Then he went from one thing to another, and from place to place, and you may be sure that neither his morals nor his habits improved during the progression. Finally at twenty-five, he drifted back to the metropolis, and quickly found his old level again—the slums. Here he likewise discovered many of the acquaintances of his youth, for he had been a boy of twelve when he had been sent West.
Among these old friends he was known as “Sneaky” (a very appropriate appellation, as we have seen), “Alfred Weeks” being the name given him by his Western benefactor. The fellow was a most accomplished hypocrite and it was by the exercise of this attribute that he had obtained the situation as Adoniram Pepper’s clerk, and kept it for ten years, despite many of his evil deeds coming to the knowledge of the shipping merchant.
Not one of the three persons who had been in the office that afternoon when his presence in the wardrobe was discovered, realized how thoroughly bad at heart Weeks was, or how dangerous an enemy they had made. Even Caleb Wetherbee did not fully recognize it.
But they had made an enemy, and within twenty-four hours that enemy was at work to undermine and thwart their plans.
Weeks had overheard enough of the story of the Silver Swan and her valuable cargo to make it an easy matter for him to decide on a line of action which might lead to his own benefit, as well as to the compassing of his much desired revenge.
He solaced his wounded feelings the evening after his dismissal from the ship owner’s office by a trip to his favorite resort—the Bowery Theater—where he again drank in the highly colored sentences and romantic tableaux of that great drama “The Buccaneer’s Bride.” Unfortunately, however, he was forced to remain standing during the play for obvious reasons; the seats of the theater were not cushioned.
The next forenoon he adorned himself in the height of Bowery style, and strolled down past the scene of his former labors and on toward that rendezvous known as the New England Hotel. He had his plans already mapped out, and the first thing to do was to join forces with Jim Leroyd, whom he knew very well by reputation, at least, as did a great many others among the denizens of lower New York.
But as he strolled along Water Street he discovered something which slightly changed his plans. Perhaps, to be exact, I should say that he discovered somebody.
On the opposite side of the thoroughfare was a weazen faced old man, with bowed shoulders, and not altogether steady feet. He was dressed in rusty black clothes of a pattern far remote from the present day.
Evidently he was quite confused by his surroundings and by the crowd which jostled him on the walk.