Mark the Match Boy

CHAPTER XXII

A CLUB NIGHT

"The secretary will read the journal of the last meeting," said President Brandon.

Tracy rose, and read a brief report, which was accepted, according to form.

"Is there any business to come before the club?" inquired the president.

"I would like to nominate a friend of mine as a member of the club," said Burgess.

"What's his name?" inquired a member.

"Henry Drayton."

"Will Mr. Burgess give some account of his friend, so that the members can vote intelligently on his election?" requested Brandon.

"He's a jolly sort of fellow, and a good singer," said Burgess. "He'll help make our meetings lively. He's about my age – "

"In his second childhood," suggested Wilmot.

This produced a laugh at the expense of Burgess, who took it good-naturedly.

"Has he got five dollars?" inquired another member.

"His father is a rich man," said Burgess. "There will be no fear about his not paying his assessments."

"That's the principal thing," said Wilmot. "I second the nomination."

A vote was taken which was unanimously affirmative.

"Mr. Drayton is unanimously elected a member of the Madison Club," announced the president. "Notification will be duly sent him by the secretary. Is there any other business to come before the club?"

As there appeared to be none, Brandon added, "Then we will proceed to the more agreeable duties which have brought us hither."

He rang a small bell.

Jackson answered the summons.

"Jackson, is the punch ready?" inquired the president.

"Yes, sir," said Jackson.

"Then bring it in. I appoint Wilmot and Burgess to lend you the necessary aid."

A large flagon of hot whiskey punch was brought in and placed on a table. Glasses were produced from a closet in the corner of the room, and it was served out to the members.

"How do you like it, Roswell?" inquired Ralph Graham.

"It's – rather strong," said Roswell, coughing.

"Oh, you'll soon be used to it. The fellows will begin to be jolly after they've drunk a glass or two."

"Do they ever get tight?" whispered Roswell.

"A little lively, – that's all."

The effect predicted soon followed.

"Wilmot, give us a song," said Burgess.

"What will you have?" said Wilmot, whose flushed face showed that the punch had begun to affect him.

"Oh, you can give us an air from one of the operas."

"Villikens and his Dinah?" suggested Tracy.

"Very good," said Wilmot.

Wilmot was one of those, who, with no voice or musical ear, are under the delusion that they are admirable singers. He executed the song in his usual style, and was rewarded with vociferous applause, which appeared to gratify him.

"Gentleman," he said, laying his hand upon his heart, "I am deeply grateful for your kind appreciation of my – "

"Admirable singing," suggested Dunbar.

"Of my admirable singing," repeated Wilmot, gravely.

This speech was naturally followed by an outburst of laughter. Wilmot looked around him in grave surprise.

"I don't see what you fellows are laughing at," he said, "unless you're all drunk."

He sat down amid a round of applause, evidently puzzled to understand the effect of his words.

After this, David Green arose, and rehearsed amid great applause a stump speech which he had heard at some minstrel entertainment which he had attended.

"How do you like it, Roswell?" again inquired Ralph Graham.

"It's splendid," said Roswell, enthusiastically.

"Are you glad you joined?"

"Yes; I wouldn't have missed it for a good deal."

"I knew you'd say so. Have your glass filled. Here Jackson, fill this gentleman's glass."

Roswell was beginning to feel a little light-headed; but the punch had excited him, and he had become in a degree reckless of consequences. So he made no opposition to the proposal, but held out his glass, which was soon returned to him filled to the brim.

"Speech from the new member!" called Dunbar, after a while.

"Yes, speech, speech!"

All eyes were turned towards Roswell.

"You'd better say something," said Ralph.

Roswell rose to his feet, but found it necessary to hold on to his chair for support.

"Mr. President," commenced Roswell, gazing about him in a vacant way, "this is a great occasion."

"Of course it is," said Burgess.

"We are assembled to-night – "

"So we are. Bright boy!" said David Green.

"I am a gentleman's son," continued Roswell.

"What's the gentleman's name?" interrupted Wilmot.

"And I think it's a shame that I should only be paid six dollars a week for my services."

"Bring your employer here, and we'll lynch him," said Tracy. "Such mean treatment of a member of the Madison Club should meet with the severest punishment. Go ahead."

"I don't think I've got anything more to say," said Roswell. "As my head doesn't feel just right, I'll sit down."

There was a round of applause, and Wilmot arose.

"Mr. President," he said, gravely, "I have been very much impressed with the remarks of the gentleman who has just sat down. They do equal credit to his head and his heart. His reference to his salary was most touching. If you will allow me, I will pause a moment and wipe away an unbidden tear." (Here amid laughter and applause, Wilmot made an imposing demonstration with a large handkerchief. He then proceeded.) "Excuse my emotion, gentlemen. I merely arose to make the motion that the gentleman should furnish us a copy of his remarks, that they may be engrossed on parchment, and a copy sent to the principal libraries in Europe and America."

