy Cross took a stand outside where he might watch the boy.
While the sharper was waiting, he felt himself touched on the arm, and wheeling about, found himself confronted by the man to whom the stolen money order belonged.
"Mr. Smith, I wish to speak to you," said Charles Shotmore, somewhat excitedly. He did not know Cross' real name, for he had never heard it.
"What do you want?" demanded Andy Cross, as coolly as he could, although he was much disconcerted.
"I—I—that is, I believe you have a letter belonging to me."
"A letter belonging to you?"
"Yes."
"I have no such letter, Mr. Shotmore. What makes you think I have?"
"The servant at the boarding house says a letter came yesterday for me, and that she saw you pick it up from the hall rack."
"She is mistaken."
"She says she is positive, and—and she says your record is none of the best."
"Sir, do you mean to insult me!" demanded Cross, but his face turned pale with sudden fear.
"The girl comes from the South End, and she says you are known by the name of Cross. She is positive you took my letter, and I want it."
"Preposterous! Why should I take your letter?"
"I don't know. But I was expecting a money order from my aunt, and if it was in the letter I want it."
"Did you follow me to here?" asked Andy Cross, nervously.
"I came down to the post-office, yes, for that is where they cash money orders."
"Well, I haven't your money order, and that is all there is to it. Let go of my arm."
For Charles Shotmore had clutched the sharper while they were conversing.
At that moment Robert came out of the drug store. On catching sight of Cross in the grasp of another, he paused in wonder.
"Something is wrong," he thought, and drew closer to the pair.
"I am of the opinion that you have the money order," said Charles Shotmore. "If you are an honest man you will not object to being searched."
"But I do object!" burst out Andy Cross, fiercely, and tried to wrench himself loose. He had almost succeeded when Robert came to Charles Shotmore's assistance.
"I'll help you hold him, sir," he said quietly, but firmly.
"Let go, boy!" fumed the sharper. "Let go, or it will be the worse for you!"
"I'll not let go." Robert turned to the other man. "Do you know this fellow, sir?"
"Perhaps I had better ask you that question," returned Charles Shotmore, cautiously.
"I was at the post-office a while ago and he wanted me to identify him. He said his name was Charles Shotmore."
"Why, that is my name."
"He had a money order he wished to have cashed."
"My money order, I'll wager a new hat. You villain. I have caught you just in time," and Charles Shotmore clutched Cross tighter than before.
It must be confessed that the sharper was nonplussed, for he had not expected to have Shotmore follow him up thus rapidly.
"This is—er—a—a great mistake," he stammered.
"I guess it was a mistake—for you," said Shotmore grimly.
"If I—I have the letter, I took it by mistake," went on Andy Cross. "Sometimes I have violent headaches, and during those periods I do the most extraordinary things."
"Indeed!" sneered Charles Shotmore. "Never mind the headaches, just you hand over the money order."
As he spoke he slipped his hand into Cross' breast pocket and drew forth the letter.
"Mine, sure enough!" he ejaculated.
"Is the money order in it?" questioned Robert.
"Yes. My boy, you have done me a valuable service."
"I am glad of it."
"I really believe I ought to have this rascal arrested."
"I think you are justified, Mr. Shotmore. It's bad policy to have such dishonest persons running around loose."
"Arrest me?" gasped Andy Cross. "If you have me arrested you will make the greatest mistake of your lives."
"I'll risk it," said Charles Shotmore.
He started to look around for an officer.
As he did so, Andy Cross gave a pull and freed himself from both Shotmore and Robert. Then he dashed into the street, among the cars and trucks going in both directions.
"Hi! stop him!" cried Shotmore. "Police! Police!"
Robert at once took up the chase. Soon Shotmore joined in. But Andy Cross was fleet of foot, and fear lent speed to his feet. By the time the other side of the crowded thoroughfare was gained he was nowhere to be seen.
"He's disappeared," panted Robert, coming to a halt at the corner.
"So I see," returned Charles Shotmore. "He could run, couldn't he?"
"Well, he had something to run for."
"That's right." Shotmore indulged in a low laugh. "I'm glad I got my letter and money order away from him before he started."
"Do you know him?"
"No more than that he boarded at the same house with me. I fancy he is an all-round sharper, from what the servant girl said of him."
"Then it's a pity he escaped."
"I may meet him again some day. But I owe you something for your aid."
"You are welcome to whatever I have done for you."
"But I would like to pay you something," persisted Charles Shotmore.
"I don't wish it."
"May I ask your name?"
Robert gave it, and they shook hands.
"I hope we meet again," said the gentleman, and after a few more words they parted, Shotmore going over to have his money order cashed without further delay,—he being already known at the post-office.
From the directory in the drug store Robert had obtained Herman Wenrich's address. The old lumberman lived on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of the Chicago River, and the youth set off for the place, little dreaming of what trouble his visit was to bring to him.
