Project Gutenberg's Will Somers, the Boy Detective, by Charles Morris This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Will Somers, the Boy Detective Author: Charles Morris Release Date: December 20, 2019 [EBook #60978] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILL SOMERS, THE BOY DETECTIVE *** Produced by Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Northern Illinois University Digital Library at http://digital.lib.niu.edu/) cover. Transcriber’s Notes: The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain. Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end. CONTENTS Chapter I. Looking For Work. Chapter II. Store Life. Chapter III. Mr. Leonard’s Visitor. Chapter IV. Will Makes a New Acquaintance. Chapter V. Under Lock and Key. Chapter VI. Will’s First Sale. Chapter VII. Trouble in the Basement. Chapter VIII. Two Lovers. Chapter IX. The Tell-tale Clew. Chapter X. A Conference. Chapter XI. In the Cellar. Chapter XII. A Rejected Suit. Chapter XIII. No Answer. Chapter XIV. Will’s Revelation. Chapter XV. Will Visits Mr. Somers. Chapter XVI. The Old Companions. Chapter XVII. Guardian and Ward. Chapter XVIII. Will Prepares For Work. Chapter XIX. A Prison Cell. Chapter XX. Mr. Somers’s Story. Chapter XXI. The Initials. Chapter XXII. The Secret Out. Chapter XXIII. Caught in the Act. Chapter XXIV. The Lost Found. Chapter XXV. Conclusion. BEADLE’S POCKET Library Copyrighted, 1885, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. March 18, 1885. Vol. V. $2.50 a Year. Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams, No. 98 William St., New York. Price, Five Cents. No. 62. WILL SOMERS, THE BOY DETECTIVE. BY CHARLES MORRIS. “SHALL I LAY YOU OUT A PIECE OF THIS? IT’S DOG CHEAP. JUST LOOK AT THAT STUFF.” Will Somers, THE BOY DETECTIVE. BY CHARLES MORRIS. CHAPTER I. LOOKING FOR WORK. “Got any opening in these diggin’s for a feller of my size and good looks?” The speaker was a boy of some sixteen years of age, a well-built, athletic lad, the sinewy development of his limbs showing through more than one rent in his well-worn clothes. His claim to good looks was indisputable. A bright black eye gave character to a face of classical outline, straggling curls of dark hair hanging low over his olive-hued cheeks and brow, while his nose and mouth had all the fine curves of the Grecian type. “What do you want?” asked the gentleman addressed, in a curt tone. “Well, I ain’t partik’lar,” drawled the boy. “I want a job. Most anything will do. Say cashier, or head clerk.” The merchant twisted himself around in his chair and looked at the speaker. The latter bore his sharp look unabashed, standing in an erect, easy attitude. “Suppose I don’t want a cashier?” “Maybe then you’d give me a job to make fires and run errands.” “Who told you I wanted a boy?” “A counter-jumper outside there. I axed him if there was room in this row for a smart young man, and he said he guessed you wanted a partner. So I jest stepped back to see if I wouldn’t suit.” A frown came upon the merchant’s brow as he heard of this impudent action of one of his clerks. “Who told you this?” he sharply asked. “Now look ye here, mister,” said the boy, impressively; “that’s not my lay. I don’t tell tales out of school. I wouldn’t blow on a cat if I caught her stealing a mouse in another man’s kitchen.” “Get out of here then. I am busy and don’t want to be bothered.” “See here now,” said the boy, leisurely seating himself in a chair. “You’re not sayin’ nothing about that job. You’ve got a dozen men out there in the store, and I don’t see a boy in the shanty. Now you can’t run a place like this without a wide-awake boy, and I’m jest the feller you want.” “You have impudence enough to run it yourself,” said the merchant, looking more closely at his importunate visitor. “Wouldn’t be afeard to try,” said the boy, saucily, putting to his lips a half-smoked cigar which he had all this time held in his hand, and taking a long whiff. “I’ve a notion I could make dry-goods spin amazing. Jest hand me the reins and I bet I put her through at two-forty.” The merchant laid aside the papers which he had been examining. He pushed back his chair from the table and faced his visitor. He was a hale, handsome man of some fifty years of age, somewhat imperious in manner, but with a strong sense of humor in his face. He seemed to think that he had met an original character. “What is your name?” asked the merchant. “Will Somers.” “Where do you live?” “In this here big town of Philadelphia, but in a little street that I s’pose you never heered the name of. I make myself at home anywhere, though.” “So it seems,” said the merchant, glancing at the handsome appointments of his private office, and then at the ragged dress of the boy. “It’s only my coat and pants that’s torn,” said the latter, with an air of pride. “I’m all right inside, I bet there’s not a coon in these diggin’s can jump further, run faster, or lift more than me. And I never seen the day yet I was afeard of work! Now how about that job, mister?” “Leonard,” said the merchant. “Mr. Leonard, I mean. I’ve been a-waiting to get holt of the north end of your name.” The merchant looked closely at his