Luke Walton

CHAPTER XXXVII

THOMAS BROWNING'S SECRET

Warner Powell had learned wisdom and prudence with his increasing years, and, instead of inquiring for the best hotel, was content to put up at a humbler hostelry, where he would be comfortable. He made the acquaintance on the cars of a New York drummer, with whom he became quite sociable.

"I suppose you have been in Milwaukee often," said Warner.

"I go there once a year – sometimes twice."

"Where do you stay?"

"At the Prairie Hotel. It is a comfortable house – two dollars a day."

"Just what I want. I will go there."

So, at quarter-past six. Warner Powell found himself in the office of the hotel. He was assigned a room on the third floor.

After making his toilet, he went down to supper. At the table with him were two gentlemen who, from their conversation, appeared to be residents of the city. They were discussing the coming municipal election.

"I tell you, Browning will be our mayor," said one. "His reputation as a philanthropist will elect him."

"I never took much stock in his claims on that score."

"He belongs to all the charitable societies, and is generally an officer."

"That may be; how much does he give himself?"

"I don't know. I suppose he is a liberal subscriber."

"He wants to give that impression, but the man is as selfish as the average. He is said to be a hard landlord, and his tenants get very few favors."

"I am surprised to hear that."

"He is trading on his philanthropy. It would be interesting to learn where his wealth came from. I should not be surprised if he were more smart than honest."

Warner Powell found himself getting interested in this Browning. Was he really a good man, who was unjustly criticised, or was he a sham philanthropist, as charged?

"After all, it doesn't concern me," he said to himself. "The good people of Milwaukee may choose whom they please for mayor so far as I am concerned."

After supper Warner stepped up to the cigar stand to buy a cigar. This, as the reader will remember, was kept by Jack King, an old California acquaintance of Thomas Browning, whose first appearance in our story was in the character of a tramp and would-be burglar.

"Is business good?" asked Warner, pleasantly.

"It is fair; but it seems slow to a man like myself, who has made a hundred dollars a day at the mines in California."

"I have been in California myself," said Powell, "but it was recently, and no such sums were to be made in my time."

"That is true. It didn't last with me. I have noticed that even in the flush times few brought much money away with them, no matter how lucky they were."

"There must become exceptions, however."

"There were. We have a notable example in Milwaukee."

"To whom do you refer?"

"To Thomas Browning, the man who is up for mayor."

Jack King laughed.

"I've heard a lot of talk about that man. He's very honest and very worthy, I hear."

"They call him so," he answered.

"I am afraid you are jealous of that good man," said Warner, smiling.

"I may be jealous of his success, but not of his reputation or his moral qualities."

"Then you don't admire him as much as the public generally?"

"No, I know him too well."

"He is really rich, is he not?"

"Yes, that is, he is worth, perhaps, two hundred thousand dollars."

"That would satisfy me."

"Or me. But I doubt whether the money was creditably gained."

"Do you know anything about it? Were you an acquaintance of his?"

"Yes; I can remember him when he was only a rough miner. I never heard that he was very lucky, but he managed to take considerable money East with him."

Warner eyed Jack King attentively.

"You suspect something," he said, shrewdly.

"I do. There was one of our acquaintances who had struck it rich, and accumulated about ten thousand dollars. Browning was thick with him, and I always suspected that when he found himself on his deathbed, he intrusted all his savings to Butler – "

"I thought you were speaking of Browning?"

"His name was Butler then. He has changed it since. But, as I was saying, I think he intrusted his money to Browning to take home to his family."

"Well?"

"The question is, did Browning fulfill his trust, or keep the money himself?"

"That would come out, wouldn't it? The family would make inquiries."

"They did not know that the dying man had money. He kept it to himself, for he wanted to go home and give them an agreeable surprise. Butler knew this, and, I think, he took advantage of it."

"That was contemptible. But can't it be ascertained? Is it known where the family lives? What is the name?"

"Walton."

"Walton!" repeated Warner Powell, in surprise.

"Yes; do you know any family of that name?"

"I know a boy in Chicago named Luke Walton. He is in the employ of my aunt. A part of his time he spends in selling papers."

"Mr. Browning told me that Walton only left a daughter, and that the family had gone to the Eastern States."

"Would he be likely to tell you the truth – supposing he had really kept the money?"

"Perhaps not. What more can you tell me about this boy?"

Powell's face lighted up.

"I remember now, he told me that his father died in California."

