"Do you know anything of Thomas Browning?" he asked Stone.
"The philanthropist? Yes. What of him?"
"I called on him last evening."
Jack did not think it best to mention the circumstances of his visit.
"Indeed! How did you know him?"
"In California."
"I suppose he laid the foundation of his fortune there."
"Is he so rich, then?"
"Yes, probably worth a quarter of a million."
This was an exaggeration, but rich men's wealth is generallyoverstated.
"How does he stand in the city?"
"First-class. He has been mentioned for mayor. I shouldn't besurprised if he might get the office some day."
"He has certainly been very lucky."
"I should say so. Was he rich in California?"
"Not when I knew him. At one time there he had to borrow money of me.He paid me back last evening."
"He is on the top of the ladder now, at any rate."
"His respectability would suffer a little," thought Jack King, "if Icould prove that he had appropriated Walton's money. I must think thematter over, and secure some information if I can."
The next Sunday evening he called at the house of the philanthropist,and sent in his name.
Thomas Browning went himself to the door. He was afraid King might bewearing the same disreputable suit in which he had made his formervisit. But to his relief his visitor looked quite respectable.
"Do you wish to see me?" he asked.
"Yes; but only for a social call. I am not acquainted in Milwaukee,and it does me good to see an old friend and comrade."
"I have not much time to spare, but come in!"
They went into the philanthropist's library, formerly described.
"Have you found anything to do?" asked Browning.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
King answered the question.
"It is not much," he added, "but will do for the present."
"At any rate, it is considerably better than entering a house at nightand hiding under the bed," said Browning, dryly.
"So it is," answered King, smiling. "You must make allowance for mydestitute condition. I little thought that I was in the house of anold friend. I have been asking about you, Tom Butler--I beg pardon,Mr. Browning--and I find that you stand very high in Milwaukee."
A shade of annoyance showed itself on the philanthropist's face whenKing referred to him under his former name, but when his high standingwas referred to he smiled complacently.
"Yes," he said, "I have been fortunate enough to win the good opinionof my fellow-citizens."
"Some one told me that you would probably run for mayor some day."
"It may be. I have been sounded on the subject."
"The worst of running for office is that if a man has ever doneanything discreditable it is sure to be brought out against him."
"I hope you don't mean to imply that I have ever done anythingdiscreditable," said Browning, sharply.
"Oh, dear, no! How could I think such a thing? But sometimes falsecharges are brought. If you had ever betrayed a trust, or kept moneybelonging to another, of course, it would hurt you."
"Certainly it would," said the philanthropist, his voice betrayingsome nervousness, "but I am glad to say that my conscience is clear onthat point."
"By the way, Jack, let me send for a bottle of wine. We'll drink tothe memory of old time."
"With all my heart, Tom. I see you're the right sort. When you arenominated for office I will work for you."
Browning smiled graciously on his visitor, and the interview closedpleasantly.
"He's afraid of me!" thought Jack, as he left the house.
CHAPTER XIX
A SENSATIONAL INCIDENT
When Luke brought home the dress pattern his mother was much pleased.
"I have needed a dress for a good while," she said, "but I never feltthat I could spare the money to buy even a common one. This materialis very nice."
"It cost seventy-five cents a yard. I was with Mrs. Merton when shebought it."
"I hope you didn't hint to Mrs. Merton that I needed one."
"No, that isn't like me, mother, but I own that I was very glad whenshe thought of it."
"Please tell her how grateful I am."
"I will certainly do so. Now, mother, I want you to have it made up atonce. I can spare the money necessary."
"It will cost very little. I will have it cut by a dress maker andmake it up myself. I hope you will long retain the friendship of Mrs.Merton."
"It won't by my fault if I don't. But I can't help seeing that herniece, Mrs. Tracy, and Harold, a boy about my age, look upon me withdislike."
"Why should they? I don't see how anyone can dislike you."
"You are my mother and are prejudiced in my favor. But I am sure theyhave no reason to dislike me. I think, however, they are jealous, andfear the old lady will look upon me with too much favor. She is veryrich, I hear, and they expect to inherit all her fortune."
"Money makes people mean and unjust."
"If I can only get hold of some, I'll run the risk of that," saidLuke. "I should feel a good deal more comfortable if I hadn't twoenemies in the house."
"Do your duty, my son, and leave the rest to God. It isn't well toborrow trouble."
"No doubt you are right, mother. I will follow your advice."
The next morning Luke was at his usual stand near the Sherman Housewhen a boy who was passing uttered a slight exclamation of surprise.Looking up, Luke recognized Harold Tracy.
"So it's you, is it?" said Harold, not over politely.
"Yes," answered Luke. "I hope you are well."
"I didn't know you were a newsboy."
"I spend a part of my time in selling papers."
"Does Mrs. Merton know you are a newsboy?"
"I think I have told her, but I am not certain."
