CHAPTER VII. OFF FOR THE RIVER.
"What sort of a pocket-book is it?" repeated Sam.
"Look for my name on the clasp," said Mr. Smith, who was so nervous and impatient that he could not stand still.
"I see it," said Miles.
"Then it is my property, and you might as well hand it out here at once," said the grocer. "I want to know how much I have lost, without any more trifling."
"There's no trifling about this," replied Sam. "There is more than one Erastus Smith in the world who is able to own a pocket-book like that. Go on."
"Open it, and look for a hundred dollars in paper money and fifty dollars in gold," said Mr. Smith, with an air of resignation.
"I find no such sum here," answered Miles, after he had looked through the pocket-book. "All I see is a single five-dollar note."
Mr. Smith groaned.
"Almost thirty-two hundred dollars in clean cash gone out of the firm in less than eight months," said he, with a long-drawn sigh. "That cuts down the profits fearfully—fearfully!"
"I find here some bills receivable."
"Good!" exclaimed the grocer. "I am glad the thief left them. There ought to be between eight and nine hundred dollars' worth of them."
Mr. Smith then went on to give a description of the bills, which were endorsed and filed in nearly the same order in which he referred to them.
So retentive was his memory that he could recall the dates of a good many of them, give their exact wording, and tell the color of the paper and ink that were used in writing them.
After he had gone through half a dozen of the bills in this way, Miles turned and looked at Sam.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the latter.
"I am," replied Miles.
"Then hand it over."
Mr. Smith snatched the pocket-book as it was extended toward him, and climbed to his place upon the high stool.
"Where did you get this?" said he.
"In a drawer in Oscar Preston's work-bench," replied Sam.
"Ah!" said the grocer, in a very significant tone of voice. "Now, the next question is: How did it come there?"
The answer almost took Mr. Smith's breath away.
"Your favorite clerk, Will Stuart, put it there, for I saw him do it," said Sam.
And then he went on to describe, in as few words as possible, what Stuart had done while he was in Oscar's shop, and explained the object he had in view in taking the pocket-book out of the drawer without Oscar's knowledge.
Mr. Smith pushed his spectacles over his forehead and listened intently to all the boy had to say, and, when Sam ceased speaking, he brought his hand down upon his desk with a ringing slap.
"I wondered why Stuart was so eager to drive the delivery-wagon this afternoon, and this explains it," said he. "I see it all now. Stuart knew that I do not often have occasion to open that little drawer in the safe, and he probably took the book a day or two ago—I know it was there last Saturday, for I saw it—thinking that, if he placed it in Oscar's bench, where it would certainly have been found if we had taken out a search-warrant, we would believe that he stole it before he was discharged. You have no objection to facing Stuart, I suppose?"
"None whatever," Sam promptly replied; "that is just what we came here for."
Mr. Smith climbed down from his high stool, unlocked and opened the door, and looked out into the store. The only person he saw there was the junior partner.
"Send Stuart here, will you?" said he.
"Stuart has gone home," was the reply. "He had a sudden attack of sick headache."
"Oh, he did, did he?" exclaimed Sam. "It must have been very sudden, for he was well enough ten minutes ago."
Mr. Anderson came into the office in obedience to a sign from his partner, and was speedily made acquainted with the object of the boys' visit.
He was almost overwhelmed with astonishment, and declared that he never would have believed it of Stuart.
"Now, Mr. Smith," said Sam, when there was a little pause in the conversation, "we will leave this matter in your hands. I am ready to be a witness at any time, if you decide to prosecute; but I shall not spread any damaging reports about Stuart, and neither will Miles. We don't believe in hitting a person when he's down. We have one favor to ask of you, and that is that you will make Oscar all the amends in your power for the great injustice you have done him."
"I know what my duty is under the circumstances, young gentlemen," said Mr. Smith shortly.
He had got his pocket-book back, and eight hundred dollars' worth of bills, and he felt a little more independent.