"Is it possible?" said Jack King, excited. "I begin to think I am on the right track. I begin to think, too, that I can tell where Tom Butler got his first start."

"And now he poses as a philanthropist?"

"Yes."

"And is nominated for mayor?"

"Yes, also."

"How are your relations with him?"

"They should be friendly, for he and I were comrades in earlier days, and once I lent him money when he needed it, but he has been puffed up by his prosperity, and takes very little notice of me. He had to do something for me when I first came to Milwaukee, but it was because he was afraid not to."

Meanwhile Warner Powell was searching his memory. Where and how had he become familiar with the name of Thomas Browning? At last it came to him.

"Eureka!" he exclaimed, in excitement.

"What does that mean? I don't understand French."

Warner smiled.

"It isn't French," he said; "but Greek, all the Greek I know. It means 'I have discovered' – the mystery of your old acquaintance."

"Explain, please!" said Jack King, his interest be coming intense.

"I have a friend in Chicago – Stephen Webb, a nephew of your philanthropist – who has been commissioned by his uncle to find out all he can about this newsboy, Luke Walton. He was speculating with me why his uncle should be so interested in an obscure boy."

"Had his uncle told him nothing?"

"No, except that he dropped a hint about knowing Luke's father."

"This Luke and his family are poor, you say?"

"Yes, you can judge that from his employment. He is an honest, manly boy, however, and I have taken a fancy to him. I hope it will turn out as you say. But nothing can be proved. This Browning will probably deny that he received money in trust from the dead father."

Jack King's countenance fell.

"When you go back to Chicago talk with the boy, and find out whether the family have any evidence that will support their claim. Then send the boy on to me, and we will see what can be done."

"I accept the suggestion with pleasure. But I will offer an amendment. Let us write the boy to come on at once, and have a joint consultation in his interest."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

FELICIE PROVES TROUBLESOME

We must return to Chicago for a short time before recording the incidents of Luke's visit to Milwaukee.

Though Harold had lost nearly half of his money through being compelled to divide with Felicie, he was, upon the whole, well satisfied with the way in which he had escaped from suspicion. He had his gold watch, and, as far as he knew, the story which he had told about it had not been doubted. But something happened that annoyed and alarmed him.

One day, when there was no one else in the house, except the servants, Felicie intercepted him as he was going out.

"I want a word with you, Master Harold," she said.

"I am in a hurry, Felicie," replied Harold, who had conceived a dislike for the French maid.

"Still, I think you can spare a few minutes," went on Felicie, smiling in an unpleasant manner.

"Well, be quick about it," said Harold, impatiently.

"I have a sister who is very sick. She is a widow with two children, and her means are very small."

"Goodness, Felicie! What is all this to me? Of course, I'm sorry for her, but I don't know her."

"She looks to me to help her," continued Felicie.

"Well, that's all right! I suppose you are going to help her."

"There is the trouble, Master Harold. I have no money on hand."

"Well, I'm sure that is unlucky, but why do you speak to me about it?"

"Because," and here Felicie's eyes glistened, "I know you obtained some money recently from your aunt."

"Hush!" said Harold, apprehensively.

"But it's true."

"And it's true that you made me give you half of it."

"It all went to my poor sister," said Felicie theatrically.

"I don't see what I have to do with that," said Harold, not without reason.

"So that I kept none for myself. Now I am sure you will open your heart, and give me five dollars more."

"I never heard such cheek!" exclaimed Harold, indignantly. "You've got half, and are not satisfied with that."

"But think of my poor sister!" said Felicie, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, in which there were no tears.

"Think of me!" exclaimed Harold, angrily.

"Then you won't give me the trifle I ask?"

"Trifle? I haven't got it."

"Where is it gone?"

"Gone to buy this watch. That took nearly the whole of it."

"It is indeed so? I thought you received it as a reward for picking up a pocketbook."

"I had to tell my aunt something. Otherwise they would ask me embarrassing questions."

"Ah, quelle invention!" exclaimed Felicie, playfully. "And you really have none of the money left?"

"No."

"Then there is only one way."

"What is that?"

"To open the drawer again."

"Are you mad, Felicie? I should surely be discovered. It won't do to try it a second time when my aunt is on her guard. Besides, very likely she don't keep her money there now."

"Oh, yes, she does."

"How do you know?"

"I was in the room yesterday when she opened the drawer to take out money to pay a bill."

"She must be foolish, then."

"Ah," said Felicie, coolly, "she thinks lightning won't strike twice in the same place."

"Well, it won't."