precocious visitor, who, to the age of a boy, added the self-assertion and [2] experience of a grown man. The latter leaned back with easy assurance in his chair, and seemed indeed “at home.” “What have you been used to doing?” asked Mr. Leonard. “What ain’t I been used to would be a bit more like it,” said Will, resting his two elbows on the table. “Blackin’ boots, and sellin’ papers, and holdin’ hosses has been my big holts, but I’ve dipped into ’most everything else ’cept preaching.” “You have been a little vagabond, I suppose, all your life, and know as much of the world as men ought to at twenty- five.” “If there’s a feller inside of ten miles of here that says I ever done anything mean, I can lick that feller; that’s me!” cried Will, indignantly. “Do you know Philadelphia well?” “Does a cat know milk? Bet I do. Could navigate it with my eyes shet.” “Are your parents living?” “Dunno ’bout my dad,” said Will. “’Spect I’m an orphan. Me and sis was drapped in this here town when we was like young kittens. A big white house, t’other side the Schuylkill, was our head-quarters. Dad sloped. Never heered of him since.” “The poor-house, eh?” said Mr. Leonard. “You have a sister?” “Yes. She’s slipped, too. Was took out when I was a baby. Never see’d her since. Hope the girl’s sound. Know I’ve had mighty hard hoein’.” There was a touch of feeling in Will’s voice which he sought to hide by greater recklessness of manner. Evidently he had a secret yearning for his lost sister. Mr. Leonard was silent for several minutes before again speaking. He seemed to be debating something within himself. “So you want to learn something of business?” he at length said. “You’ve hit that nail square on the head,” said Will, with energy. “I’m gettin’ too big to shove the brush, or handle the extras. What’s more, I’m not goin’ to be a poor critter all my life. I want a bizz that’s got money in it. I’ve sot my eye on a brown-stone shanty up Broad street. If it’s for sale ten years from now I’m in the market.” Mr. Leonard laughed slightly at the boy’s tone of confidence. “Fortunes ain’t made as quickly as you fancy, my lad,” he said. “If I don’t hang my hat up in that shanty, you can count me out,” said Will. “The saucy young rascal has the making of a business man in him,” said Mr. Leonard, to himself. “I would much rather have a boy that aimed high than one that aimed low. He is a handsome lad, too, and if better dressed would be quite presentable. I have half a notion to try him, with all his impudence. He is a perfect specimen of the street Arab, but he seems quick and intelligent.” “How about that job?” asked Will, impatiently. “I’m bound to strike one, somewhere, afore night. I’ve give you the refusal. The man that gets me makes a ten-strike, and no braggin’.” “If I should give you employment could I depend on you to do what you were told?” “What I was told?” said Will, rising impulsively to his feet. “I wouldn’t give a smashed cent for the feller who couldn’t do more than he was told.” “That would never do,” replied Mr. Leonard. “I want a boy to do just as he is told.” “And what chance is there for genius, then, if a feller can’t spread a little?” asked Will, earnestly. “The boy that only does what he’s told won’t never get to Congress.” “And they who act beyond their instructions sometimes get to the State’s prison, my boy. If I give you a position you must learn to never take a step without orders.” “I can try,” said Will, with a comical leer, “but it’ll go mighty ag’in’ the grain.” Their conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of a person into the office. He seemed to be one of Mr. Leonard’s employes, and was a tall, well built man, but dressed with a foppish vanity that at once attracted the boy’s attention. He looked with surprise at the merchant’s strange visitor, a look of disdain coming upon his face, as he drew somewhat back, as if in fear of contamination. Will glanced at him from head to foot, with a steady, impudent stare. “The Everhart is in,” he said. “The Danton shipment of silks on board. I have just received notice.” “That is good news, Wilson,” replied Mr. Leonard. “The market is just ready for them. See to the custom-house charges at once. We must have them in store as soon as possible.” “I will attend to it,” he said with a somewhat pompous air. [3] With another look of supercilious wonder at Will he left the room. “Who’s that cove?” asked the latter. “That is Mr. Augustus Wilson, my principal bookkeeper.” “He is a hoss, he is,” said Will, with a contemptuous puff. “A man of his size dressed like a peacock, and biting off his words like a school-girl. I bet he’s a dose.” “If I should give you employment, Will, you must learn to curb your tongue, and not be so insolent to the men in the store. They would not stand impudence from a boy.” “I’ll get along with them. Don’t you be afeard,” said Will, with a look of confidence on his handsome face. “I’ve got along with folks all my life, and never been kicked yet. But I’m doubtful if I won’t be callin’ that cove Gus. He’s a gay feller to Mister, he is.” “You will not stay here long, my lad, if you do. I warn you of that. He is my principal employe, and must