Grit or The Young Boatman of Pine Point 35
"How far is Essex Street from here?" he asked.
"Three or four miles," promptly answered the hackman.
"Is there any street-car line that goes there?"
"Oh, bless you, no."
Neither of these answers was correct, but Grit did not know this.
"How much will you charge to take me to No. ---- Essex Street?"
"Seein' it's you, I'll take you for a dollar and a quarter."
Grit was about to accept this offer, when a quiet-looking man beside him
said:
"The regular fare is fifty cents."
"Is it any of your business?" demanded the hackman angrily. "Do you want
to take the bread out of a poor man's mouth?"
"Yes, if the poor man undertakes to cheat a boy!" answered the quiet man
keenly.
"It's ridiculous expectin' to pay fifty cents for a ride of three or
four miles," grumbled the hackman.
"The distance isn't over a mile and a quarter, and you are not allowed
to ask over fifty cents. My boy, I advise you to call another hack."
"Jump in," said the hackman, fearful of losing his fare.
"I think I will get in, too, as I am going to that part of the city,"
said the small man, in whom my readers will probably recognize the
detective already referred to.
"That'll be extra."
"Of course," said the detective. "I understand that, and I understand
how much extra," said the stranger significantly.
As the man and boy rattled through the streets, they fell into a
conversation, and Grit, feeling that he was with a friend, told his
plan.
"Humph!" said the detective. "May I see this letter?"
"Certainly, sir."
"Do you know who recommended you to Mr. Weaver?" asked Grit's new
friend.
"No, sir."
"And can't guess?"
"No, sir."
"Doesn't it strike you as a little singular that such an offer should
come from a stranger?"
"Yes, sir; that did occur to me. Don't you think it genuine?" asked
Grit anxiously.
"I don't know. I could tell better if I should see this Mr. Weaver."
"Won't you go in with me?"
"No; it might seem odd, and the proposal may be genuine. I'll tell you
what to do, my boy. That is, if you feel confidence in me."
"I do, and shall be glad of your advice."
"Come to the Parker House after your interview, and inquire for Benjamin
Baker."
"I will, sir, and thank you."
When the hack drew up in front of No. ---- Essex Street, the stranger
got out with Grit.
"I am calling close by," he said, "and won't ride any farther. Here is
the fare for both."
"But, sir," said Grit, "it is not right that you should pay my fare for
me."
"It is all right," said Mr. Baker. "I have more money than you,
probably, my young friend. Besides, meeting with you has saved me some
trouble."
This speech puzzled Grit, but he did not feel like asking any
explanation.
He glanced with some interest at the house where he was to meet Mr.
Weaver. It was a three-story brick house, with a swell front, such as
used to be very popular in Boston thirty or forty years since. It was
very quiet in appearance, and there was nothing to distinguish it from
its neighbors on either side.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Baker," said Grit, as he ascended the steps to
ring the bell.
"Good afternoon. Remember to call upon me at the Parker House."
"Thank you, sir."
Benjamin Baker turned down a side street, and Grit rang the bell.
It was opened by a tall, gaunt woman, with a cast in her eye.
"What's wanted?" she asked abruptly.
"I called to see Mr. Weaver--Mr. Solomon Weaver," said Grit.
"Oh, yes," said the woman, with a curious smile. "Come in."
The hall which Grit entered was dark and shabby in its general
appearance. Our hero followed his guide to a rear room, the door of
which was thrown open, revealing a small apartment, with a shabby
collection of furniture. There was no carpet on the floor, but one or
two rugs relieved the large expanse of floor.
"Take a seat, and I'll call Mr. Weaver," said the woman.
Somehow Grit's courage was dampened by the unpromising look of the house
and its interior.
He had pictured to himself Mr. Weaver as a pleasant, prosperous-looking
man, who lived in good style, and was liberally disposed.
He sat down in an armchair in the center of the room.
He had but five minutes to wait.
Then the door opened, and to Grit's amazement the man whom he had known
as Colonel Johnson entered the room, and coolly locked the door after
him.
CHAPTER XXXV.
CROSS-EXAMINED.
Grit's face showed the astonishment he felt at the unexpected appearance
of a man whom he knew to be the prime instigator of the attempt to rob
the bank at Chester.
Colonel Johnson smiled grimly as he saw the effect produced by his
presence.
"You didn't expect to see me?" he said.
"No, sir," answered Grit.
"I flatter myself you had done me the honor to call upon me," said
Johnson, seating himself at a little distance from our hero.
"I came to see Mr. Solomon Weaver, from whom I received a letter,"
explained Grit. "If this is your house I may have made a mistake in the
number."
"Not at all," answered Johnson. "Mr. Weaver is a friend of mine."
"Does he live here?"
"Oh, yes," said Johnson, smiling.
"He wrote me that he wished to send me on a Western trip."
"That's all right."
"Then the letter was genuine," said Grit, hoping that things might turn
out right after all.
Could it be possible, he thought, that Colonel Johnson was the friend
who had recommended him? It did not seem at all probable, but in his
bewilderment he did not know what to think.
"Can I see Mr. Weaver?" asked Grit, desirous of putting an end to his
uncertainty.
"Presently," answered Colonel Johnson. "He is busy just at present, but
he deputed me to speak with you."
This was all very surprising, but would probably soon be explained.
"I shall be glad to answer any questions," said Grit.
"I suppose you can present good recommendations, as the position is a
responsible one," said Johnson, with a half smile.
"Yes, sir."
"Whom, for instance?"
"Mr. Graves, president of the Chester Bank," said Grit.
Knowing what he did of Colonel Johnson's attempt upon the bank, it was
perhaps a rather odd choice to make, but the young boatman thought it
might help him to discover whether Johnson knew anything of his recent
employment by the bank.
"I have heard of Mr. Graves," said Johnson. "Has he ever employed you?"
"Yes, sir."
"In what capacity?" demanded Johnson searchingly.
"He sent me to this city with a package."
"What did the package contain?"
"I think it contained bonds."
"Haven't they a regular bank messenger?"
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기