Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebook voice reader TXT) 📕

that there was no chance to doubt his word.

“When he was living with you, Mr. Bolton,” continued Florence, “did he ever stay away like this?”

“No,” answered Bolton. “Dodger was always very regular about comin’ home.”

“Then something must have happened to him,” said Florence, anxiously.

“He might have got run in,” suggested the apple-woman. “Some of them cops is mighty officious.”

“Dodger would never do anything to deserve arrest,” Florence said, quickly.

“Thrue for you, Florence, but some innersent parties are nabbed. I know of one young man who was standin’ on a strate corner waitin’ for the cars, when a cop came up and arristed him for disorderly conduct.”

“But that is shameful!” said Florence, indignantly.

“Thrue for you, my dear. We might go round to the police headquarters and inquire if the boy’s been run in.”

“What do you think, Mr. Bolton?” asked Florence.

Tim Bolton seemed busy thinking. Finally he brought down his hand forcibly on the bar, and said: “I begin to see through it.”

Florence did not speak, but she fixed an eager look of inquiry on the face of the saloon-keeper.

“I believe Curtis Waring is at the bottom of this,” he said.

“My cousin!” exclaimed Florence, in astonishment.

“Yes, your cousin, Miss Linden.”

“But what can he have against poor Dodger! Is it because the boy has taken my part and is a friend to me?”

“He wouldn’t like him any better on account of hat; but he has another and a more powerful reason.”

“Would you mind telling me what it is? I cannot conceive what it can be.”

“At present,” answered Bolton, cautiously, “I prefer to say nothing on the subject. I will only say the boy’s disappearance interferes with my plans, and I will see if I can’t find out what has become of him.”

“If you only will, Mr. Bolton, I shall be so grateful. I am afraid I have misjudged you. I thought you were an enemy of Dodger’s.”

“Then you were mistaken. I have had the boy with me since he was a kid, and though I’ve been rough with him at times, maybe, I like him, and I may some time have a chance to show him that old Tim Bolton is one of his best friends.”

“I will believe it now, Mr. Bolton,” said Florence, impulsively, holding out her hand to the burly saloon-keeper.

He was surprised, but it was evident that he was pleased, also, and he took the little hand respectfully in his own ample palm, and pressed it in a friendly manner.

“There’s one thing more I want you to believe, Miss Linden,” he said, “and that is, that I am your friend, also.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bolton. And now let us all work together to find Dodger.”

“You can count on me, Miss Linden. If you’ll tell me where you live I’ll send or bring you any news I may hear.”

“I live with Mrs. O’Keefe, my good friend, here.”

“I haven’t my kyard with me, Tim,” said the apple-woman, “but I’ll give you my strate and number. You know my place of business?”

“Yes.”

“If you come to me there I’ll let Florence know whatever you tell me. She is not always at home.”

The two went away relieved in mind, for, helpless and bewildered as they were, they felt that Tim Bolton would make a valuable ally.

When they had gone Tim turned to Hooker and Briggs, who were lounging at a table, waiting for some generous customer to invite them to the bar.

“Boys,” said Tim, “has either of you seen anything of Dodger lately?”

“No,” answered the two in unison.

“Have you heard anything of him?”

“I heard that he was baggage-smashin’ down by the steamboat landings,” said Hooker.

“Go down there, both of you, and see if you can see or hear anything of him.”

“All right, Tim.”

And the two left the saloon and took a westerly route toward the North River piers.

Three hours later they returned.

“Have you heard anything?” asked Bolton. “Did you see Dodger?”

“No; we didn’t see him.”

“But you heard something?”

“Yes; we found a boy, a friend of his, that said the last he saw of Dodger was last evenin’.”

“Where did he see him?”

“Near the pier of the Albany boats.”

“What was he doin’?”

“Carryin’ a valise for a man.”

“What kind of a man? How did he look?”

“He had gray hair and gray whiskers.”