be treated with respect. Understand me. Impudence will not serve.” “All right, Mr. Leonard. But I know I’ll have a fight every time I go to say Mister. Gus will be coming up. When am I to take hold?” “Come round this hour to-morrow and I will let you know my decision,” said Mr. Leonard, turning again to his papers. “That won’t gee,” said Will, positively. “If you want me you’d best say so and be done with it. I’m bound to fetch work to-day.” “Very well,” said the merchant, impatiently. “I will give you a trial. Now don’t bother me any further.” “If you’d said that half an hour ago I wouldn’t bothered you so long,” said Will, saucily, as he strode out of the room. CHAPTER II. STORE LIFE. Mr. Leonard was the proprietor of a large wholesale dry-goods house, on Market street. He dealt extensively in the richer qualities of goods, and cases of costly silks, rich shawls, and other expensive fabrics were constantly imported by him. There were a dozen or more salesmen, porters, etc., employed about the store, besides the numerous clerks in the counting-house, and in the business hours of the day the long, wide store bustled with activity till it seemed a very bee- hive of commerce. A few days after his interview with Mr. Leonard found our young hero duly installed as office-boy and general utility in the store. His employer had found him a more creditable suit of clothes, and given him some useful instruction as to personal cleanliness, politeness, etc. He had succeeded in greatly improving the outward appearance of the boy, but his mental crookedness was not to be so easily straightened. Will was essentially the same lad who had spent his life till now in street avocations, with intervals of fishing, lounging, swimming, fighting and saucing. He took hold of business with a vim that promised well for his future usefulness, doing the work given him so rapidly and well as to greatly please his employer. But there was no curbing his tongue, and more than one spat occurred between him and the salesmen, before he had been a day in the store. Before the end of the first week there was an outbreak which threatened to end his engagement. “Here, boy, take this roll of cloth down to the store and give it to Mr. Johnson. Look alive, now, he is waiting for it.” This imperative address was made by a nervous, quick-spoken salesman, named Robert Brown. Will was employed in opening a case of goods. He looked up with a glance of disdain. “I’ve took in another job,” he said. “Ain’t doin’ two things at once. You know the way down. Tote it down yourself.” “What do you mean, you young rascal?” cried the man, in a passion. “If you stay in this place you will have to do what you are told or you’ll be helped. Take this down at once.” “What’s goin’ to happen if I don’t?” said Will, dropping the tool he had been using. “I’ll send you spinning down-stairs and out of the store door in a hurry,” said the man, still fuming. “Look here, Mr. Brown, or Bob Brown, if you like it better, maybe you don’t know that you’re barking up the wrong tree,” said Will, insolently. “Ordering ain’t in my line. Ask me like a gentleman and I’ll stand on my head for you; but I’m not a feller that’s used to bein’ kicked by any man’s toe or tongue, either.” “Then you won’t take it down?” “I’ll see you so far t’other side of nowhere that a forty-horse team couldn’t draw you back in a lifetime, afore I’ll take it an inch.” Will returned to his former task of opening the case. Mr. Brown’s face was purple with rage, and the veins stood out on his forehead, as he listened to this unexampled rebellion. “Why, you ragged young reprobate, who was only brought here by charity!” he cried, hotly. “Hang me if I don’t kick you down-stairs myself, and fling the goods after you!” Suiting the action to the word he grasped Will with a nervous grip, and sought to hustle him to the head of the stairs. But if ever man caught a Tartar, Mr. Brown had done so in this action. Will lifted the iron tool in his hand with an impulse to strike his assailant. With another impulse he threw it from him, and used his sinewy limbs with a vigor which Mr. Brown had not dreamed of his possessing. In a moment he had torn loose from his grasp, and by an alert trip had stretched his foe on his back on the floor. “That’s the way I pile up my shingles!” cried Will exultingly. “Come to time, old hoss. I’ve chawed up better men than you.” The language of the street, which he had partly laid aside, came back to Will in his excitement. The furious salesman sprung to his feet and rushed at the boy with clinched fists. Two other men, who had been engaged with them on the third floor of the building, hurried up. “Hold there, Bob!” cried one of these. “Don’t try that on a boy.” “Let him alone,” said Will, as he deftly parried his blows. “He’s my meat. I wasn’t brung up on free fights to back down from a counter-hopper.” But the man who had spoken pushed between and separated them, just as Will planted his fist with a stinging blow on [4] Brown’s left cheek. “Come, come, Bob!” said the peacemaker, “that’s no way to settle disputes with a boy. If the fellow has been impudent report him to Mr. Leonard, but never try your fists