Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune by Jr. Horatio Alger (booksvooks txt) 📖

smiling. “How do you get along with Silas Tripp?”

“He’s always scoldin’; he says I am not half as smart as you.”

“I am much obliged to Mr. Tripp for his favorable opinion, but he didn’t think enough of me to give me decent pay.”

“He’s awful mean. He’s talkin’ of reducin’ me to two dollars a week. He says business is very poor, and he isn’t makin’ any money.”

“I wish you and I were making half as much as he.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand, Chester. You ain’t workin’, yet you seem to have money.”

“How do you know I have?”

“Mr. Tripp says you came into the store three or four days ago and changed a five-dollar bill.”

“Yes; Mr. Tripp seemed anxious to know where I got it.”

“You didn’t use to have five-dollar bills, Chester, when you were at work.”

“This five-dollar bill dropped down the chimney one fine morning,” said Chester, laughing.

“I wish one would drop down my chimney. But I must be gettin’ along, or old Tripp will give me hail Columbia when I get back.”

About nine o’clock that evening, as Chester was returning from a lecture in the church, he was accosted by a rough-looking fellow having very much the appearance of a tramp, who seemed somewhat under the influence of liquor.

“I say, boss,” said the tramp, “can’t you give a poor man a quarter to help him along?”

“Are you out of work?” asked Chester, staying his step.

“Yes; times is hard and work is scarce. I haven’t earned anything for a month.”

“Where do you come from?”

“From Pittsburg,” answered the tramp, with some hesitation.

“What do you work at when you are employed?”

“I am a machinist. Is there any chance in that line here?”

“Not in Wyncombe.”

“That’s what I thought. How about that quarter?”

“I am out of work myself and quarters are scarce with me.”

“That’s what you all say! There’s small show for a good, industrious man.”

Chester thought to himself that if the stranger was a good, industrious man he was unfortunate in his appearance.

“I have sympathy for all who are out of work,” he said. “Mother and I are poor. When I did work I only got three dollars a week.”

“Where did you work?”

“In Mr. Tripp’s store, in the center of the village.”

“I know. It’s a two-story building, ain’t it, with a piazza?”

“Yes.”

“Has the old fellow got money?”

“Oh, yes; Silas Tripp is rich.”

“So? He didn’t pay you much wages, though.”

“No; he feels poor. I dare say he feels poorer than I do.”

“Such men ought not to have money,” growled the tramp. “They’re keepin’ it out of the hands of honest men. What sort of a lookin’ man is this man Tripp? Is he as big as me?”

“Oh, no, he is a thin, dried-up, little man, who looks as if he hadn’t had a full meal of victuals in his life.”

“What time does he shut up shop?”

“About this time,” answered Chester, rather puzzled by the tramp’s persistence in asking questions.

“What’s your name?”

“Chester Rand.”

“Can’t you give me a quarter? I’m awful hungry. I ain’t had a bit to eat since yesterday.”

“I have no money to give you, but if you will come to our house I’ll give you some supper.”

“Where do you live?”

“About five minutes’ walk.”

“Go ahead, then; I’m with you.”

Mrs. Rand looked up with surprise when the door opened and Chester entered, followed by an ill-looking tramp, whose clothes were redolent of tobacco, and his breath of whisky.

“Mother,” said Chester, “this man tells me that he hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday.”

“No more I haven’t,” spoke up the tramp, in a hoarse voice.

“He asked for some money. I could not give him that, but I told him we would give him some supper.”

“Of course we will,” said Mrs. Rand, in a tone of sympathy. She did not admire the appearance of her late visitor, but her heart was alive to the appeal of a hungry man.

“Sit down, sir,” she said, “and I’ll make some hot tea, and that with some bread and butter and cold meat will refresh you.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I ain’t over-partial to tea, and my doctor tells me I need whisky. You don’t happen to have any whisky in the house, do you?”

“This is a temperance house,” said Chester, “we never keep whisky.”

“Well, maybe I can get along with the tea,” sighed the tramp, in evident disappointment.

“You look strong and healthy,” observed Mrs. Rand.

“I ain’t, ma’am. Looks is very deceiving. I’ve got a weakness here,” and he touched the pit of his stomach, “that calls for strengthenin’ drink. But I’ll be glad of the victuals.”

When the table was spread with an extemporized supper, the unsavory visitor sat down, and did full justice to it. He even drank the tea, though he made up a face and called it “slops.”

“Where did you come from, sir?” asked Mrs. Rand.

“From Chicago, ma’am.”

“Were you at work there? What is your business?”

“I’m a blacksmith, ma’am.”

“I thought you were a machinist and came from Pittsburg,” interrupted Chester, in surprise.

“I came here by way of Pittsburg,” answered the tramp, coughing. “I am machinist, too.”

“His stories don’t seem to hang together,” thought Chester.

After supper the tramp, who said his name was Robert Ramsay, took out his pipe and began to smoke. If it had not been a cold evening, Mrs. Rand, who disliked tobacco, would have asked him to smoke out of doors, but as it was she tolerated it.

Both Chester and his mother feared that their unwelcome visitor would ask to stay all night, and they would not have felt safe with him in the house, but about a quarter past ten he got up and said he must be moving.

“Good-night, and good luck to you!” said Chester.

“Same to you!” returned the tramp.

“I wonder where he’s going,” thought Chester.

But when the next morning came he heard news that answered this question.

CHAPTER VII.

SILAS TRIPP MAKES A DISCOVERY.

When Silas Tripp went into his store the next day he was startled to find a window in the rear was partially open.