Roswell was hardly in a condition to understand that fun was being made of him, but listened soberly, sipping from time to time from his glass.

"The motion is not in order," said Brandon. "The hour for business has gone by."

The punch was now removed, and cards were produced. The remainder of the evening was spent in playing euchre and other games. Roswell took a hand, but found he was too dizzy to play correctly, and for the remainder of the evening contented himself with looking on. Small sums were staked among some of the players, and thus a taste for gambling was fostered which might hereafter lead to moral shipwreck and ruin.

This was the way in which the members of the Madison Club spent their evenings, – a very poor way, as my young readers will readily acknowledge. I heartily approve of societies organized by young people for debate and mutual improvement. They are oftentimes productive of great good. Some of our distinguished men date their first impulse to improve and advance themselves to their connection with such a society. But the Madison Club had no salutary object in view. It was adapted to inspire a taste for gambling and drinking, and the money spent by the members to sustain it was worse than wasted.

Roswell, however, who would have found nothing to interest or attract him in a Debating Society, was very favorably impressed by what he had seen of the Madison Club. He got an erroneous impression that it was likely to introduce him into the society of gentlemen, and his aristocratic predilections were, as we know, one of Roswell's hobbies.

It was about eleven when the club broke up its meeting. Previous to this there was a personal difficulty between Wilmot and Tracy, which resulted in a rough-and-tumble fight, in which Wilmot got the worst of it. How the quarrel arose no one could remember, – the principals least of all. At last they were reconciled, and were persuaded to shake hands.

They issued into the street, a noisy throng. Roswell's head ached, the punch, to which he was not accustomed, having affected him in this way. Besides this he felt a little dizzy.

"I wish you'd come home with me, Ralph," he said to his friend. "I don't feel quite right."

"Oh, you'll feel all right to-morrow. Your head will become as strong as mine after a while. I'm as cool as a cucumber."

"It's rather late, isn't it?" asked Roswell.

"Hark, there's the clock striking. I'll count the strokes. Eleven o'clock!" he said, after counting. "That isn't very late."

Ralph accompanied Roswell to the door of his mother's house in Clinton Place.

"Good-night, old fellow!" he said. "You'll be all right in the morning."

"Good-night," said Roswell.

He crept up to bed, but his brain was excited by the punch he had drank, and it was only after tossing about for two hours that he at length sank into a troubled sleep.

CHAPTER XXIII

WHO WAS THE THIEF?

When Roswell rose the next morning he felt cross and out of sorts. His head still ached a little, and he wished he were not obliged to go to the store. But it was out of the question to remain at home, so he started about half an hour after the usual time, and of course arrived late.

"You are late this morning," said Mr. Baker. "You must be more particular about being here in good season."

Roswell muttered something about not feeling quite well.

Putting his hand into his pocket by chance, his fingers came in contact with the key which he had made to open the cash drawer. Just as he was passing Mark, he drew it out and let it drop into the side-pocket of his jacket. So, if suspicion were excited, the key would be found on Mark, not on him.

The critical moment came sooner than he had anticipated.

A Mr. Gay, one of the regular customers of the bookstore, entered a few minutes later.

"Good-morning, Mr. Baker," he said. "Have you got a 'Tribune' this morning?"

"Yes, here is one. By the way, you are just the man I wanted to see."

"Indeed, I feel complimented."

"Wait till you hear what I am going to say. You bought a copy of 'Corinne' here on Monday?"

"Yes."

"And handed me a five-dollar bill on the Park Bank?"

"Yes."

"Well, I find the bill was a skilfully executed counterfeit."

"Indeed! I didn't examine it very closely. But I know where I took it, and will give you a good bill in exchange for it."

"I locked it up lest it should get out," said Mr. Baker.

He went to the drawer which Roswell had opened. Roswell listened to this conversation with dismay. He realized that he was in a tight place, for it was undoubtedly the five-dollar counterfeit which he had taken, and paid to the Secretary of the Madison Club. He awaited nervously the result of Mr. Baker's examination.

"Don't you find it?" asked Mr. Gay.

"It is very strange," said Mr. Baker. "I placed it at the top of a pile of bills, and now it is gone."

"Look through the pile. Perhaps your memory is at fault," said Mr. Gay.

Mr. Baker did so.

"No," he said, "the bill has disappeared."

"Do you miss anything else?"

"No. The money is just five dollars short."

"Perhaps you forget yourself, and paid it away to a customer."

"Impossible; I always make change out of this drawer."

"Well, when you find it, I will make it right. I am in a hurry this morning."

Mr. Gay went out.

"Has any one been to this drawer?" inquired Mr. Baker, abruptly.

"You always keep it locked, – do you not?" said Mr. Jones.

"And keep the key myself. Yes."

"Then I don't see how it could have been opened."

"There was nothing peculiar about the lock. There might easily be another key to fit it."

"I hope you don't suspect me, Mr. Baker?"