on a boy.” Mr. Brown did report, and Will was sent for to Mr. Leonard’s office. Our hero proved a very poor hand at giving evidence in his own favor, but the men who had separated them described the whole occurrence. “Don’t let anything like this happen again,” said Mr. Leonard, after lecturing Will, severely. “Mr. Brown placed himself in the wrong or I would have to discharge you. Don’t misuse the confidence I have placed in you.” “All right,” said Will, independently. “But the man that tries to wipe his feet on me is goin’ to touch ground with his nose, that’s all.” This episode did not injure Will’s standing in the store, for Mr. Brown was not a general favorite. His good-humor and willingness to work soon gained him friends, and faults were excused in him that would have proved fatal otherwise to his position. He had a fine voice, and sung ditties with wonderful vim. He could dance like a negro minstrel, could tumble like an acrobat, and had more tricks than a circus clown. Nothing pleased him better than to get on one of the upper floors, out of sight of customers, and treat the admiring clerks to a taste of his quality. His chief trouble, in such cases, sprung from the new clothes in which Mr. Leonard had dressed him. “It’s a gallus rig. I’ll give in,” he said, “but I ain’t been used to fancy fixin’s. There goes the coat, and here goes the vest, and up go the sleeves, and now I’m in trim for work. P’int out what you want done and I’m in.” “Nothing just now, Will. Let us have that ole Virginny break-down.” “Yes, I see myself waltzing round on my ear for you, and no pianner music, and not even a jews-harp. Don’t dance till I hear a tune. Whistle up, somebody, my boot-soles is itching.” One of the men whistled a quick tune, and Will’s feet rattled over the floor in the most astonishing steps, relieving his feelings now and then by a somerset, or a dance on his hands. “Hi, lads! let the music out,” he cried. “That’s your style! Heel and toe. Ain’t I a screamer? Just observe me.” The next instant he was at the top of a high step-ladder, singing a negro melody for dear life, and keeping time with hands and feet on the boards. “Hush! here comes Mr. Leonard,” cried a scout. “He has heard all that rascally noise. Limber up and get to work quick.” The men hastened to various avocations, somewhat to Will’s surprise. He was as honest as the sun, and would never have thought of such deceit. He had, all his life, fathered all his actions. When Mr. Leonard appeared, Will was seated in his shirt-sleeves on a dry-goods box, whistling in a low tone, and keeping time with his heels. Mr. Leonard looked inquiringly around, a look of displeasure on his face. “What has been going on here!” he asked, sharply. “I heard an uproar all the way down to my office. You are all suddenly at work. What have you been doing, boy?” “Nothing. Only killing time,” said Will, indifferently. “We kinder run out of work, and I wanted to learn these fellows a South street wharf break-down. Want to see me do it?” Will jumped from his box and struck an attitude. “No. And I want less noise and commotion. If you wish to stay in my employment you must learn to curb yourself a little. Let us have no more such performances.” “You suit me fu’st-rate so fur. Got no notion of dischargin’ you yet,” said Will. “But what’s to be done? I can’t hold in. It’s out of the question. There’d be something bu’st sure.” “Well,” said Mr. Leonard, turning on his heel to hide a broad smile. “I must give you some out-door work—send you on errands. Can I trust you to do them correctly?” “I dunno. Won’t make no promises. You can try me. That’s the way to find out. I know everything and everybody out of doors; that’s something.” “Very well; I will try you.” Thenceforth Will varied his store duties with out-door avocations, his quick and intelligent performance of which gave much satisfaction. CHAPTER III. MR. LEONARD’S VISITOR. It was two or three days after the last-narrated events that a slender, keen-eyed person stopped in front of Mr. Leonard’s store. He was dressed in grayish clothes, and wore a wide-rimmed hat. He glanced up at the lofty iron front, reaching five stories high, and then briskly entered the store, threading his way back between the open cases of goods which covered the long floor to the counting-house. Sending in his card he was at once admitted to Mr. Leonard’s private office. “Take a seat, Mr. Fitler,” said Mr. Leonard, pushing aside his papers. Rising, he carefully closed the door and seated himself near the visitor. “You received my message, then?” “Yes, sir. You have need of my services?” “I wish your advice, at any rate. But first, does any of my men know you?” “I think not. I know none of them.” “I have here an invoice of silks shipped me from Lyons, France, by Danton & Co. There were two cases of these goods, valued, as you see, at ten thousand dollars. The ship Everhart, which had them in freight, reached Philadelphia two weeks ago. Her cargo was duly discharged, and the goods deposited in the Government warehouse.” “Why not brought at once to your store?” asked Mr. Fitler, drumming with his fingers on the table. “Such was my intention, and I directed