Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📕

“Come, sir, you are growing altogether too particular. All your garments set well, so far as I can judge.”

“Yes, sir, but one likes a change sometimes,” persisted George, a little embarrassed for further objections.

“Well,” said Mr. Dawkins, after a pause, “If you are so strongly bent upon a new tailor, select one, and order what you need. You can tell him to send in his bill to me.”

“Thank you sir,” said his son, by no means pleased at the manner in which his request had been granted. He saw that it would in no manner promote the plan which he had in view, since it would give him no command of the ready money. It is hardly necessary to say that his alleged dissatisfaction with his father's tailor had all been trumped up for the occasion, and would never have been thought of but for the present emergency.

“What shall I do!” thought Dawkins, in perplexity, as he slowly undressed himself and retired to bed.

The only true course, undoubtedly, was to confess all to his father, to incur the storm of reproaches which would have followed as the just penalty of his transgression, and then the haunting fear of discovery would have been once and forever removed. But Dawkins was not brave enough for this. He thought only of escaping from his present difficulty without his father's knowledge.

He rose the next morning with the burden of care still weighing upon him. In the evening the thought occurred to him that he might retrieve his losses where he had incurred them, and again he bent his steps to the gambling house. He risked five dollars, being one-half of what he had. This was lost. Desperately he hazarded the remaining five dollars, and lost again.

With a muttered oath he sprang to his feet, and left the brilliant room, more gloomy and discouraged than ever. He was as badly off as before, and penniless beside. He would have finished the evening at the theater, but his recent loss prevented that. He lounged about the streets till it was time to go to bed, and then went home in a very unsatisfactory state of mind.

A day or two after, he met on Broadway the man whom of all others he would gladly have avoided.

“Aha, my friend, I am glad to meet you,” said Duval, for it was he.

Dawkins muttered something unintelligible, and would have hurried on, but Duval detained him.

“Why are you in such a hurry, my friend?” he said.

“Business,” returned Dawkins, shortly.

“That reminds me of the little business affair between us, mon ami. Have you got any money for me?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet! It is three days since we saw each other. Could you not do something in three days?”

“I told you I required a week,” said Dawkins, roughly, “Let go my arm. I tell you I am in haste.”

“Very well, mon ami,” said Duval, slowly relinquishing his hold, “take care that you do not forget. There are four days more to the week.”

Dawkins hurried on feeling very uncomfortable. He was quite aware that four days hence he would be as unprepared to encounter the Frenchman as now. Still, something might happen.

Something, unfortunately, did happen.

The next day Mr. Danforth was counting a roll of bills which had been just paid in, when he was unexpectedly called out of the counting-room. He unguardedly left the bills upon his own desk. Dawkins saw them lying there. The thought flashed upon him, “There lies what will relieve me from all my embarrassment.”

Allowing himself scarcely a minute to think, he took from the roll four fifty dollar notes, thrust one into the pocket of Paul's overcoat, which hung up in the office, drew off his right boot and slipped the other three into the bottom of it, and put it on again. He then nervously resumed his place at his desk. A moment afterwards, Paul, who had been to the post-office, entered with letters which he carried into the inner office and deposited on Mr. Danforth's desk. He observed the roll of bills, and thought his employer careless in leaving so much money exposed, but said nothing on the subject to Dawkins, between whom and himself there was little communication.