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Chester Rand; or, The New Path to Fortune, a fiction by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 19. Mr. Fairchild Leaves The City |
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_ CHAPTER XIX. MR. FAIRCHILD LEAVES THE CITY About ten days later, Chester found himself alone in the office with his employer, the bookkeeper having gone out to call upon a man who had commissioned the broker to buy him a house. "Chester," said Mr. Fairchild, "has Mr. Mullins mentioned to you that I start next Monday on a Western trip?" "I heard him say so to a gentleman in here on business." "I shall have to leave Mr. Mullins to take charge of the office and run the business. The time was when I would have done so with confidence, but the affair of James Long has made me distrustful. He thoroughly understands my business, and it would be difficult for me to supply his place. For the present, therefore, I feel obliged to retain him. During my absence, however, I wish, if you see anything wrong, that you would apprise me of it by letter. You may direct letters to Palmer's Hotel, Chicago, and they will be forwarded to me from there. What is your address?" Chester gave it, and Mr. Fairchild wrote it down. "It is rather unusual," continued Mr. Fairchild, "for a man in my position to make a confidant of his office boy, but I have observed you carefully, and I believe that you are not only intelligent, but are faithful to my interests." "Thank you, sir," said Chester, with genuine gratification. "I think I can promise you that you will not be disappointed in me." "Of course Mr. Mullins must not know of the understanding between us. Don't breathe a hint of what I have said." "No, sir, I will not." "In case you think it necessary you may telegraph to me. I hope, however, that no such emergency will arise." Chester asked himself whether it was his duty to apprise Mr. Fairchild of his seeing Mullins in intimate companionship with a gambler, but, on the whole, decided not to do so. He did not wish needlessly to prejudice his employer against the bookkeeper. On Monday morning Mr. Fairchild left the office and took the Sixth Avenue Elevated train to Cortlandt Street station, from which it is only five minutes' walk to the ferry connecting with the train on the Pennsylvania Railroad. "How long shall you be away, Mr. Fairchild?" asked the bookkeeper. "I cannot yet tell. It will depend on the success I meet with in my business. I am afraid I may be absent four weeks." "Don't hurry back," said Mullins. "I will keep things running." "I rely upon your fidelity," said the broker, not without significance. "You may be assured of that. I have been in your employ for over five years." "And of course understand all the details of my business. That is true. Continue faithful to me and you will have no cause to repent it." "Thank you, sir. You need have no anxiety." "Chester," said Mr. Fairchild, "you may go with me as far as the station and carry my grip." When they were outside, the broker said: "I could have carried the grip myself, but I wished to have a parting word with you. Mr. Mullins is thoroughly acquainted with my business, but within the last six months I found myself distrusting him. In four weeks, for I shall be likely to be away that length of time, something may occur detrimental to my interests, and I heartily wish I had some one else in charge. I may rely upon you bearing in mind what I told you the other day?" "Yes, sir; I won't forget." "I know that you are faithful, and I only wish you understood the business well enough to be placed in charge." "I wish so, too," said Chester, frankly. "I think, however," Mr. Fairchild added, with a smile, "that it would be hardly prudent to trust my business to an office boy." "You are already trusting me very much, Mr. Fairchild." "Yes; I feel safe in doing so." Chester took the grip up the Elevated stairway and parted with Mr. Fairchild at the ticket office. As he went down to the street he reflected that his own position during the broker's absence might not be very comfortable. Still he had his employer's confidence, and that gave him much pleasure. He had reached Harris' large store on his way home when a rakish-looking figure, springing from he knew not where, overtook and touched him on the arm. Chester immediately recognized him as the gambler with whom he had seen the bookkeeper walking on the evening of his first visit to the house of