Charlie Codmans Cruise 5

Charlie Codmans Cruise 5

"No one could blame her. In fact it was perfectly preposterous for him

to think of mating with her. Did you speak?"

 

"No!" snarled Peter.

 

"I thought you said something. I repeat, that she had plenty of reasons

for rejecting him. She was just sixteen, and beautiful as she was

young, and had no lack of admirers ready to devote themselves to her.

As for Peter Thornton, ha! ha! he never could have been very handsome,

from all I have heard of him. In the first place, he was forty or more."

 

"Thirty-eight," muttered Peter, below his breath.

 

"And his features were irregular, besides being marked with the

small-pox, which he had had in early life. He had a long, hooked nose

like a bird's beak, an enormous mouth, little sharp gray eyes like a

ferret's, and his hair was already mingled with gray. On the whole, he

hadn't much beauty to boast of. Did you say anything?"

 

"No!" snarled Peter, sourly. He was sitting with his elbows on his

knees, and his face resting on his hands.

 

"Beg pardon, I thought you spoke. To add to Peter's charms of person,

his disposition was not the sweetest that ever was. He had a harsh

and crabbed manner, which would have led to his discharge if he had

not had one saving trait. I will say, to his credit, that he was a

capital book-keeper. Of his honesty his employer thought he was well

assured, and probably if nothing had occurred of a character to wound

Peter's pride, he might have continued faithful to his trust. One day,

however, Peter took an opportunity, when he had been calling at the

house of his employer on business connected with the counting-room,

to declare his love to the young lady, whom he found alone in the

drawing-room. You can imagine how much she was amused--why don't you

laugh, Peter? You look as glum as if it were _you_ that had met with

this disappointment. The young lady told him plainly, as soon as she

got over her astonishment, that she could give him no encouragement

whatever. Perhaps there might have been in her tone something of the

aversion which it was natural for her to feel at such a proposition

from one so much beneath her. If they had married, it would have been

a second case of Beauty and the Beast. Beg pardon, Peter, I believe you

said something."

 

"No!" snarled Peter, fiercely. "Have you got nearly through? Your story

is nothing to me--nothing, I say. I want to go to bed. You have kept me

up too late already."

 

"I can't help that, Peter. It took me too long to get in for me to

resign readily the pleasure of your society. I say, Peter, what a jolly

good fellow you are,--quite a lively companion,--only it strikes me you

might be a little more civil to your company. It isn't exactly polite

to keep telling one how anxious you are for him to go.

 

"As I was saying, when you interrupted me, Eleanor told Peter very

decidedly that she could not for an instant entertain his suit. He

endeavored to change her determination, being an ardent, impulsive

lover, and probably in her impatience she said something which

irritated her lover, who went off in a rage. After a while, however,

he was foolish enough to open the subject again. Of course she was

extremely annoyed at his persistence, and seeing no other way of

escaping the persecution, she felt it necessary to acquaint her father

with what had transpired. The merchant was naturally indignant at his

book-keeper's presumption, and calling him aside one morning threatened

to discharge him from his employment unless he should forthwith desist.

This was, of course, a great blow to Peter's pride. He had the good

sense to say nothing, however, but none the less determined within

himself to be revenged upon those who had scorned his advances, as

soon as an opportunity offered. I don't know as I blame him. Perhaps I

should have done the same under similar circumstances."

 

There was a trace of agitation upon the pale and wrinkled countenance

of the miser.

 

"This it was," continued the stranger, "taken in connection with

Peter's natural cupidity that led to the defalcation I have mentioned.

So far as the merchant was concerned his revenge was completely

successful, for he was the means of his ruin and premature death. And

now, Peter," he added, suddenly changing his tone, "can you tell me

what induced you to change your name from Thornton to Manson?"

 

"Me!" exclaimed the miser, starting to his feet in consternation, and

glaring wildly at the speaker.

 

 

 

 

V.

 

THE COMPACT.

 

 

"Yes," said the stranger, composedly; "I repeat the question, why did

you change your name to Manson?"