my confidential clerk, Mr. Wilson, to pay the duties, and see that they were brought here. He did the first, and obtained the Government order for their delivery, which was locked up in my presence, in the fire-proof there. He was hindered from doing the second by news of the death of a near relative in Harrisburg, whose funeral he was obliged to attend.” “I perceive. What next?” said Mr. Fitler. “A few words will conclude. On his return yesterday he went to the safe for the custom-house delivery-order. It was gone.” “Were you present?” “Yes.” “Had you seen it in his absence?” “No. Why do you ask?” “Only for a full statement of facts.” “You will please understand that no possible suspicion attaches to Mr. Wilson, even if his absence did not preclude it. He has been in my service for ten years, and is incorruptible.” “Certainly,” said Mr. Fitler, in an indifferent tone. “Somebody else has taken it. But that is not all?” “No. I have just learned that the order was presented at the bonded warehouse last Tuesday by a gentlemanly-dressed person, accompanied by a drayman. The necessary entries were made, and the goods delivered.” “And where are they now?” “That is what I want to find out.” “This is a bold robbery, Mr. Leonard,” said the visitor, with energy. “It looks very much as if the black sheep was in your own store. Is there any one whom you suspect?” “There is none.” “Who has access to your safe?” “Any of my book-keepers. Three or four of them are obliged to enter my office, in my absence, in the regular discharge of their duties.” “What is the record of these three or four men?” “The best. They are all steady, quiet business men, married and living moderately. I know them all well.” “These smooth-watered wells are sometimes very deep,” said Mr. Fitler. “Have you any new hands?” “Yes. One, whom I took on two weeks ago.” “Ha!” said the visitor, interested. “Could he enter your office without suspicion?” “He could. I have employed him as a messenger.” “Every confidence in him, too?” [5] “I think him thoroughly honest.” “You have too much trust in human nature, Mr. Leonard,” said his visitor, with a shrug. “If you were in my profession you would have very little. I would like to see this new hand. Can you call him in on some pretense?” “You have seen him. He is the messenger I sent for you.” “What? That boy? He in your employment? Well, that beats!” Mr. Fitler leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily but silently. “Do you know him?” asked Mr. Leonard, with some displeasure. “Know him? I should think so. Who don’t know Willful Will? That is his street name. Why, I thought you had picked him up at your door and sent him after me. He did look strange at me. I never saw him in a whole suit of clothes before. The idea of his settling down to steady business! Just call him in; I would like to talk with him.” “He is not in at present. I sent him, this morning, out to my residence, near Germantown.” “Is Mr. Wilson at hand?” “Yes. I will call him.” Mr. Leonard went to the door of the office and asked for Mr. Wilson. The latter was in the counting-room, and immediately entered. The keen eyes of the visitor were fixed on him as he came in, taking in at a glance, as it seemed, every detail of his face, form and dress. “Mr. Wilson, this is Mr. Fitler, a detective officer from the central station,” said the merchant. “I have sent for him to investigate that affair of the robbery.” “I hope he can help us in it,” said Mr. Wilson, as he quietly seated himself. “The rascals were wide-awake, Mr. Wilson,” said the detective, “in taking advantage of your trip to Harrisburg. Was the fact that you had paid the duties and could not attend to taking the goods out of bond talked about in the store?” “It was no secret in the counting-room,” said Mr. Wilson. “What is your opinion of the book-keepers, sir?” “I have full confidence in them. They are only men, to be sure, and may have talked outside.” “Could the store have been entered at night?” “No, no,” said Mr. Leonard. “Nothing has been tampered with. The order was stolen in the daytime, while the safe was open.” “How does the store-keeper at the bonded warehouse describe the parties who took away the goods?” “In a very vague fashion,” replied Mr. Wilson. “He could not have noticed them closely. His description did not remind me of anybody I knew.” Mr. Fitler watched him as he spoke, seeming attracted by his foppish dress and stilted manner of speaking. “I will see the store-keeper myself,” he answered. “It is unlucky that you were called away at such a time, Mr. Wilson. Was it a near relative?” “A first cousin,” he replied. “Ah! I am somewhat acquainted in Harrisburg. What name, pray?” “Miles Sartain,” answered Mr. Wilson, with composure. “The name is not familiar. I thought I might have known him,” said the officer carelessly. “I will drop in myself to-morrow, and look round,” he continued. “You may not know me, but don’t be surprised if a stranger makes himself at home. I will see the store-keeper this afternoon, and will set the police authorities to work to try and trace these missing goods.” He bowed himself out of the office, leaving Mr. Wilson and his employer