Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition by Jr. Horatio Alger (e books free to read .txt) 📖

“If I thought he was playing me false,” said Jim Morrison, after Ford and himself had parted company, “I'd make him smart for it.”

“I guess it's all right,” said Tom, who was less experienced and less suspicious than his companion.

“It may be so, but I have my suspicions. I don't trust Willis Ford.”

“Shall you go round to the Fifth Avenue Hotel to meet Grant to-morrow morning.”

“Of course I shall. I want to see what the boy says. It may be a put-up job between him and Ford.”

The very same question was put by Grant to Mr. Reynolds.

“Shall I go round to the hotel to-morrow morning to see Morrison and Tom Calder?”

The broker paused a moment and looked thoughtful.

“Yes,” he answered, after a pause. “You may.”

“And what shall I say when he demands the money?”

Upon this Mr. Reynolds gave Grant full instructions as to what he desired him to say.

About quarter after eight o'clock the next morning a quiet-looking man, who looked like a respectable bookkeeper entered the Fifth Avenue Hotel and walked through the corridor, glancing, as it seemed, indifferently, to the right and left. Finally he reached the door of the reading room and entered. His face brightened as at the further end he saw two persons occupying adjoining seats. They were, in fact, Morrison and Tom Calder.

The newcomer selected a Boston daily paper, and, as it seemed, by chance, settled himself in a seat not six feet away from our two acquaintances, so that he could, without much effort, listen to their conversation.

“It's almost time for Grant to come,” said Tom, after a pause.

“Yes,” grumbled Morrison, “but as he won't have any money for me, I don't feel as anxious as I should otherwise.”

“What'll you say to him?”

“I don't know yet. I want to find out whether Ford has told the truth about the bonds. I believe he stole 'em himself.”

Five minutes later Grant entered the reading-room. A quick glance showed him, not only the two he had come to meet, but the quiet, little man who was apparently absorbed in a copy of the Boston Journal. He went up at once to meet them.

“I believe I am in time,” he said.

“Yes,” answered Jim Morrison. “Have you brought the money?”

“No.”

“Why not?” demanded Morrison, with a frown.

“There was something wrong about the bonds you gave me to sell.”

“Weren't they all right? They weren't counterfeit, were they?”

“They were genuine, but—-”

“But what?”

“A lady claims that they belong to her—that they were stolen from her. Of course you can explain how they came into your hands?”

“They were given me by a party that owed me money. If he's played a trick on me, it will be the worse for him. Did you sell them?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me the money.”

“Mr. Reynolds won't let me.”

“Does he think I took the bonds?” asked Morrison, hastily.

“No, he doesn't,” answered Grant, proudly, “but he would like to have an interview with you, and make some inquiries, so that he may form some idea as to the person who did take them. They belonged to his housekeeper, Mrs. Estabrook, who is the stepmother of Mr. Ford, a young man employed in our office.”

Tom Calder and Jim Morrison exchanged glances. Grant's story agreed with Ford's, and tended to confirm their confidence in his good faith.

“When does he want to see me?” asked Morrison.

“Can you call at his house this evening at eight o'clock?”

“Where does he live?”

Grant mentioned the street and number.

“I will be there,” he said, briefly.

“Can I come, too?” asked Tom Calder, addressing the question to Grant.

“There will be no objection, I think.”

“Tell him we'll be on hand.”

The three left the hotel together, Grant taking a Broadway