CHAPTER IV.
THE PIECE OF LUCK.
It so happened that the very truckman who was sent to take Henry's trunks, was our friend Bobolink, who was plying in the vicinity, and as it was his first job, he was anxious enough to get it accomplished; therefore, a few minutes before Sterling came out, he and his protégé, Bryan, the Irishman, trotted up to the door.
"There! away with you up, and get the trunks," said Bobolink; "I'll wait for you here."
Bryan timidly rung at the bell, and entered. In the meantime, Tom stood at his horse's head, pulling his ears, and having a little confidential chat. Taking out his wallet, he investigated its contents.
"Only fifty cents," he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders, "and this job will make a dollar—that's all the money in the world."
In putting back his greasy, well-worn wallet, his eye happened to fall upon an object, which made the blood rush with a tremendous bound through his frame. Lying close to the curb, just below his feet, was a large pocket-book.
"Good gracious!" he exclaimed, "what's that? It looks very like"—(picking it up hurriedly, and taking a hasty survey of its contents)—"it is—money—heaps of money—real, good money, and such a lot—all fifties and twenties!" And now a crowd of contending thoughts pressed upon his brow. First, he blessed his good luck; then, he cursed the heaviness of the temptation—he thrust it deep into his bosom; again, he thought he would place it where he found it; at one moment he would whistle, and endeavor to look unconcerned; at another, he would tremble with apprehension. What to do with it, he did not know; but the tempter was too strong; he at last determined to retain it. "It's a windfall," said he to himself; "nobody has seen me take it. Such a large sum of money could not have been lost by a poor person, and nobody wants it more than I do myself. I'll be hanged if I don't keep it!"
Just then Bryan emerged from the door, with a most lachrymose expression of countenance, and was very much astonished to find that his stay did not produce an equally woe-begone effect upon Tom.
"There's no thrunks goin'," said Bryan. "The fellow as was leavin', ain't leavin' yet; because somebody's after leavin' him a lot o' money.
"Come, jump up, then," cried Bobolink, "and don't be wasting time there."
At that moment his eye caught that of Sterling, who, with Travers, had commenced a search for the lost pocket-book. Instinct told him in an instant what their occupation was, and yet he determined to keep the money.
"My man," said Travers to Bryan, "did you see anything of a pocket-book near this door?"
"Is it me?" replied Bryan. "Do I look as if I'd seen it? I wish I had!"
"What for? you'd keep it, I suppose?" observed Travers.
"Bad luck to the keep," replied Bryan; "and to you for thinkin' it! but it's the way of the world—a ragged waistcoat's seldom suspected of hidin' an honest heart."
"Come, old friend," said Henry to Sterling, "these men have not seen it, evidently;" and off they went on their fruitless errand, while a feeling of great relief spread itself over Bobolink's heart at their departure.
"How wild that ould fellow looked," said Bryan.
"Humbug!" replied Bobolink; "it was only put on to make us give up the pocket-book."
"Make us give it up?"
"Yes; that is to say, if we had it. There, don't talk. I'm sick. I've got an oppression on my chest, and if I don't get relief, I'll drop in the street."
"Indeed, an' somethin's come over ye since mornin', sure enough," said Bryan; "but you've been kind, an' good, an' generous to me, an' may I never taste glory, but if I could do you any good by takin' half yer complaint, I'd do it."
"I dare say you would," replied Tom; "but my constitution's strong enough to carry it all. There, you run home, and tell Polly I'll be back early. I don't want you any more."
As soon as Bryan was off, Bobolink sat down on his truck, and began to ruminate. His first thought was about his wife. "Shall I tell Polly?" thought he. "I've never kept a secret from her yet. But, suppose she wouldn't let me keep it? I shan't say a word about it. I'll hide it for a short time, and then swear I got a prize in the lottery." It suddenly occurred to him that he was still on the spot where he had found the money. "Good Heaven," said he, "why do I linger about here? I must be away—away anywhere! and yet I feel as though I was leaving my life's happiness here. Pooh! lots of money will make any one happy." So saying, and singing—but with most constrained jollity—one of the songs which deep bitterness had called up spontaneously from his heart, he drove to the nearest groggery, feeling assured that he should require an unusual stimulant of liquor, to enable him to fitly bear this accumulation of good luck, which did not justly belong to him.