Tim was puzzled by the description.

If, as he suspected, Curtis were concerned in the abduction, this man could not have been he.

“The man was a passenger by the Albany boat, I suppose?”

“No; that was what looked queer. Before the Albany boat came in the man was lyin’ round with his valise, and the boy thought he was goin’ off somewhere. But when the boat came in he just mixed in with the passengers, and came up to the entrance of the pier. Two boys asked to carry his valise, but he shook his head till Dodger came round, and he engaged him right off.”

Tim Bolton nodded knowingly.

“It was a plan,” he said. “The man wanted to get hold of Dodger. What puzzles me is, that you said he was an old man.”

“His hair and beard were gray.”

“And Curtis has no beard, and his hair is black.”

“But the boy said he didn’t look like an old man, except the hair. He walked off like a young man.”

Tim Bolton’s face lighted up with sudden intelligence.

“I’ll bet a hat it was Curtis in disguise,” he soliloquized.

“That’s all we could find out, Mr. Bolton,” said Briggs, with another longing look at the bar.

“It is enough! You have earned your whiskey. Walk up, gentlemen!”

Hooker and Briggs needed no second invitation.

“Will either of you take a note for me to Mrs. O’Keefe? For another drink, of course.”

“I will, Tim,” said Hooker, eagerly.

“No; take me, Mr. Bolton,” entreated Briggs.

“You can both go,” said Tim, generously. “Wait a minute, and I’ll have it ready for you.”

He found a half sheet of note paper, and scribbled on it this message:

“Mrs. O’Keefe:—Tell Miss Linden that I have a clew. I am almost surtin her cozen has got away with Dodger. He won’t hurt him, but he will get him out of the city. Wen I hear more I will right.

“T. Bolton.”

Chapter XXVI. Bolton Makes A Discovery.

“I see it all,” Bolton said to himself, thoughtfully. “Curtis Waring is afraid of the boy—and of me. He’s circumvented me neatly, and the game is his—so far my little plan is dished. I must find out for certain whether he’s had anything to do with gettin’ Dodger out of the way, and then, Tim Bolton, you must set your wits to work to spoil his little game.”

Bolton succeeded in securing the services of a young man who had experience at tending bar, and about eight o’clock, after donning his best attire, he hailed a Fourth Avenue surface car and got aboard.

Getting out at the proper street, he made his way to Madison Avenue, and ascended the steps of John Linden’s residence.

The door was opened by Jane, who eyed the visitor with no friendly glance.

“What do you want?” she asked, in a hostile tone.

“Is Mr. Waring at home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Miss Florence at home?”

“Do you know her?” she asked.

“Yes; I am a friend of hers.”

Jane evidently thought that Florence must have made some queer friends.

“Have you seen her lately?” she asked eagerly.

“I saw her to-day.”

“Is she well?”

“Yes; she is well, but she is in trouble.”

“Is she—— Does she need any money?”

“No; it isn’t that. The boy Dodger has disappeared, and she is afraid something has happened to him.”

“Oh, I am so sorry! He was a good friend of Miss Florence.”

“I see you know him. I am trying to help him and her.”

“But you asked for Mr. Waring?” said Jane, suspiciously.

“So I did. Shall I tell you why?”

“I wish you would.”

“I think he has something to do with gettin’ Dodger out of the way, and I’m goin’ to try to find out.”

“He won’t tell you.”

“You don’t understand. I shall make him think I am on his side. Was he at home last night?”

“He went away at dinner time, and he didn’t come home till after twelve. I ought to know, for he forgot his latchkey, and I had to get up and let him in. I won’t do it again. I’ll let him stay out first.”

“I see; he was with Dodger, no doubt. Did you say he was in?”

“No, sir; but he will be in directly. Won’t you step into the library?”

“Shall I meet the old gentleman there?” asked Bolton, in a tone of hesitation.

“No. He goes up to his chamber directly after dinner.”