The boys picked up their caps and left the store, while Mr. Smith mounted his high stool and mopped his face vigorously with his handkerchief. The exciting scene through which he had just passed had brought the perspiration out on his forehead in big drops.
"I had no idea that Sam Hynes was such a bad boy," said he to his partner. "He wouldn't give up that pocket-book until I proved its contents; and I have done business right here in this town for almost half a century. He had the impudence to tell me, in effect, that if I didn't want to be suspected of dishonesty myself I must not be in such haste to suspect others. I declare, he's a wonderful bad boy—wonderful!"
Meanwhile, Sam was walking down the street, with his hands in his pockets, whistling merrily, and taking such strides that Miles, after trying in vain to keep up, seized him by the arm and held him back.
"Sam," said he, "how dare you talk that way to a grown man? If I had been Mr. Smith, I would have boxed your ears for you."
Sam looked up at the clouds and laughed heartily.
"You might have got your hands full," said he.
"What will your father say when he hears of it?" continued Miles.
"He'll hear of it as soon as he comes home to-night," replied Sam. "I make it a point never to do a thing that I am afraid or ashamed to have him know, and I shall tell him of it myself. He'll give me a good going over for not being more respectful to gray hairs; but I deserve it, and I'll never do the like again—never," added Sam, who wished now, when it was too late, that he had remembered that Mr. Smith was the grandfather of two of the members of the ball club to which he belonged. "I knew well enough that he wouldn't lay claim to any but his own property, but he thought I was suspicious of him, and it cut him, didn't it? Perhaps he'll know now how Oscar felt to be unjustly accused. Going to turn off here? Well, good-by! I promised to see Oscar again, you know. I'll drop around to-morrow night and leave a brace of ducks for your Sunday dinner. Now, Miles——"
Sam finished the sentence by shaking his finger at his friend and then placing it upon his closed lips.
"I understand, and I'll bear it in mind, too," was the reply.
"Good-by, and good luck to you!"
When Sam entered the shop where Oscar was still at work, the latter had a good many questions to ask regarding his abrupt departure a few minutes before; but Sam, being all ready for him, gave his inquiries prompt replies, which, although they satisfied Oscar's curiosity, did not let him into the secret of the matter.
The young taxidermist thought his friend appeared to be very jubilant, and well he might, for he had done something to be proud of.
Suppose a constable had come up there with a search-warrant and found Mr. Smith's property in the place where Stuart had left it! Oscar would have been in trouble indeed. The latter did not know what a narrow escape he had had that day, and it was no part of his companion's plan to enlighten him.
Sam never talked about his exploits. He sat on the bench with his hands under his legs, school-boy fashion, pounded with the heels of his boots against the drawer in which the pocket-book had been concealed, and talked incessantly about the duck-hunt that was to come off the next day. When all their plans had been discussed, Sam said good-night and left the shop.
As soon as Oscar had eaten his supper he went up to his room, and when he came down again he carried a game-bag, powder-flask, and shot-pouch in one hand, and a double-barrel gun in the other.
Oscar's gun was not just the weapon that one would expect to see after listening to the description of it which Leon Parker had given his cousin. It was a good deal larger and heavier than the little bird-gun which held so prominent a place in Leon's estimation, but it was not a "blunderbuss," and there were several boys, and men, too, in the village, who would have been glad to purchase it at any figures the owner might have put upon it.
But it had once belonged to his father, and Oscar would not have parted with it for any consideration. It was known all over the country as a "brag shooting-gun," and among all the young hunters in the neighborhood there were but few who could show as many birds at the end of a day's hunt as Oscar could.
Its weight was no detriment to him, for his strong muscles enabled him to handle it very easily and quickly, and he seldom missed a double shot when the opportunity to make it was presented to him.
Having received a thorough rubbing, inside and out, the weapon was set away in one corner with a couple of corks in the muzzles and an oiled rag over the tubes to keep out the dust; and two hours later Oscar was snug in bed, wrapped in a dreamless slumber.