 

"What--do--you--mean?" the old man faltered slowly.

 

"I mean just what I say, and I see you understand me well enough."

 

"You can't prove it," said Peter, with an uneasy glance at his

imperturbable companion.

 

"Can't I? Perhaps not. I should say the mysterious knowledge you seem

to possess of the main incidents in my story would prove something."

 

"That isn't evidence in a court of law," said Peter, regaining a degree

of confidence.

 

"Perhaps not; but I say, Peter, don't you recognize me?"

 

The old man scanned his features eagerly, and a sudden look of

remembrance satisfied the latter that he was not forgotten.

 

"I see you do remember me," he said; "I thought you hadn't forgotten

John Randall. At any rate he hasn't forgotten you, though twenty years

have passed, and I was then but a young man. I used to see you too

often about the streets of Havana not to remember that hooked nose,

those gray eyes, and (excuse my plainness of speech) that large mouth.

Yes, Peter, your features are impressed upon my memory too indelibly to

be effaced."

 

Peter Manson remembered his companion as one who had had the reputation

of being a "wild" young man. He had been placed at school by his father

without any profitable result. On his father's death he squandered,

in dissipation, the property which came to him, and had since devoted

himself to the sea.

 

"Having settled this little matter of your identity," continued

Randall, "I am ready to finish my story. I told you that Eleanor

married the young man whose name you remembered so well. He was poor,

dependent upon his salary as a clerk, and thanks to you his wife had

nothing to hope from her father. They were obliged to live in a very

humble way. At length, thinking he could do better here, he removed to

Boston, where his early life had been spent."

 

"To Boston!" muttered Peter.

 

"The removal took place some six years since. They had three children

when they first came here, but two died, leaving only the second, a

boy, named Charlie. I should think he might be fourteen years of age.

And now, would you like to know if the husband is still living?"

 

"Is he?" asked Peter, looking up.

 

"No. He died about a year since, of a fever."

 

"And--and Eleanor? What of her?"

 

"For six months past she has been a tenant of yours."

 

"A tenant of mine!" exclaimed the miser.

 

"It is even so. She occupies a second-story room in the tenement-house

in----Street."

 

"And I have met her face to face?"

 

"I dare say you have. Your tenants are pretty sure to have that

pleasure once a month. But doesn't it seem strange that Eleanor Gray,

the beautiful daughter of your Havana employer, should after these

twenty years turn up in Boston the tenant of her father's book-keeper?"

 

"Ha! ha!" chuckled the miser, hoarsely, "she isn't so much better off

than if she had married old Peter."

 

"As to being better off," said Randall, "I presume she is better off,

though she can't call a hundred dollars her own, than if she were

installed mistress of your establishment. Faugh! Poorly as she is

obliged to live, it is luxury, compared with your establishment."

 

He glanced about him with a look of disgust.

 

"If you don't like it," said Peter, querulously, "there is no use of

your staying. It is past my bedtime."

 

"I shall leave you in a few minutes, Peter, but I want to give you

something to think of first. Don't you see that your property is in

danger of slipping from your hands?"

 

"My property in danger!" exclaimed Peter, wildly; "what do you mean;

where is the danger?" Then, his voice sinking to its usual whine,--"not

that I have any of any consequence, I am poor--very poor."

 

"Only from what I see I could easily believe it, but I happen to know

better."

 

"Indeed, I am----"

 

"No more twaddle about poverty," said Randall, decidedly, "it won't go

down. I am not so easily deceived as you may imagine. I know perfectly

well that you are worth at the very least, thirty thousand dollars."

 

"Thirty thousand dollars!" exclaimed the miser, raising both hands in

astonishment.

 

"Yes, Peter, and I don't know but I may say forty thousand. Why, it

can't be otherwise, with your habits. Twenty years ago you made off

with twenty thousand, which has been accumulating ever since. Your

personal expenses haven't made very large inroads upon your income,

judging from your scarecrow appearance. So much the worse for you. You

might have got some good from it. Now it must go to others."

 

"To others!" exclaimed Peter, turning pale.