"It must be inconvenient for you to come so far as our house everyday?"
"Of course it takes up some time, but Mrs. Merton does not allow me towork for nothing."
"How much does Aunt Eliza pay you?"
"I would rather you would ask Mrs. Merton. I am not sure that shewould care to have me tell."
"You seem to forget that I am her nephew that is, her grandnephew. Itis hardly likely she would keep such a thing secret from me."
"That may be, but I would rather you would ask her."
"Does she pay you more than two dollars a week?"
"Again I must refer you to her."
"It is ridiculous to make a secret of such a trifle," said Harold,annoyed.
"How much do you make selling papers?" he asked.
"I averaged about seventy-five cents a day before I began to work forMrs. Merton. Now I don't make as much."
"Why don't you black boots, too? Many of the newsboys do?"
"I never cared to take up that business."
"If you should go into it, I would give you a job now and then."
"I am not likely to go into that business, but I shall be glad to sellyou a paper whenever you need one."
"You are not too proud to black boots, are you?" persisted Harold.
"I don't think it necessary to answer that question. I have always gotalong without it so far."
Harold carried the news home to his mother that Luke was a newsboy,and Mrs. Tracy found an opportunity to mention it at the suppertable.
"Harold saw your paragon this morning, Aunt Eliza," she commenced.
"Have I a paragon? I really wasn't aware of it," returned the oldlady.
"Your errand boy."
"Oh, Luke. Where did you see him, Harold?"
"He was selling papers near the Sherman House."
"I hope you bought one of him."
"I didn't have any change."
"Did you know he was a newsboy, Aunt Eliza?" asked Mrs. Tracy.
"Yes; he told me so. You speak of it as if it were something to hisdi
scredit."
"It is a low business, of course."
"Why is it a low business?"
"Oh, well, of course it is only poor street boys who engage in it."
"I am aware that Luke is poor, and that he has to contribute to thesupport of his mother and brother. I hope, if you were poor, thatHarold would be willing to work for you."
"I wouldn't sell papers," put in Harold.
"I don't suppose Luke sells papers from choice."
"Aunt Eliza, I don't see why you should so persistently compare Haroldwith that ragged errand boy of yours."
"Is he ragged? I am glad you noticed it. I must help him to a newsuit."
This was far from a welcome suggestion to Mrs. Tracy, and she madehaste to add: "I don't think he's ragged. He dresses well enough forhis position in life."
"Still, I think he needs some new clothes, and I thank you forsuggesting it, Louisa."
The next day, Luke, to his surprise, was asked to ac company Mrs.Merton to a ready-made clothing house on Clark Street, where he waspresented with a fine suit, costing twenty dollars.
"How kind you are, Mrs. Merton!" said Luke.
"I didn't notice that you needed a new suit," returned the old lady,"but my niece, Mrs. Tracy, spoke of it, and I was glad to take thehint."
It was in the afternoon of the same day that Luke, having an errandthat carried him near the lake shore, strolled to the end of NorthPier. He was fond of the water, but seldom had an opportunity to goout on it.
"How are you, Luke?" said a boy in a flat-bottomed boat a few rodsaway.
In the boy who hailed him Luke recognized John Hagan, an acquaintanceof about his own age.
"Won't you come aboard?" asked John.
"I don't mind, if you'll come near enough."
In five minutes Luke found himself on board the boat, He took the oarsand relieved John, who was disposed to rest.
They rowed hither and thither, never very far from the pier. Not faraway was a boat of the same build, occupied by a man of middle size,whose eccentric actions attracted their attention. Now he would takethe oars and row with feverish haste, nearly fifty strokes to aminute; then he would let his oars trail, and seem wrapped in thought.Suddenly the boys were startled to see him spring to his feet and,flinging up his arms, leap head first into the lake.
CHAPTER XX
AMBROSE KEAN'S IMPRUDENCE
Luke and his companion were startled by the sudden attempt at suicide,and for an instant sat motionless in their boat. Luke was the first toregain his self-possession.
"Quick, let us try to save him," he called to John Hagan.
They plunged their oars into the water, and the boat bounded over thewaves. Fortunately they were but half a dozen rods from the placewhere the would-be suicide was now struggling to keep himself up. For,as frequently happens, when he actually found himself in the water,the instinct of self-preservation impelled the would-be self-destroyerto attempt to save himself. He could swim a very little, but thewaters of the lake were in lively motion, his boat had floated away,and he would inevitably have drowned but for the energetic action ofLuke and John. They swept their boat alongside, and Luke thrust hisoar in the direction of the struggling man.
"Take hold of it," he said, "and we will tow you to your own boat."
Guided and sustained by the oar, the man gripped the side of Luke'sboat, leaving the oar free. His weight nearly overbalanced the craft,but with considerable difficulty the boys succeeded in reaching theother boat, and, though considerably exhausted, its late occupantmanaged to get in.
