Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience by Jr. Horatio Alger (book club books .txt) 📕
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- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“You saw them enter the factory?”
“Yes, sir; I was crouching behind the stone wall on the other side of the road.”
“How long were they inside?”
“Not over fifteen minutes—perhaps only ten.”
“Mr. Gibbon knew the combination,” said Jennings, quietly. “There was no occasion to lose time in breaking open the safe. There is some advantage in having a friend inside. Did you see them go out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carrying the tin box with them?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark wrapped it in a newspaper after they got outside.”
“But you saw the tin box?”
“Yes.”
“Then, if necessary, you can testify to it. I thought it possible that Mr. Gibbon might have a key to open it.”
“I overheard Stark regretting that he could not open it so as to abstract the bonds and leave the box in the safe. In that case, he said, it might be some time before the robbery was discovered.”
“He will himself make an unpleasant discovery when he opens the box. I don’t think there is any call to pity him, do you, Carl?”
“No, sir. I should like to be within sight when he opens it.”
The manufacturer laughed quietly.
“Yes,” he said; “if I could see it I should feel repaid for the loss of the box. Let it be a lesson for you, my boy. Those who seek to enrich themselves by unlawful means are likely in the end to meet with disappointment.”
“Do you think I need the lesson?” asked Carl, smiling.
“No, my lad. I am sure you don’t. But you do need a good night’s rest. Let us go to bed at once, and get what sleep we may. I won’t allow the burglary to keep me awake.”
He laughed in high good humor, and Carl went up to his comfortable room, where he soon lost all remembrance of the exciting scene of which he had been a witness.
Mr. Jennings went to the factory at the usual time the next morning.
As he entered the office the bookkeeper approached him pale and excited.
“Mr. Jennings,” he said, hurriedly, “I have bad news for you.”
“What is it, Mr. Gibbon?”
“When I opened the safe this morning, I discovered that the tin box had been stolen.”
Mr. Jennings took the news quietly.
“Have you any suspicion who took it?” he asked.
“No, sir. I—I hope the loss is not a heavy one.”
“I do not care to make the extent of the loss public. Were there any marks of violence? Was the safe broken open?”
“No, sir.”
“Singular; is it not?”
“If you will allow me I will join in offering a reward for the discovery of the thief. I feel in a measure responsible.”
“I will think of your offer, Mr. Gibbon.”
“He suspects nothing,” thought Gibbon, with a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER XXV. STARK’S DISAPPOINTMENT.
Philip Stark went back to the hotel with the tin box under his arm. He would like to have entered the hotel without notice, but this was impossible, for the landlord’s nephew was just closing up. Though not late for the city, it was very late for the country, and he looked surprised when Stark came in.
“I am out late,” said Stark, with a smile.
“Yes.”
“That is, late for Milford. In the city I never go to bed before midnight.”
“Have you been out walking?”
“Yes.”
“You found it rather dark, did you not?”
“It is dark as a pocket.”
“You couldn’t have found the walk a very pleasant one.”
“You are right, my friend; but I didn’t walk for pleasure. The fact is, I am rather worried about a business matter. I have learned that I am threatened with a heavy loss—an unwise investment in the West—and I wanted time to think it over and decide how to act.”
“I see,” answered the clerk, respectfully, for Stark’s words led him to think that his guest was a man of wealth.
“I wish I was rich enough to be worried by such a cause,” he said, jokingly.
“I wish you were. Some time I may be able to throw something in your way.”
“Do you think it would pay me to go to the West?” asked the clerk, eagerly.
“I think it quite likely—if you know some one out in that section.”
“But I don’t know anyone.”
“You know me,” said Stark, significantly.
“Do you think you could help me to a place, Mr. Stark?”
“I think I could. A month from now write to me Col. Philip Stark, at Denver, Colorado, and I will see if I can find an opening for you.”
“You are very kind, Mr.—I mean Col. Stark,” said the clerk, gratefully.
“Oh, never mind about the title,” returned Stark, smiling good-naturedly. “I only gave it to you just now, because everybody in Denver knows me as a colonel, and I am afraid a letter otherwise addressed would not reach me. By the way, I am sorry that I shall probably have to leave you to-morrow.”
“So soon?”
“Yes; it’s this tiresome business. I should not wonder if I might lose ten thousand dollars through the folly of my agent. I shall probably have to go out to right things.”
“I couldn’t afford to lose ten thousand dollars,” said the young man, regarding the capitalist before him with deference.
“No, I expect not. At your age I wasn’t worth ten thousand cents. Now—but that’s neither here nor there. Give me a light, please, and I will go up to bed.”
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