“How did that window come open, Abel?” he asked, as Abel Wood entered the store.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“It must have been you that opened it,” said his employer, sternly.

“I didn’t do it, Mr. Tripp, honest I didn’t,” declared Abel, earnestly.

“Then how did it come open, that’s what I want to know?”

“I am sure I can’t tell.”

“Somebody might have come in during the night and robbed the store.”

“So there might.”

“It’s very mysterious. Such things didn’t happen when Chester was here.”

Abel made no answer, but began to sweep out the store, his first morning duty.

When Silas spoke of the store being robbed he had no idea that such a robbing had taken place, but he went to the money drawer and opened it to make sure all was safe.

Instantly there was a cry of dismay.

“Abel!” he exclaimed, “I’ve been robbed. There’s a lot of money missing.”

Abel stopped sweeping and turned pale.

“Is that so, Mr. Tripp?” he asked, faintly.

“Yes, there’s—lemme see. There’s been burglars here. Oh, this is terrible!”

“Who could have done it, Mr. Tripp?”

“I dunno, but the store was entered last night. I never shall feel safe again,” groaned Silas.

“Didn’t they leave no traces?”

“Ha! here’s a handkerchief,” said Mr. Tripp, taking the article from the top of a flour barrel, “and yes, by gracious, it’s marked Chester Rand.”

“You don’t think he took the money?” ejaculated Abel, in open-eyed wonder.

“Of course it must have been him! He knew just where I kept the money, and he could find his way about in the dark, he knew the store so well.”

“I didn’t think Chester would do such a thing.”

“That’s how he came by his five-dollar bill. He came in bold as brass and paid me with my own money—the young rascal!”

“But how could he do it if the money was took last night? It was two or three days ago he paid you the five-dollar bill.”

This was a poser, but Mr. Tripp was equal to the emergency.

“He must have robbed me before,” he said.

“You haven’t missed money before, have you?”

“Not to my knowledge, but he must have took it. Abel, I want you to go right over to the Widow Rand’s and tell Chester I want to see him. I dunno but I’d better send the constable after him.”

“Shall I carry him his handkerchief?”

“No, and don’t tell him it’s been found. I don’t want to put him on his guard.”

Abel put his broom behind the door and betook himself to the house of Mrs. Rand.

The widow herself opened the door.

“Is Chester at home?” asked Abel.

“Yes, he’s eating his breakfast. Do you want to see him?”

“Well, Mr. Tripp wants to see him.”

“Possibly he wants Chester to give him a little extra help,” she thought.

“Won’t you come in and take a cup of coffee while Chester is finishing his breakfast?” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Abel was a boy who was always ready to eat and drink, and he accepted the invitation with alacrity.

“So Mr. Tripp wants to see me?” said Chester. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“He’ll tell you,” answered Abel, evasively.

Chester was not specially interested or excited. He finished his breakfast in a leisurely manner, and then taking his hat, went out with Abel. It occurred to him that Mr. Tripp might be intending to discharge Abel, and wished to see if he would return to his old place.

“So you don’t know what he wants to see me about?” he asked.

“Well, I have an idea,” answered Abel, in a mysterious tone.

“What is it, then?”

“Oh, I dassn’t tell.”

“Look here, Abel, I won’t stir a step till you do tell me. You are acting very strangely.”

“Well, somethin’ terrible has happened,” Abel ejaculated, in excited tones.

“What’s it?”

“The store was robbed last night.”

“The store was robbed?” repeated Chester. “What was taken?”

“Oh, lots and lots of money was taken from the drawer, and the window in the back of the store was left open.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. I didn’t know there was anybody in Wyncombe that would do such things. Does Mr. Tripp suspect anybody?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Who is it?”

“He thinks you done it.”

Chester stopped abruptly and looked amazed.

“Why, the man must be crazy! What on earth makes him think I would stoop to do such a thing?”

“’Cause your handkerchief was found on a flour barrel ’side of the money drawer.”

“My handkerchief! Who says it was my handkerchief?”

“Your name was on it—in one corner; I seed it myself.”

Then a light dawned upon Chester. The tramp whom he and his mother had entertained the evening before, must have picked up his handkerchief, and left it in the store to divert suspicion from himself. The detective instinct was born within Chester, and now he felt impatient to have the investigation proceed.

“Come on, Abel,” he said, “I want to see about this matter.”

“Well, you needn’t walk so plaguy fast, wouldn’t if I was you.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause you’ll probably have to go to jail. I’ll tell you what I’d do.”

“Well?”

“I’d hook it.”

“You mean run away?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the last thing I’d do. Mr. Tripp would have a right to think I was guilty in that case.”

“Well, ain’t you?”

“Abel Wood, I have a great mind to give you a licking. Don’t you know me any better than that?”

“Then why did you leave the handkerchief on the flour barrel?”

“That’ll come out in due time.”

They were near the store where Mr. Tripp was impatiently waiting for their appearance. He did not anticipate Abel’s staying to breakfast, and his suspicions were excited.

“I’ll bet Chester Rand has left town with the money,” he groaned. “Oh, it’s awful to have your hard earnin’s carried off so sudden. I’ll send Chester to jail unless he returns it—every cent of it.”

Here Abel entered the store, followed by Chester.

CHAPTER VIII.

A SCENE IN THE GROCERY STORE.

“So you’ve come, have you, you young thief?” said Silas, sternly, as Chester entered the store. “Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“No, I’m not,” Chester answered, boldly. “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Oh, you hardened young villain. Give me the money right off, or I’ll send you to jail.”

“I hear from Abel that the store was robbed