CHAPTER XX.
MONT TELLS His STORY
As Jack and Mont journeyed on the way to Corney, the young machinistnoticed that the young man was rather silent, and when spoken to repliedonly in monosyllables.
"I suppose he's speculating about those papers and the stranded yacht,"thought Jack. "Perhaps they will be valuable to him when he comes tosettle up with his uncle. I'd just like to know what interest fatherhad in that tool machinery. Perhaps the patent is still ours, or aroyalty on it. As soon as I find Deb, and things are settled a bit, I'mgoing to investigate the whole subject."
Jack's surmise concerning Mont was correct.
"What do you think of my uncle?" asked the young man, after a longperiod of silence.
"What do I think of him?" asked the young machinist in turn. "In whatway?"
"Why, as to his dealings with people in general."
"Well, I--I really, Mont, I don't want to say anything that will hurtyour feelings," stammered Jack, not wishing to be harsh with so dear afriend, and yet determined to speak only the truth.
"Never mind my feelings. Just speak your mind."
Jack was silent a moment.
"I think he's outrageously mean and close!" he burst out. "He doesn'ttreat you, nor any one else in the tool works fairly! He's the hardestmaster to work for in the town!"
The young machinist could be blunt when the occasion demanded, and hedid not mince matters now.
"I guess you are right," replied Mont, shaking his head affirmatively."And yet----" he hesitated.
"What?"
"I hardly dare say what is in my mind, Jack. But I want a friend'sadvice."
"And I'll give it willingly."
"And keep the matter to yourself?"
"Certainly, if you wish it."
"Then I've got this to say about my uncle, Felix Gray," declared Mont."He is either treating me first-rate--which I don't believe--or else heis the worst scoundrel in Corney!"
Jack was dumfounded.
"The worst scoundrel in Corney?" he repeated almost breathlessly. "Yousurely don't mean it!"
"Yes, I do," replied the young man, decidedly.
"Don't think I say so hastily. I've thought over the matter a longtime. Things can't go on as they have much longer, and when the breakcomes, I want somebody to know my side of the story."
"Yes, go on."
"In the first place, you must remember that Mr. Gray is not my fulluncle. He and my father were only half brothers, so we are not soclosely connected as people imagine."
"That's so," replied Jack, trying to catch a glimpse of what his friendwas driving at.
"My father was ten years younger than his step-brother," continued Mont,slowly. "He was quite well off, having been left considerable money byan old aunt, who always took a great interest in him. My uncle Felixinduced him, shortly after receiving his inheritance, to locate atCorney, and both became equal partners in the tool works."
"On your father's capital?"
"So I imagined; his brother putting his experience and command of tradeagainst my father's money."
"Then you really own a half interest in the works!" exclaimed Jack, insurprise.
"So I always believed. But listen. My father died suddenly, it wassaid. I returned home in time to hear his will read. In this, hisproperty, without being specified, was left to me as the only survivingmember of the family, with Felix Gray as the sole executor and myguardian."
"It was a good deal to trust in his hands."
"I suppose my father had unlimited confidence in his brother. I trustedhim, too, and continued at school for three years longer.
"When seventeen years old I returned home, and asked him if I was notold enough to take an active position at the works, and then he offeredme my present clerkship, and astonished me by asserting that my fatherhad squandered most of his wealth by extravagant living, and thatseveral hundred dollars was all there was remaining of my share."
"And you think?" began the young machinist, who was beginning to seethrough the situation.
"What would you think, Jack?" asked the young man, earnestly. "Myfather lived well--owned the yacht we just left, and all that--but wason the whole, I've been told, a prudent man. Now you know my uncle, whatdo you make of the matter?"
"Did Mr. Gray ever offer to let you examine the accounts?"
"Only those at the tool works, but not the private ones at home."
"Then, to say the least, he is certainly not acting as a guardianshould," declared Jack. "And I think you would be perfectly justifiedin demanding an examination."
"That's your honest opinion?"
"It is, Mont. If he is acting right he won't mind it, and if he isn't,why the sooner you find it out the better. From my own experience I amsure he would stoop pretty low to increase his wealth or position."
"Yes, but that--that----" hesitated the young man, his face flushing.
"I know what you mean," replied Jack quickly. "To deprive you of what'syours is a crime punishable by imprisonment, and you hate to have such athing connected with any one in your family. But it's not your fault,and you ought to have your rights."
"Yes, but the publicity?" faltered Mont.
"Oh, pshaw! you don't owe the public anything!" exclaimed the youngmachinist, somewhat impatiently, so anxious was he to see Mont get hisrights. "Perhaps the affair can be settled privately."
"I wish it could," returned the young man eagerly. "I would sacrifice agood deal to have it done in that way."
Mont's nature was a shrinking one. Had he been less diffident it isprobable that he would have demanded an account from Mr. Felix Gray longbefore this.
"How will you approach your uncle?" asked Jack. "Have you any proofs toshow that all is not right?"
"I think I have. During the fire I helped carry out a desk from thelibrary, and the other fellow let his end fall, and burst open one ofthe drawers. The contents rolled out on the ground, and in putting thepapers back I came across a bundle marked with my father's name. I wasat first going to put it with the rest, but as matters stand, changed mymind, and pocketed it. I took it down to the office, but haven't beenable to examine it, except in a general way. And then those documentsfrom the yacht----"
"Here they are," replied Jack, producing them. "You have some, too."
"Yes, quite a bundle."
Mont undid them, and tried to read some of the faded manuscript.
"It's too dark to see much," he observed. "If I'm not mistaken, myfather wrote everything that is here."
"It's queer that Pooler should leave all those things on the yachtundisturbed," returned the young machinist. "One would think that sucha man as he would have ransacked the boat from stem to stern."
"He certainly must have a reason,", said the young man. "Or else--I'vebeen thinking--he may be a little off in his mind. Did you notice whata restless look his eyes had?"
"Yes, as if he expected to be nabbed by some one."
"What Mosey and Corrigan and my uncle do there beats me."
"And then the yacht. Was your father on board when he died?"
"I don't know. I always supposed he was at home, and never asked aboutit."
Both felt that for the present at least, the solution of this questionwas beyond their power to reach, and they lapsed into silence.
They were now near the old mill, and remembering the kit he had droppedwhen he discovered Mosey, Jack made a search for it.
"What are you looking for?" asked Mont.
"My tools I dropped--gracious, listen!"
A shrill, girlish voice penetrated the air, and fairly struck him to theheart.
"Help! Jack! Help!"
"It's Deb!" he ejaculated. "She's in trouble!" and he ran toward theold building, closely followed by Mont.
It took but a few seconds to reach the place. The door was tightlyclosed, but with one heavy kick the young machinist burst it open.
They were astonished at the sight within.
There was Corrigan--his red face redder than ever with rage--and in hisarms, her hair flying, and her dress plainly showing the effects of herterrible struggle for liberty, was poor Deb!