in busy conversation. CHAPTER IV. WILL MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. Meanwhile Willful Will, as the officer had called him, was on his way to Mr. Leonard’s country-seat. He bore a note addressed to a Miss Jennie Arlington, a resident of the merchant’s house, which he was directed to deliver into her own hands without delay, and wait for any return message. The mansion was a broad-fronted, brown-stone edifice, richly ornamented, and surrounded with beautifully-kept grounds, in which now a host of flowers were in bloom. Seen from the front, through the vailing screen of leaves and blossoms, it seemed an abode of wealth and taste very attractive to any artistic eye. Even Will paused for five minutes, in a day-dream, gazing in. The boy was not without the poetic instinct. He was stirred from his reverie by the approach of a servant-woman to the gate. “Say, you there,” cried Will, as she turned back. “This Mr. Leonard’s?” “Yes,” was the answer. “All square, then. I want to see Jennie.” “See who?” asked the woman, in surprise. “Jennie. You know. Can’t go her last name. Slipped clean out of my head.” “Miss Arlington is not in. You can’t see her,” said the woman. “Bet a hoss that I will,” he replied, positively. “Mr. Leonard didn’t send me here on a fool’s errand. Where is she?” “What do you want? I will give her your errand when she comes in.” “Maybe so, when you get it,” said Will, mysteriously. “Hope you don’t kalkerlate to pick up secrets that easy. There’s things it don’t do for everybody to know. Where is the gal?” “She is down there in the wood,” said the servant. Breaking into a gay ditty, Will hastened off toward the piece of woodland indicated by the woman. The ground sloped downward from the back of the house into a wide depression that led off toward the Schuylkill. This was occupied by a piece of fine woodland, the trees growing straight and tall, while the undergrowth had been mostly removed, leaving long, green vistas. The country was now arrayed in all its June-tide beauty, while flowers lent a rich charm to the fields, and the fresh green of spring arrayed every tree. The old vagabond instinct rose in him as he sauntered on, now chasing a gorgeous butterfly, now following the flight of some swift bird, now stopping to listen to a trill of woodland music, now taking a wild roll in the grass. His cap was soon adorned with daisies and buttercups; violets peeped from his button-holes, and he gathered a bouquet of yellow dandelions as if he thought them choice flowers. “If this ain’t gay I don’t know beans!” he cried, exultingly. “Wouldn’t I like to live out here! Bet I’d go a-fishin’ every day, and a-swimmin’ every other. I’ll go a hoss there ain’t a tree in that woods I can’t climb. Got a notion to shin up some of them just for fun.” But a frisking ground-squirrel took his attention, and drove out of his head the project of tree-climbing. This fellow chased to his hole, other objects attracted Will’s delighted eyes, and led him step by step into the woods. Finally, some sounds behind a thin screen of bushes attracted his notice. He drew carefully up and looked through. There on a flat stone, beside a flowing brook, sat a young lady, her lap full of wild flowers, which she was forming into a bouquet. She seemed quite young, at furthest not more than eighteen, and was very beautiful as she sat there all unconscious of stranger’s eyes. She was tall and well formed, with a face of most classic outline—the general contour of the features not unlike Will’s own. But the cheek had a peachy bloom which his had long lost, and a gentle, womanly expression replaced his saucy independence. “Sell me out if she ain’t a beauty!” said Will enthusiastically. “Them long curls is scrumptious. Wonder if she’s my game? I’ll give her a start, just for fun.” Placing his two hands to his mouth the woods rung with a long, clear call of “Jennie!” The girl sprung up, dropping most of her flowers, and looked round in alarm. “Jennie!” again rung out in Will’s deep, musical tones. “Who calls?” she said, with parted lips, standing like a statue of flight. Her question was answered by a crash in the bushes, and the appearance of a figure coming with a double somerset into her presence. [6] “You, Jennie?” asked Will, standing suddenly on his feet before her. She looked at the sturdy, handsome lad with a look in which trepidation was mingled with amusement. “I am Miss Arlington,” she replied, with dignity. “What do you mean by calling me in that manner, and coming into a lady’s presence like a mountebank?” “That’s the way I always come in,” said Will, impressively. “And you looked so pretty sitting there I wanted to give you a start.” “Don’t do it again. It is not manly behavior,” she replied. “What do you want with me?” “I’ve got a ’pistle,” said Will, fumbling in his pockets, “that Mr. Leonard guv me for you.” “Mr. Leonard? Are you the new store-boy that he has told me of?” she asked, as she opened the letter. “Been a-talkin’ about me, has he?” asked Will. “Hope he ain’t gone back on me. Bet he can’t find jist sich another in these diggin’s.” “He said that you were a good intentioned boy, and that he might make