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Tom, The Bootblack; or, The Road to Success, a fiction by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 23. The Tables Turned |
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_ CHAPTER XXIII. THE TABLES TURNED As Maurice Walton left the Burnet House, he fell in with the one whom he most wished to avoid. Gilbert was returning to the store, after his usual midday lunch. He was surprised to see Maurice, supposing him at home, suffering from the headache. "How do you happen to be here, Maurice?" he asked. "I thought you were at home." "My head felt so bad that I thought I would come out into the fresh air," answered Maurice, a little confused. "Do you feel better?" "A little. I think I'll go home and go to bed." "I hope you'll be all right to-morrow." "I guess so." So they separated, Gilbert, who was not inclined to be suspicious, not doubting his fellow-clerk's statements. That evening, when he returned to his boarding-house, the servant said: "Did your friend find the opera-glass?" "What?" said Gilbert. "Shure a friend of yours called, and said you had sent him to borrow your opera-glass." "I sent nobody. Who was it? What did he look like?" "He was about your size, shure, and had a black _mustash_." "I don't know who it can be. Did he go up into my room?" "Yes, he did. He said he knew the way." "I can't think who it was." Gilbert went up stairs, and, to increase the mystery, there was his opera-glass on the bureau, where he usually kept it. It was directly in sight, so that the visitor must have seen it. "I can't understand it," he said, perplexed. "Mordaunt, do you know of any friend of mine who has a black mustache?" "Frank Oswald." "He is considerably larger than I am. The servant said it was some one of my size." "I can't think of anybody else." "I don't see why he didn't take the opera-glass, if he wanted it, though it would have been rather bold, as I didn't authorize anybody to take it." As there seemed no clew to the mystery, and as, moreover, Gilbert had no suspicion that the visitor was on an unlawful errand, he dismissed it from his mind. Two days afterward, Gilbert met his uncle in the street. As the week was not up, he was about to pass him with a bow, when Mr. Grey paused, and appeared inclined to speak. "Young man," he said, "can you call on me this evening?" "Yes, sir." "I shall leave the city to-morrow, and, though it is of no consequence to me, I suppose you would like to know my decision in regard to the matter you broached the other day." "I will call," said Gilbert, bowing. "He looks as if he were going to defy me," thought our hero. "Well, I am ready for him." In the evening he called, and was shown up to his uncle's room. "Good-evening, Mr. Grey," he said, politely. "Good-evening, young sir," said the other. "You did me the honor, the other day, of claiming relationship with me?" "I did." "Knowing that your claim had no foundation, but was only an impudent fabrication, instigated by cupidity----" "I beg your pardon, sir," said Gilbert, quietly, "but that statement I deny most positively. I have not the slightest doubt that that relationship exists; neither has Mr. Ferguson." "You have succeeded in duping Mr. Ferguson. You will find it a harder task to dupe me. If you knew me better, you would have hesitated before you attempted to humbug me in that barefaced way." "If you knew me better, Uncle James----" "I am not your Uncle James." "Mr. Grey, then. If you knew me better, Mr. Grey, you would know that I am not capable of making a false claim." "Oh! no doubt you are very honest--the soul of integrity," sneered James Grey; "but every one has his price, and, as the success of your imposture would make you rich for life, you concluded to leave honesty out of the question." James Grey might at once have referred to his possession of the paper, but he could not forbear playing with Gilbert, as a cat with a mouse, enjoying meanwhile the power which he possessed of crushing his claims by a single statement. "Your charge is entirely unjust," said Gilbert, quietly. "I shall appreciate the money to which I am rightfully entitled, to be sure; but I want to settle my claim, also, to my father's name, of which I was so long ignorant." "If you choose to call yourself Grey, or Green, or Brown, there is no law to prevent you, I suppose," said Mr. Grey, sarcastically; "but when you, a street bootblack, try to force your way into a respectable family, there is considerable to be said." "I am not ashamed of having been a bootblack," said our hero, calmly. "I was earning an honest living, though an humble one; and I was not living upon what belonged to another." "Do you mean me?" interrupted his uncle, angrily. "You must decide whether you are meant, Mr. Grey." "Suppose now I decline to consider seriously this very impudent claim of yours, what are you going to do about it?" "I shall take legal advice." "How do you expect to pay a lawyer?" "I shall try to manage it." "No lawyer will undertake such a discreditable case." "I happen to be acquainted with one lawyer that will. In fact, I have mentioned the matter to him, and I am acting by his advice now." "Does he tell you that you have a good case?" "He does." "What does he say is the strongest part of it?" "The statement of Jacob Morton." "Do you happen to have it with you?" "No, sir. After the experience of my last call, I prefer not to bring it." "You can't produce it," said James Grey, triumphantly. "Why not?" "Because you have no such document." "You are mistaken there." "I have the strongest reason for saying that this forged document, on which you so much rely, is no longer in your possession." "I should like to know your reason," said Gilbert, struck by his uncle's significant manner. "Then I will tell you. It is not in your possession, because _it is in mine_!" "What do you mean, sir?" asked Gilbert, somewhat startled. "Just what I say. I have obtained possession of the paper which you so artfully concocted, and pretended to be the dying statement of Jacob Morton." "What, did Mr. Ferguson give it to you?" asked Gilbert, amazed. "Mr. Ferguson? What had he to do with it?" "It is in his safe. I deposited it there, the morning after my interview with you." "That is a lie!" exclaimed Mr. Grey, in excitement. "You placed it in your trunk." "Oh!" said Gilbert, as light dawned upon him, "I understand you, now. Before carrying it to Mr. Ferguson, I made a copy for reference, thinking, also, that you might want to look at it again. _That copy_ I left in my trunk; but the original is in Mr. Ferguson's safe." "I don't believe you," said James Grey, furiously. "It is perfectly true. I suppose that the young man who I hear called at my room one day in my absence, was your agent, and that he stole the paper." "Out of my room, you scoundrel!" roared James Grey, whose disappointment was in proportion to his former exultation. "I defy you!" Gilbert saw that it would be of no use to prolong the discussion. He bowed quietly, and left the room. _ |
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