"There must have been fifty dollars in bills in the drawer," continued Felicie, insinuatingly.

"It may stay there for all me. I won't go to the drawer again."

"I must have some money," said Felicie, significantly.

"Then go and tell Aunt Eliza, and she may give you some."

"I don't think your Aunt Eliza likes me," said Felicie, frankly.

"Very likely not," said Harold, with equal candor.

"You can raise some money on your watch, Master Harold," suggested Felicie.

"How?"

"At the pawnbroker's."

"Well, I don't mean to."

"No?"

"No!" returned Harold, emphatically.

"Suppose I go and tell Mrs. Merton who took her money?"

"You would only expose yourself."

"I did not take it."

"You made me divide with you."

"I shall deny all that. Besides, I shall tell all that I saw – on that day."

Harold felt troubled. Felicie might, as he knew, make trouble for him, and though he could in time inform against her, that would not make matters much better for him. Probably the whole story would come out, and he felt sure that the French maid would not spare him.

A lucky thought came to him.

"Felicie," he said, "I think I can suggest something that will help you."

"Well, what is it?"

"Go to my aunt's drawer yourself. You have plenty of chance, and you can keep all the money you find. I won't ask you for any of it."

Felicie eyed him sharply. She was not sure but he meant to trap her.

"I have no keys," she said.

"You can use the same bunch I have. Here they are!"

Felicie paused a moment, then took the proffered keys. After all, why should she not make use of the suggestion? It would be thought that the second thief was the same as the first.

"Can I rely on your discretion, Master Harold?" she asked.

"Yes, certainly. I am not very likely to say anything about the matter."

"True! It might not be for your interest. Good-morning, Master Harold, I won't detain you any longer."

Harold left the house with a feeling of relief.

"I hope Felicie will be caught!" he said to himself. "I have a great mind to give Aunt Eliza a hint."

It looked as if the generally astute Felicie had made a mistake.

CHAPTER XXXIX

LUKE WALTON'S LETTER

"Here is a letter for you, Luke!" said Mrs. Walton.

Luke took it in his hand, and regarded it curiously. He was not in the habit of receiving letters.

"It is postmarked Milwaukee," he said.

"Do you know anyone in Milwaukee?" asked his mother.

"No; or stay, it must be from Mr. Powell, a brother of Mrs. Tracy."

"Probably he sends a message to his sister."

By this time Luke had opened the following letter, which he read with great surprise and excitement:

DEAR LUKE: – Come to Milwaukee as soon as you can, and join me at the Prairie Hotel. I write in your own interest. There is a large sum due to your father, which I may be able to put you in the way of collecting. You had better see Aunt Eliza, and ask leave of absence for a day or two. If you haven't money enough to come on, let her know, and I am sure she will advance it to you.

Your friend,

WARNER POWELL.

"What can it mean?" asked Mrs. Walton, to whom Luke read the letter.

"It must refer to the ten thousand dollars which father sent to us on his dying bed."

"If it were only so!" said the widow, clasping her hands.

"At any rate, I shall soon find out, mother. I had better take the letter which was sent us, giving us the first information of the legacy."

"Very well, Luke! I don't know anything about business. I must leave the matter entirely in your hands.

"I will go at once to Mrs. Merton and ask if it will inconvenience her if I go away for a couple of days."

"Do so, Luke! She is a kind friend, and you should do nothing without her permission."

Luke took the cars for Prairie Avenue, though it was afternoon, and he had been there once already. He was shown immediately into the old lady's presence.

Mrs. Merton saw him enter with surprise.

"Has anything happened, Luke?" she asked.

"I have received a letter from your nephew, summoning me to Milwaukee."

"I hope he is not in any scrape."

"No; it is a very friendly letter, written in my interest. May I read it to you?"

"I shall be glad to hear it."

Mrs. Merton settled herself back in her rocking-chair, and listened to the reading of the letter.

"Do you know what this refers to, Luke?" she asked.

"Yes; my father on his deathbed in California intrusted a stranger with ten thousand dollars to bring to my mother. He kept it for his own use, and it was only by an accident that we heard about the matter."

"You interest me, Luke. What was the accident?"

Luke explained.

"It must be this that Mr. Powell refers to," he added.

"But I don't see how my nephew should have anything to do with it."

"There is a man in Milwaukee who answers the description of the stranger to whom my poor father intrusted his money. I have seen him, for he often comes to Chicago. I have even spoken to him."

"Have you ever taxed him with this breach of trust?"