something of you, if he could only cure you of your impudence.” “Well, that’s clever in him. Mebbe he don’t know the job he’s takin’ in. Mought jist as well try to cure a grapevine from twisting.” “Come with me to the house,” said Miss Arlington, on reading the letter. “I am to send a package back by you.” “Lucky it ain’t a cook-stove, or something else nice and handy to carry,” said Will, as he walked on beside his new acquaintance. “Live with Mr. Leonard?” “I do.” “How old mought you be?” asked Will, earnestly. “That is no question to ask a lady,” she replied, with a smile. “Oh, we’re not playin’ gentleman and lady; we’re playin’ boy and gal. You’re not come out yet, or not engaged, or nothin’ of that nonsense, are you?” “That is another question that you have no business to ask.” “I’d like to know how I’d ever learn anything if I didn’t ask questions? That’s the way I come to be so wide-awake.” The young lady, who had been a little angry at his questions, could not help laughing. “You are an odd boy,” she said. “If I was in want of a confidant I might accept you. I will tell you this much; I am engaged.” “Well, now, that’s bad,” said Will. “Can’t you break with the feller? Give him the sack. Tell him you’ve a notion to go to Californy, and don’t want no company. Sling him somehow.” “Why should I?” she asked, turning her brilliant brown eyes on Will. “Now, don’t look at me that way or I can’t tell you,” he said, with affected bashfulness. “Jist turn your eyes away for a minute.” “Well, go on,” she replied, turning away. “I like you, gal, and there’s no joke in that. Can’t you jist sling the other feller, and wait for me? I’m goin’ to be a rich man, you can bet on that.” “Do you want an answer now?” she asked, in a constrained tone. “If it comes handy to you, I’d just as lieve.” “Here it is, then,” she replied, giving him a ringing box on the ear. With a laugh she sprung through the gate, which they had just reached, and hurried into the house, leaving Will completely crestfallen. She did not reappear, but sent a servant with the package which Will was to take back. He trudged off reflectively toward the cars. “Got served right, I s’pose,” he said, “for I was imperdent. But I ain’t done with the gal yet. Bet I give her as good as she sent.” CHAPTER V. UNDER LOCK AND KEY. “I do not know what to make of this,” said Mr. Leonard, as he sat with a bank-book and a package of canceled checks in his hand. “I am positive that my account is not overdrawn. This settlement makes me five hundred dollars short, where I should have at least one thousand dollars to my credit.” “It is very strange,” said Mr. Wilson. “We have never found an error in our account with the Mechanic’s Bank before.” “They paid my check without hesitation?” “Certainly. They would have paid it if it had been ten thousand. Your credit is unsullied.” “I don’t understand this, and don’t like it,” said Mr. Leonard, gravely. “Let us go over these checks and deposits. The bank may be in error. I have here my private check-book, which Will has just brought from my house; I think it likely some personal check of mine may have gone to the wrong bank. Call off the checks, and I will compare them with the check-book entries.” They proceeded to do so, Mr. Leonard taking the memoranda and his bookkeeper called out the amounts and dates of the checks. “Fifteen hundred and seventy-three,” he repeated. “I don’t find that. What date is it?” “May 23d.” “Are you sure? There is no such check of that date in either book. To whose order is it drawn?” “To Gilbert, Cook & Co., or bearer,” said Mr. Wilson, looking up with a glance in which a doubt was struggling. “But we owed them no such amount. They were paid in full on the 15th,” said Mr. Leonard, in excitement. “And they never would have asked for a check to be drawn to bearer. Let me see that.” He snatched it out of Mr. Wilson’s hand, in his excitement. “By Heaven!” cried the merchant, rising hastily to his feet. “I never wrote that signature. It is a forgery.” The two men looked at each other with half affrighted glances. “Can it be possible?” cried Mr. Wilson. “Possible? It is a fact!” was the vehement answer. “The signature is good. I might be deceived by it myself, only that I know I did not write it. This is a bad business, Wilson.” “A terribly bad business,” was the reply. “Who could have done it? There is a black sheep in our midst.” “Can there be?” said the merchant, turning pale as he thought of the late robbery from his safe. “Do you suspect any one?” “No one but yourself, sir,” said Wilson, in his slow, stilted manner. “I suspect you of undue faith in human nature. If you choose to take into your store a street boy of notorious character, what can you expect?” “What do you mean?” said Mr. Leonard, in arms for his protege. “I mean that that boy’s coming here was not without an object. I suspected from the first that he might have been sent here as the tool of some designing knaves, who knew your easy disposition.” “You have no right to talk this way, Wilson.” “Indeed I have,” said the clerk, with energy. “There is plainly a thief in your store. Yet the character of everybody here has been proved by years of trust. Two