Prof. Hazlitt. "I say, boy," said Ralston, "you're employed by Fairchild, the real estate man, ain't you?" "Yes, sir," answered Chester, coldly. "Didn't I see him going to the Elevated station with you just now?" "Yes, sir." "With a grip in his hand?" "Yes." "Is he off for a journey?" "He has started for the West." "So? I had business with him, but I suppose I can transact it with Mullins just as well." "You will find him in the office." "All right! I'll go there." Chester turned his glance upon Dick Ralston and rapidly took note of his appearance. He was rather a stocky man, with a red, pimpled face, a broad nose, small, twinkling eyes and intensely black hair. He wore a "loud," striped sack suit, and on one of his pudgy fingers was a diamond ring. It was really a diamond, and he had often found it serviceable. When he was in very bad luck he pawned it for a comfortable sum, but invariably redeemed it when fortune smiled upon him again. He followed Chester into the broker's office. Mullins sat on a stool at the desk, picking his teeth. He looked like a man of leisure, with little upon his mind. "Hello, Mullins, old boy!" said Dick, pushing forward with extended hand. "So you're promoted to boss?" "Yes," answered the bookkeeper, showing his teeth in a complacent smile. "Can I sell you a house this morning?" "Well, not exactly. I'm not quite up to that in the present state of my funds. If you have on your list a one-story shanty on the rocks near Central Park I may invest." "Cash down, or do you want to have part of the purchase money on mortgage?" Then both laughed, and Ralston made a playful dig at Mullins' ribs. Chester could not help hearing the conversation. He saw in it a proof of the friendly relations between the two. This, so far as he knew, was the first visit made by Ralston to Mr. Mullins. It was clear that the bookkeeper felt that such a caller would injure him in the eyes of Mr. Fairchild. "I am glad old Fairchild is gone," said Dick Ralston, lowering his tone. "Now I can come in freely." "Don't come in too often," replied Mullins, with a cautioning look at Chester. "It might----" Chester lost the rest of the sentence. "Send him out!" suggested Dick, in a still lower tone, but Chester caught the words. "Chester," said the bookkeeper, "you may go up to the Fifth Avenue Hotel and ask at the office if Mr. Paul Perkins, of Minneapolis, has arrived?" "Yes, sir." After Chester went out, Ralston inquired, "Is there a man named Paul Perkins?" "Not that I know of," answered Mullins, with a laugh. "I see. You're a sharp fellow. You only wanted to get rid of the kid." "Exactly. Now we can talk freely." "That's what I came about. Do you know, Mullins, you are owing me seven hundred and fifty dollars?" "Is it so much as that?" asked the bookkeeper, anxiously. "Yes; I can show you the account. Now, to tell you the truth, Mullins, I'm in a tight fix, and my bank account needs replenishing." "So does mine," returned Mullins, with a sickly smile. Dick Ralston frowned slightly. "No joking, please!" he said, roughly. "I'm in earnest." "I don't see what I am going to do about it," muttered Mullins, defiantly. "Don't you. Then perhaps I can help you by a suggestion." "I wish you would." "You are left in charge here during Mr. Fairchild's absence?" "Well, suppose I am." "And you handle the funds?" "Yes." "Then," and Dick Ralston bent over and whispered something in the bookkeeper's ear. Mullins started, and looked agitated. "What would you have me do?" he inquired. "Borrow a little money from the office," answered Dick, coolly. "But, good heavens, man, it would ruin me. Must you have me risk prison?" "Don't be alarmed! I only want you to borrow two or three hundred dollars. You can return it before Fairchild gets back." "How am I to return it?" "You can win it back in one evening at the gaming table." "Or lose more." There was considerable further conversation, Dick Ralston urging, and Mullins feebly opposing something which the gambler proposed. Then a customer came in, who had to receive attention. Inside of an hour Chester re-entered the office, accompanied by a sandy-complexioned stranger, his head covered with a broad, flapping, Western sombrero, and wearing a long, brown beard descending at least eighteen inches. "I hear you want to see me," he said to Mullins. "Who are you?" asked the astonished bookkeeper. "I am Paul Perkins, of Minneapolis," was the surprising reply. _ |
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