As he took his place in the boat he presented a sorry spectacle, forhis clothes were wet through and dripping.
"You will take your death of cold unless you go on shore at once,"said Luke.
"It wouldn't matter much if I did," said the young man, gloomily.
"We will row to shore also," said Luke to John Hagan. "He may makeanother attempt to drown himself. I will see what I can do to reasonhim out of it."
They were soon at the pier, and the three landed.
"Where do you live?" asked Luke, taking his position beside the youngman.
The latter named a number on Vine Street. It was at a considerabledistance, and time was precious, for the young man was trembling fromthe effects of his immersion.
"There is no time to lose. We must take a carriage," said Luke.
He summoned one, which fortunately had just returned from the pier, towhich it had conveyed a passenger, and the two jumped in.
Luke helped him up to his room, a small one on the third floor, andremained until he had changed his clothes and was reclining on thebed.
"You ought to have some hot drink," he said. "Can any be got in thehouse?"
"Yes; Mrs. Woods, the landlady, will have some hot water."
Luke went downstairs and succeeded in enlisting the sympatheticassistance of the kind-hearted woman by representing that her lodgerhad been upset in the lake and was in danger of a severe cold.
When the patient had taken down a cup of hot drink, he turned to Lukeand said: "How can I thank you?"
"There is no need to thank me. I am glad I was at hand when you neededme."
"What is your name?"
"Luke Walton."
"Mine is Ambrose Kean. You must think I am a fool,"
"I think," said Luke, gently, "that you have some cause ofunhappiness."
"You are right there. I have been unfortunate, but I am also anoffender against the law, and it was the fear of exposure and arrestthat made me take the step I did. I thought I was ready to die, butwhen I found myself in the water life seemed dearer than it hadbefore, and I tried to escape. Thanks to you, I am alive, but now Ialmost wish that I had succeeded. I don't know how to face what isbefore me."
"Would you mind telling me what it is?"
"No; I need someone to confide in, and you deserve my confidence. Letme tell you, then, that I am employed in an office on Dearborn Street.My pay is small, twelve dollars a week, but it would be enough tosupport me if I had only myself to look out for. But I have a motherin Milwaukee, and I have been in the habit of sending her four dollarsa week. That left me only eight dollars, which I found it hard to liveon, and there was nothing left for clothes."
"I can easily believe that," said Luke.
"I struggled along, however, as best I might, but last week I receiveda letter from my mother saying that she was sick. Of course herexpenses were increased, and she wrote to know if I could send her alittle extra money. I have been living so close up to my income that Iabsolutely had less than a dollar in my pocket. Unfortunately,temptation came at a time when I was least prepared to resist it. Oneof our customers from the country came in when I was alone, and paidme fifty dollars in bills, for which I gave him a receipt. No one sawthe payment made. It flashed upon me that this sum would make mymother comfortable even if her sickness lasted a considerable time.Without taking time to think, I went to an express office, andforwarded to her a package containing the bills. It started yesterday,and by this time is in my mother's hands. You see the situation I amplaced in. The one who paid the money may come to the office at anytime and reveal my guilt."
"I don't wonder that you were dispirited," returned Luke. "But cannothing be done? Can you not replace the money in time?"
"How can I? I have told you how small my salary is."
"Have you no friend or friends from whom you could borrow the money?"
"I know of none. I have few friends, and such as they are, are, likemyself, dependent on small pay. I must tell you, by the way, how webecame poor. My mother had a few thousand dollars, which, added to myearnings, would have made us comparatively independent, but in an evilhour she invested them in a California mine, on the strength of theindorsement of a well-known financier of Milwaukee, Mr. ThomasBrowning----"
"Who?" asked Luke, in surprise.
"Thomas Browning. Do you know him?"
"I have seen him. He sometimes comes to Chicago, and stops at theSherman House
."
"He recommended the stock so highly--in fact, he was the president ofthe company that put it on the market--that my poor mother thought itall right, and invested all she had. The stock was two dollars ashare. Now it would not fetch two cents. This it was that reduced usto such extreme poverty."
"Do you think Mr. Browning was honest in his recommendation of themine?" asked Luke, thoughtfully.
"I don't know. He claimed to be the principal loser himself. But it israther remarkable that he is living like a rich man now. Hundreds losttheir money through this mine. As Mr. Browning had himself been inCalifornia----"
"What is that?" asked Luke, in excitement. "You say this Browning wasonce in California? Can you tell when?"
"Half a dozen years ago, more or less."
"And he looks like the man to whom my poor father confided tenthousand dollars for us," thought Luke. "It is very strange.Everything tallies but the name. The wretch who swindled us was namedButler."
"Why do you ask when Mr. Browning was in California?" asked the youngman.
"Because my father died in California," answered Luke, evasively, "andI thought it possible that Mr. Browning might have met him."
CHAPTER XXI
A FRIEND IN NEED