One of his windows was raised about three inches, and through this opening ran a stout cord, one end of which was tied to a chair standing at the head of Oscar's bed; the other reached down to the ground and was securely fastened to a rose-bush.
Shortly after four o'clock in the morning, Bugle, who always slept on the front porch when the weather was warm enough to permit it, challenged someone who came into the yard, and soon thereafter the cord began to saw up and down over the window-sill.
The chair moved, but Oscar slept on all unconscious of it. The person below waited and listened a few seconds and then renewed his pulls at the string, putting considerably more strength and energy into them.
This time the chair was upset with a loud crash, and Oscar jumped up and hurried to the window. It was too dark to see anybody, but he knew who was there.
"We'll have to make haste, for I overslept myself," said Sam Hynes's well-known voice. "Did I do any damage up there? I heard something come down pretty hard."
"Oh, no!" was the reassuring answer. "Have you had any breakfast?"
"Of course not. I intend to get it here."
"All right. I'll be down in five minutes."
Oscar dressed himself with all haste, and when he went downstairs he found Sam waiting for him at the back door.
Bugle entered when Sam did—he always kept as close to a gun as he could—and frisked about in high glee, thrashing the boys with his heavy tail and continually getting in their way.
"Splendid morning," said Sam, as he leaned his gun up in one corner. "Warm and foggy; more like spring than fall. The ducks always fly low during a fog. What can I do to help you?"
"Nothing at all. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable. The fire is laid, and it will take but a few minutes to make a cup of coffee. You think it is going to be a good day, do you? Then I ought to make some money before night. Calkins & Son of Yarmouth have written me a letter offering to take all the game I can send them."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Sam. "I am glad to hear it."
He did not tell Oscar that he knew all about it, but such was the fact. He knew that Mr. Parker had been down to the city to attend to some legal business for that very firm; and it was when he was looking about their store and listening while Mr. Calkins expressed his regrets that he could not secure game enough to supply the demand, which was unusually great just then, that the lawyer happened to think of Oscar, whom he recommended as the best person Mr. Calkins could engage to shoot for him.
The latter, seeing that his visitor was interested in the boy, said he would try to secure his services, and if he succeeded, he would pay him for his game as soon as it was received, and not wait to sell it on commission.
Mr. Parker gave the merchant Oscar's address, and that was the way our hero came to be a market-shooter.
Sam, we repeat, knew all about it; but he listened while Oscar talked of the offer he had received, and acted as though everything he heard was news to him.
The fire was soon cracking away merrily, and, while waiting for the kettle to boil, Oscar busied himself in setting the table.
Bugle, finding that he was entirely neglected, called attention to himself by uttering a deafening bay.
"Silence!" exclaimed Oscar. "That will never do. He will disturb mother. We must shut him up. Bugle is no good for ducks."
"I'll fix him," said Sam.
"Take your gun with you," suggested Oscar, as Sam took the key of the shop down from its nail. "You'll never get him in there if you don't."
Bugle was quite ready to accompany Sam when he saw the boy pick up his double-barrel; that is, he was ready to accompany him to the woods, but he would not follow him to the shop.
He ran out of the wood-shed, and, thrusting his head in at the door, looked at Sam, but he could not be induced to go near him.
Oscar could hear his friend coaxing and scolding, and finally a suppressed whine from Bugle told him that Sam had been obliged to collar the animal and drag him into his prison.
A hearty breakfast having been disposed of, a lunch was stowed away in Oscar's game-bag, and the boys were ready for the start.
In the wood-shed they found a light wheelbarrow, which contained the decoys they were to use during the hunt and also the sail and oars belonging to Oscar's boat.
Sam took his friend's gun under his arm, Oscar set the wheelbarrow in motion, and, with Bugle's farewell ringing in their ears, they set out for the river at a rapid walk.
Bugle recognizes his enemies.