"No, Mr. Jones, you have been with me five years, and I have perfect confidence in you."

"Thank you, sir."

"I hope you don't suspect me, sir," said Roswell, boldly. "I am willing to turn my pockets inside-out, to show that I have no key that will fit the lock."

"Very well. You may do so."

Roswell turned his pockets inside-out, but of course no key was found.

"How lucky I got rid of it!" he thought.

"Now it's your turn, Mark," he said.

"I'm perfectly willing," said Mark, promptly.

He put his hand into his pocket, and, to his unutterable astonishment and dismay, drew out a key.

"I didn't know I had this in my pocket," he said, startled.

"Hand me that key," said Mr. Baker, sternly.

Mark handed it to him mechanically.

Mr. Baker went behind the counter, and fitted the key in the lock. It proved to open the drawer with ease.

"Where did you get this key?" he said.

"I didn't know I had it, sir," said Mark, earnestly. "I hope you will believe me."

"I don't understand how you can hope anything of the kind. It seems very clear that you have been at my drawer, and taken the missing money. When did you take it?"

"I have never opened the drawer, nor taken your money," said Mark, in a firm voice, though his cheek was pale, and his look was troubled.

"I am sorry to say that I do not believe you," said Mr. Baker, coldly. "Once more, when did you take the five dollars?"

"I did not take it at all, sir."

"Have you lent the key to any one?"

"No, sir. I did not know I had it."

"I don't know what to do in the matter," said the bookseller, turning to Mr. Jones, his assistant. "It seems clear to me that the boy took the missing bill."

"I am afraid so," said Jones, who was a kind-hearted man, and pitied Mark. "But I don't know when he could have had the chance. He is never left alone in the store."

"Roswell," said Mr. Baker, "have you left Mark alone in the store at any time within two or three days?"

Roswell saw the point of the inquiry, and determined, as a measure of safety, to add falsehood to his former offence.

"Yes, sir," he said, in an apologetic tone, "I left him in the store for two or three minutes yesterday."

"Why did you leave him? Did you go out of the store?"

"Yes, sir. A friend was passing, and I went out to speak to him. I don't think I stayed more than two or three minutes."

"And Mark was left alone in the store?"

"Yes, sir. I had no idea that any harm would come of it."

Mark looked intently at Roswell when he uttered this falsehood.

"You had better confess, Mark, that you took the money when Roswell was out of the store," said his employer. "If you make a full confession, I will be as lenient with you as I can, considering your youth."

"Mr. Baker," said Mark, quietly, more at his ease now, since he began to understand that there was a plot against him, "I cannot confess what is not true. I don't know what Roswell means by what he has just said, but I was not left alone in the store for a moment all day yesterday, nor did Roswell go out to speak to a friend while I was about."

"There seems to be a conflict of evidence here," said Mr. Baker.

"I hope the word of a gentleman's son is worth more than that of a match boy," said Roswell, haughtily.

"To whom do you refer, when you speak of a match boy?"

"To him," said Roswell, pointing to Mark. "He used to be a vagabond boy about the streets selling matches, and sleeping anywhere he could. No wonder he steals."

"I never stole in my life," said Mark, indignantly. "It is true that I sold matches about the streets, and I should have been doing it now, if it had not been for my meeting with kind friends."

"As to his having been a match boy, that has no bearing upon the question," said Mr. Baker. "It is the discovery of the key in his pocket that throws the gravest suspicion upon him. I must see his friends, and inquire into the matter."

"Of course they will stand by him," said Roswell.

"We may get some light thrown upon his possession of the key, at any rate, and can judge for ourselves."

"I shall keep you employed until this matter is investigated," said Mr. Baker to Mark. "Here is a parcel of books to be carried to Twenty-Seventh Street. Come back as soon as they are delivered."

Mark went out with a heavy heart, for it troubled him to think he was under suspicion. Theft, too, he had always despised. He wondered if Richard Hunter would believe him guilty. He could not bear to think that so kind a friend should think so ill of him.

But Mark's vindication was not long in coming. He had been out scarcely ten minutes when Roswell, on looking up, saw to his dismay Tracy, the secretary of the Madison Club, entering the store. His heart misgave him as to the nature of the business on which he had probably come.

He went forward hastily to meet him.

"How are you, Crawford?" said Tracy.

"Pretty well. I am very busy now. I will see you, after the store closes, anywhere you please."

"Oh," said Tracy, in a voice loud enough for Mr. Baker to hear, "it won't take a minute. The bill you gave me last night was a bad one. Of course you didn't know it."

Roswell turned red and pale, and hoped Mr. Baker did not hear. But Mr. Baker had caught the words, and came forward.

"Show me the bill, if you please, young gentleman," he said. "I have a good reason for asking."

"Certainly, sir," said Tracy, rather surprised. "Here it is."

A moment's glance satisfied Mr. Baker that it was the missing bill.