CHAPTER XIX.
THE RIVALS AT THE BANK.
“Do you s’pose we will find that Mortimer feller at the bank?” asked Bob, as he and young Randolph passed down Broadway towards Wall Street.
“Very likely we shall,” responded our hero, absentmindedly.
“If he has heard of old Gunwagner’s arrest, you bet he won’t be there.”
“The papers contained nothing about the arrest, did they?”
“No, not as I seen.”
“Then the chances are that he is there.”
“So I think. But what will you do, Vermont, if he is?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You won’t lick him, will you?”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be a wise policy to pursue.”
“But he deserves it.”
“So he does, but I can’t afford to lower myself by fighting.”
“That’s so, Vermont; but, all the same, I’d like to see you lay him out once—the way you did at Gunwagner’s—he deserves it.”
“He deserves to be punished, but I think the law will do that.”
“’Tain’t quick enough,” said Bob, petulantly. “A feller gets all over his mad before he gets any satisfaction out of law.”
“You are a comical chap, Bob,” said Herbert; “but you have been one of the best friends I ever knew. If you had not come to my rescue, I should probably never have walked down this street again.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the young detective. “Don’t say nothing about it.”
The two boys had now reached the banking house of Richard Goldwin. Their conversation, therefore, terminated as they entered the bank.
Just as the door was opened to them, Mr. Goldwin came out of his private office, and his eyes fell upon Herbert and Bob.
“What do you mean, sir, by appearing in this bank again?” he asked, with a stern glance at young Randolph.
It must be remembered that he believed the story told to him by Felix Mortimer, and therefore looked upon Herbert with grave suspicions, or even contempt.
The banker’s manner and implied insinuation wounded young Randolph’s pride, and his cheeks became crimson.
“If you are not already prejudiced, I think, sir, I can explain to your entire satisfaction,” said our young hero, with a native dignity well becoming his manliness.
“It’s jest what I told you yesterday mornin’,” put in Bob. “Foul play—that’s what it was.”
“I think I am not prejudiced to such an extent that I am incapable of dealing justly with you,” replied Mr. Goldwin, giving no heed to Bob’s remark.
“Thank you,” said Herbert. “I am sure you are not, and if you will listen to me, I will explain everything.”
“A mere explanation from you, however, will not convince me.”
“It should do so,” replied Herbert, still further wounded by this cold remark.
“Not at all, since you have deceived me once.”
“I have never deceived you, sir,” answered young Randolph, with spirit.
“Of course you would say so,” returned the banker, coolly.
“Most certainly I would, sir, when I am telling you the truth.”
“Have you any evidence to sustain your position?” asked Mr. Goldwin.
“Yes, sir,” replied Herbert; “my friend here can testify that I have not deceived you. He knows the whole story—the plot from first to last.”
Herbert Randolph’s bold, straightforward manner impressed the banker favorably, and he now became less frigid towards him.
“There has evidently been deception somewhere,” said Mr. Goldwin. “Why any one should plot against you, with a view to getting you out of this bank, I cannot understand.”
“I think Bob Hunter here can make it plain to you. He knows the whole scheme.”
“And it warn’t no small scheme, neither,” responded Bob. “It’s lucky for you that we got on to it before it was too late.”
“What do you mean by this insinuation, young man?”
“Well, if you want to know, I’ll tell you. Perhaps you remember I was down here yesterday to see you, and I told you somethin’ was wrong then—didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t believe it, but just talked against Herbert Randolph here.”
“But I had good cause for doing so.”
“Yes, if you think that stuff that Felix Mortimer give you was any cause, then you did have some; but he was jest lyin’ to you, that’s what he was doin’, and I know it; and what’s more, I can prove it,” said Bob, boldly and bluntly.
“You are making a strong statement,” replied the banker, somewhat bewildered.
“I know I am, but I couldn’t say nothin’ too strong about that Mortimer feller.”
“Felix Mortimer is in my private office. Dare you come in and face him with these remarks?”
“You bet I dare—that’s jest what I want to do.”
“You shall do so, then,” said the banker.
Herbert Randolph and Bob Hunter followed him, at his invitation, into his private room.