weeks ago you introduced here a boy of very doubtful antecedents, and in that two weeks two serious robberies have been consummated. What is the natural conclusion?” “Where is the boy? Let us have him here,” said Mr. Leonard, moving angrily to the door. “No, no! that is no way to act,” cried Wilson. “He is a keen knave; you will put him on his guard.” “You are right. I was going to act hastily. It does look suspicious for the boy. But I cannot believe him guilty without positive evidence.” “You must go a different way to get it. Give this matter to the detective, along with the other. I warrant he will make something of it.” “I will do so,” said Mr. Leonard. “This troubles me sadly, Wilson. After fifteen years of business to find myself suddenly the sport of a daring thief and forger. What can be done?” “Nothing, but to watch and wait,” said Wilson, calmly. “I do suspect that boy. I firmly believe that he is the stool-pigeon of some bold and expert villains. I see nothing we can do now but to have him closely watched, and learn all his associations. That the detective can do far better than we.” “We will leave it in his hands, then,” said Mr. Leonard, closing his check-book with a determined snap. Meanwhile the subject of this conversation was giving a touch of his quality to the salesmen. [7] “Say what you please,” he remarked, “but Mr. Leonard does live gay. Never seen a finer shanty; and there’s no end to the roses and posies around it. Had a high old run through the woods, and come across a highfalutin’ gal, you bet.” “Did you fall in love with her?” “Maybe so; though I can’t see it’s any of your biz. She was scrumptious, I tell you. She lives with Mr. Leonard. The old man had his back up when I come back, ’cause I staid so long.” “He laid you out then?” “He told me I had to finish counting them Milton cloths. I told him the store would be shut up afore I got half through. He said he couldn’t help that, it was my fault for staying so long.” “And what are you going to do?” “I’m goin’ to count them, if it takes me all night.” “You needn’t mind them. They have already been counted,” said Mr. Johnson, a salesman who had approached during this talk. “Mr. Leonard will let you free from the task.” “Mebbe he’d best wait till he’s asked!” said Will, resolutely. “I don’t blow hot and cold with no man, and I don’t let no man blow hot and cold with me. He laid it onto me heavier than suits me, and now I’m going to let him see that I can do as I’m told. I don’t keer if everybody in the store has counted them cloths. That’s my job and I’m bound to put her through.” Will hastened to the cellar stairs, and down into the basement, where the cases of cloth in question stood, freshly opened. He labored on an hour, for two hours, in lifting the heavy rolls of cloths from the cases, counting, and replacing them. It was quite dark here, and he lit the gas at the start. He did not, in fact, know how long he had been engaged, when the light suddenly dimmed and went out. Will stood in almost utter darkness, only a faint light entering at the narrow window. He ran to turn off the gas, not understanding what put it out. As he did so he heard the clang of a door overhead. The truth rushed to his mind. The store had been shut and fastened, the gas turned off as usual at night, and everybody had gone home, quite forgetting that he was still in the cellar. Will was inclined to be superstitious, and a sense of fright came upon him as he found himself alone in this lonely, dark room. He groped his way to the stairs and tried the door. It was firmly bolted. All his efforts could not move it. He called out at the top of his voice, but no answer came back. “I’m a reg’lar rat in a cage,” he muttered, as he made his way to the windows, thinking to break a pane and call for help. But they faced on a deserted alley, and he feared if even he should bring aid, it would only be to be arrested as a thief. “I wonder if there is any ghosts in these diggin’s, as some of the men say?” he muttered, looking fearfully around. “I don’t like it a bit. I’ve never been in such a ’tarnal scrape in my life. Blame their eyes, they know’d I was down here, why didn’t they call me up? I believe it was done a-purpose. If I don’t be even with some of them yet, you can sell me.” But even a cornered coward grows brave, and Will was no coward. The superstitious dread could not long hold the mastery over his bold spirit. It was not long before he threw off the fears which had troubled him. “I ain’t no baby, to be skeered by a shadder,” he said. “Let what will come I’m goin’ to have a snooze anyhow. I dunno what’s the reason a feller couldn’t sleep as sound here as in my little eight-by-ten hole at home! Bet I make a soft bed, and that there ain’t no ghost or sich bothers itself to waken me up.” The bed did not lack softness, after he had opened and spread out yard after yard of rich, soft goods on the floor, using some of the heavy cloths he had been counting as a substratum. But his slumbers were not sound, for reasons which we have not space to give here. What Will saw, and what happened to him that night in the gloomy cellar, must be left for future chapters to declare.