“How is he?”

“I think he’s failing.”

“I hope there is no immediate danger,” said Bolton, anxiously.

“No; but he’s worrying about Miss Florence. It’s my belief that if she were at home, he’d live a good while.”

“Doesn’t he ask for her?”

“Mr. Curtis tells him she’ll come round soon if he’ll only be firm. I don’t see, for my part, why Mr. Linden wants her to marry such a disagreeable man. There’s plenty better husbands she could get. Come in, sir, and I’ll tell him as soon as he comes in. Shall you see Miss Florence soon?”

“I think so.”

“Then tell her not to give up. Things will come right some time.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Bolton was ushered into the library, where, amid the fashionable furniture he looked quite out of place. He did not feel so, however, for he drew a cigar out of his pocket and, lighting it nonchalantly, leaned back in a luxurious armchair and began to smoke.

“Curtis Waring is well fixed—that’s a fact!” he soliloquized. “I suppose he is the master here, for the old man isn’t likely to interfere. Still he will like it better when his uncle is out of the way.”

He had to wait but fifteen minutes in solitude, for at the end of that time Curtis Waring appeared.

He paused on the threshold, and frowned when he saw who it was that awaited him.

“Jane told me that a gentleman was waiting to see me,” he said.

“Well, she was right.”

“And you, I suppose, are the gentleman?” said Curtis, in a sneering tone.

“Yes; I am the gentleman,” remarked Bolton, coolly.

“I am not in the habit of receiving visits from gentlemen of your class. However, I suppose you have an object in calling.”

“It shall go hard with me if I don’t pay you for your sneers some day,” thought Bolton; but he remained outwardly unruffled.

“Well,” he answered, “I can’t say that I have any particular business to see you about. I saw your cousin recently.”

“Florence?” asked Curtis, eagerly.

“Yes.”

“What did she say? Did you speak with her?”

“Yes. She doesn’t seem any more willin’ to marry you.”

Curtis Waring frowned.

“She is a foolish girl,” he said. “She doesn’t know her own mind.”

“She looks to me like a gal that knows her own mind particularly well.”

“Pshaw! what can you know about it?”

“Then you really expect to marry her some time, Mr. Waring?”

“Certainly I do.”

“And to inherit your uncle’s fortune?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“I was thinkin’ of the boy.”

“The boy is dead——”

“What!” exclaimed Bolton, jumping to his feet in irresistible excitement.

“Don’t be a fool. Wait till I finish my sentence. He is dead so far as his prospects are concerned. Who is there that can identify him with the lost child of John Linden?”

“I can.”

“Yes; if any one would believe you. However, it is for your interest to keep silent.”

“That is just what I want to know. I suppose you can make it for my interest.”

“Yes, and will—after I get the property. I don’t believe in counting my chickens before they are hatched.”

“Of course you know that the boy has left me?” said Bolton.

“Yes,” answered Curtis, indifferently. “He is with my cousin, I believe.”

“Yes; and through her I can learn where he is, and get hold of him if I desire.”

A cynical smile played over the face of Curtis Waring.

“Do you propose to get him back?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

“I am right,” thought Bolton, shrewdly. “From his manner it is easy to see that Curtis is quite at ease as regards Dodger. He knows where he is!”

“You asked me what business I came about, Mr. Waring,” he said, after a pause.

“Yes.”

“Of course I am devoted to your interests, but is it quite fair to make me wait till you come into your fortune before allowing me anything?”

“I think so.”

“You don’t seem to consider that I can bring the boy here and make him known to your uncle as the son he lost so long ago?”

“You are quite sure you can bring the boy here?” asked Curtis.

“Why not? I have only to go to Florence and ask her to send the boy to me.”

“You are quite at liberty to do so if you like, Tim Bolton,” said Curtis, with a mocking smile. “I am glad, at any rate, that you have shown me what is in your mind. You are