"No, for he bears a different name. He is Thomas Browning, while the letter mentions Thomas Butler."

"He may have changed his name."

"I was stupid not to think of that before. There can hardly be two men so singularly alike. I have come to ask you, Mrs. Merton, if you can spare me for two or three days."

"For as long as you like, Luke," said the old lady, promptly. "Have you any money for your traveling expenses?"

"Yes, thank you."

"No matter. Here are twenty dollars. Money never comes amiss."

"You are always kind to me, Mrs. Merton," said Luke, gratefully.

"It is easy to be kind if one is rich. I want to see that man punished. Let me give you one piece of advice. Be on your guard with this man! He is not to be trusted."

"Thank you! I am sure your advice is good."

"I wish you good luck, Luke. However things may turn out, there is one thing that gratifies me. Warner is showing himself your friend. I have looked upon him till recently as a black sheep, but he is redeeming himself rapidly in my eyes. I shall not forget his kindness to you."

As Luke went downstairs he met Mrs. Tracy.

"Here again!" said she, coldly. "Did my aunt send for you this afternoon?"

"No, madam."

"Then you should not have intruded. You are young, but you are very artful. I see through your schemes, you may rest assured."

"I wished to show Mrs. Merton a letter from your brother, now in Milwaukee," said Luke.

"Oh, that's it, is it? Let me see the letter."

"I must refer you to Mrs. Merton."

"He has probably sent to Aunt Eliza for some money," thought Mrs. Tracy. "He and the boy are well matched."

CHAPTER XL

FACE TO FACE WITH THE ENEMY

Thomas Browning sat in his handsome study, in a complacent frame of mind. The caucus was to be held in the evening, and he confidently expected the nomination for mayor. It was the post he had coveted for a long time. There were other honors that were greater, but the mayoralty would perhaps prove a stepping-stone to them. He must not be impatient. He was only in middle life, and there was plenty of time.

"I didn't dream this when I was a penniless miner in California," he reflected, gleefully. "Fortune was hard upon me then, but now I am at the top of the heap. All my own good management, too. Tom Butler – no, Browning – is no fool, if I do say it myself."

"Someone to see you, Mr. Browning," said the servant.

"Show him in!" replied the philanthropist.

A poorly dressed man followed the maid into the room.

Mr. Browning frowned. He had thought it might be some influential member of his party.

"What do you want?" he asked, roughly.

The poor man stood humbly before him, nervously pressing the hat between his hands.

"I am one of your tenants, Mr. Browning. I am behindhand with my rent, owing to sickness in the family, and I have been ordered out."

"And very properly, too!" said Browning. "You can't expect me to let you stay gratis."

"But sir, you have the reputation of being a philanthropist. It hardly seems the character – "

"I do not call myself a philanthropist – others call me so – and perhaps they are right. I help the poor to the extent of my means, but even a philanthropist expects his honest dues."

"Then you can do nothing for me, sir?"

"No; I do not feel called upon to interfere in your case."

The poor man went out sorrowfully, leaving the philanthropist in an irritable mood. Five minutes later a second visitor was announced.

"Who is it?" asked Browning, fearing it might be an other tenant.

"It is a boy, sir."

"With a message, probably. Show him up."

But Thomas Browning was destined to be surprised, when in the manly-looking youth who entered he recognized the Chicago newsboy who had already excited his uneasiness.

"What brings you here?" he demanded, in a startled tone.

"I don't know if you remember me, Mr. Browning," said Luke, quietly. "Luke Walton is my name, sir, and I have sold you papers near the Sherman House, in Chicago."

"I thought your face looked familiar," said Browning, assuming an indifferent tone. "You have made a mistake in coming to Milwaukee. You cannot do as well here as in Chicago."

"I have not come in search of a place. I have a good one at home."

"I suppose you have some object in coming to this city?"

"Yes; I came to see you."

"Upon my word, I ought to feel flattered, but I can't do anything for you. I have some reputation in charitable circles, but I have my hands full here."

"I have not come to ask you a favor, Mr. Browning. If you will allow me, I will ask your advice in a matter of importance to me."

Browning brightened up. He was always ready to give advice.

"Go on!" he said.

"When I was a young boy my father went to California. He left my mother, my brother, and myself very poorly provided for, but he hoped to earn money at the mines. A year passed, and we heard of his death."

"A good many men die in California," said Browning, phlegmatically.

"We could not learn that father left anything, and we were compelled to get long as we could. Mother obtained sewing to do at low prices, and I sold papers."