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Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 11. The Twenty-Dollar Bill |
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_ CHAPTER XI. THE TWENTY-DOLLAR BILL In order to understand what followed, it is necessary to explain that the evening previous Bert and his mother found themselves out of money. About a dollar was due the latter for covering balls, but it would not be paid for three days, and meanwhile they were in an embarrassing condition. "What shall we do?" asked Mrs. Barton, with a troubled look. "If Uncle Jacob were only here, I would ask his advice." "He left a note to be opened if we got into trouble," said Bert, brightening up. "So he did. Do you think the time has come, Bert?" "I have no doubt of it. Where is it, mother?" "I put it in a bureau drawer in my room." "Shall I go up and get it?" "No; I will do so, as I know exactly where it is." She went upstairs, and returned almost immediately with the letter in her hand. Bert produced his knife and cut open the envelope at one end. Then, drawing out the contents, he found them to be a half sheet of note paper and a bank bill. "It's a twenty-dollar bill, mother!" he exclaimed joyfully. "Shall I read the note?" "Yes, read it, Bert." Bert read as follows: MY DEAR NIECE: As I know your income is small, and you are liable, in case of sickness or loss of employment to need help, I put a twenty-dollar bill into this envelope, which I wish you to use freely. Do not fear that it will inconvenience me to give it. My health is good, and I hope to earn my living for years to come. Your affectionate uncle, "Dear Uncle Jacob," said the widow gratefully, "how good and kind he is. With his small savings I don't feel that he can afford to be so generous." "I will pay him back some time, mother." "You think then that we are justified in using it, Bert?" "Uncle Jacob meant us to do so. Before it is gone I shall probably find something to do, and then I may gradually be able to pay back the money." "In that case, Bert, I am afraid we must break into it to-morrow. Probably Mr. Jones can change it for us." So it happened the next evening that Bert, with the kerosene can in his hand, went to the store, entering, as already described, just as Percy left it with the bill which he had purloined on the impulse of the moment. "I would like two quarts of kerosene, Mr. Jones," said Bert, handing over the can. The proprietor went to one corner of the store to fill the can, and brought it back. "Please take your pay out of this," said Bert, handing him the twenty-dollar bill. Mr. Jones started in surprise, and his face darkened ominously. He scanned the desk on which he remembered placing his own twenty-dollar bill, and it was nowhere to be seen. "Why, you audacious young thief!" he exclaimed in a fury. "What do you mean?" demanded Bert angrily. "What do I mean?" gasped Jones. "You know what I mean well enough. I never knew such audacity." "Please explain yourself, Mr. Jones," said Bert with spirit. "I didn't come here to be insulted." "You are a hardened young reprobate! Do you mean to say you didn't steal this twenty-dollar bill from my desk, where I laid it five minutes since?" "I don't know anything about any twenty-dollar bill of yours, Mr. Jones. This money is mine, or rather my mother's, and I brought it with me from home." "Do you expect me to believe this bold falsehood, Bert Barton?" the store-keeper exploded wrathfully. "I don't expect you to believe any falsehood at all, Mr. Jones. Will you either change that bill or give it back to me?" "I will do neither." "Then, sir, it is you who are the thief." "You impudent young rascal, now I won't have any mercy on you. For your mother's sake, I might have done so, but as you persist in brazening out your guilt, I will see that you have a chance to repent. Here is the constable come in just at the right moment. Mr. Drake, please come here." A tall, pleasant-looking officer, who had just entered the store, approached the desk. "What can I do for you, Mr. Jones?" he asked. "Arrest this boy!" said Jones, pointing with flushed face at his young customer. "Arrest Bert Barton!" exclaimed Constable Drake, in amazement. "What on earth has he done?" "Stolen a twenty-dollar bill from my desk, and then presented it to me in payment for some kerosene." "The charge is false!" said Bert, his eyes glowing with indignation. "Hear him deny it!" said Jones, looking at the circle that had gathered around them. "I find it hard to credit your charge, Mr. Jones," replied the constable. "We all know Bert Barton, and I don't believe he would be guilty of theft." "I require you to arrest the boy!" persisted the store-keeper, stamping his foot in excitement. "Wait a moment! Did you see him take the bill?" "No," answered Jones reluctantly. "Then why do you accuse him? Please state the circumstances." "A few minutes since I was paid twenty dollars by Mr. Holbrook of the hotel, in settlement of his weekly bill for groceries, and being somewhat hurried I laid it down on the desk while I was filling an order." "Go on!" "Five minutes since Bert Barton came in and took up his position where he is now standing. He asked me for two quarts of kerosene. I filled his can for him, and he gave me a twenty-dollar bill from which to take payment. I was naturally surprised, and looked for the bill I had left on the desk. _It was gone!_" Mr. Jones gazed about the circle triumphantly. "What do you say to that?" he asked. Sympathetic eyes were turned upon Bert. Things certainly looked black for him. "I don't think I need say any more," added the store-keeper. "I want you to arrest that boy." Bert looked at the faces that encircled him. He saw that they believed him guilty, and a feeling of hot indignation possessed him. "Bert, my boy," said Officer Drake, "what have you to say to this?" "That the twenty-dollar bill I handed to Mr. Jones belongs to my mother. I know nothing of the bill he says he laid on his desk." "That's a likely story!" put in Mr. Jones, in a tone of sarcasm. "How many more twenty-dollar bills have you got at your house? I wasn't aware that your mother was so wealthy." Again opinion was unfavorable to poor Bert. His mother's straitened circumstances were well known, and it certainly did seem improbable upon the face of it that she should have a twenty-dollar bill in her possession. "This was the only twenty-dollar bill that my mother had," replied Bert. "Oh, indeed! I thought as much," said Mr. Jones significantly. "Mr. Drake, do you intend to arrest that boy?" he added angrily. "I have no warrant," returned the officer. "If you will swear that you saw him take the bill, I will assume the responsibility." "I didn't see him take it," the store-keeper again admitted reluctantly; "but it stands to reason that it is mine." Here a young man in the outer circle stepped forward. He was a summer boarder at the hotel, and Bert knew him slightly. "I am a lawyer," he said, "and if Bert will place his interests in my hands I will see what I can do to throw light upon this mystery." "I shall be very glad to do so, Mr. Conway," answered Bert. "No lawyer is needed," sputtered Jones. "The case is as plain as can be. I have no more doubt that the boy took my bill than if I had seen him do it." "That isn't legal proof; it is only an assumption," said the young lawyer. "Squire Marlowe is, I believe, your magistrate here, and I agree in behalf of my client to have the matter brought before him to-morrow morning. Meanwhile, Mr. Jones, will you hand the twenty-dollar bill in dispute to officer Drake?" "Why should I? The bill is mine," said the merchant sullenly. "That remains to be proved. Do I understand that you refuse to give up the bill?" "I do?" answered Jones doggedly. "Then I will apply at once for a warrant for your arrest for holding property belonging to my young client," said Mr. Conway. _ |
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