CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH PHIL MEETS A SEEDY GENTLEMAN BY THE NAME OF FARRINGFORD.
Mr. Leonidas Lynchpinne, otherwise Lynch, had a small valise in hishand, and was sauntering leisurely along, as though earth had no sorrowfor him, and he was not responsible in St. Louis for an infamous actdone in Leavenworth. I wanted my money; in fact, I needed it. ForMrs. Greenough's remarks had assured me that my wardrobe was entirelyinadequate to the requirements of civilized life.
"How do you do, Mr. Leonidas Lynchpinne?" I began, making towards him.
He glanced at me very contemptuously, and continued on his way. I hadexpected to astonish and confound him, but the result did not realizemy anticipations. It was decidedly a look of disdain that he bestowedupon me, which I thought was adding insult to injury. So far I wasdisgusted with his conduct; but I had no idea of abandoning the purposeI had in view.
"I want to see you, Mr. Lynchpinne," I continued, following him, andtaking position at his side.
"Who are you?" he demanded, halting, and giving me another contemptuouslook.
"Don't you know me, Mr. Lynchpinne?"
"My name is not Lynchpinne."
"Lynch, then. Don't you know me?"
"No."
"Yes, you do."
"You impertinent puppy!"
"O, yes! All that's very pretty, but I want my money."
"What money? What do you mean, you saucy young cub?"
"Perhaps I am saucy; so was Nathan when he said to David,'Thou art theman!' and that's just what I say to you."
"Go about your business," said he, angrily, as he resumed his walk.
"My business, just now, is to get back the money you stole from me;and I'm going to stick to it, too."
"Stole! How dare you use that word to me?"
"Because I believe in speaking the truth, even when it is not pleasantto do so."
"Clear out, and don't come near me again."
"Hand over my money, and I shall be glad to do so."
"If you don't leave, I'll call a policeman."
"I wish you would. I should like to tell him my story. If you don'tcall one, I shall, as soon as I see him. I'll follow you till your legsor mine give out."
"You evidently take me for some other person, boy," said he, halting onFront Street, perhaps afraid that we might meet a policeman--a thingwhich has been known to happen.
"No, I don't; I take you for Lynch, the man that stole my money, and Iwant a policeman to take you for that, too."
"See here, boy; I can't be annoyed in this manner in the publicstreet," he replied, in a kind of confidential tone. "What do you wantof me?"
"I told you what I wanted--my money."
"I know nothing about your money. If you want to see me, come to thePlanters' Hotel at eight o'clock this evening, and I will meet you."
"I think not. I don't mean to lose sight of you, Lynch."
"If you don't clear out, I'll chastise you on the ground for animpudent puppy."
"Well, sir, when you get ready to chastise, you begin," I replied, as Iglanced at his slender form. "If I don't keep up my end, you can havethe money you stole."
"How dare you--"
But he checked himself, for two or three persons had already stopped;and their example was so contagious, in a populous city, that there wasdanger of collecting a crowd, to which my sensitive friend seemed tohave very strong constitutional objections. He moved on, and I followedhim into Market Street. I was anxious to meet a policeman, that I mightstate my case to him, and invoke his aid; but the officers, justifyingall the traditions of their craft, were somewhere else, because theywere wanted in Market Street.
Lynch quickened his pace, and turned into Fourth Street; but I keptclose to his heels till we were near the Planters' Hotel. I concludedthat he was going to this grand establishment, and that he expected toshake me off within its sumptuous walls. I did not believe he would,though the want of an officer was a sore inconvenience to me. Justas he was about to cross the street, a shabby genteel and very seedygentleman confronted him.
"How are you, Lynch?" exclaimed the dilapidated individual, extendinghis hand.
"How do you do, Farringford?" replied Lynch.
Farringford! This must be the decayed steamboat owner of whom Lynch hadbefore spoken to me. He was apparently about forty-five years of age,and he looked as though the world had used him very roughly.
"I'm glad to see you, Lynch," said Farringford. "I'm always glad to seean old friend. I'm hard up, and I want to borrow a dollar."
Lynch took two half dollars in silver from his pocket. Perhaps thepresent generation of young people never saw a half dollar; but itis true that there was a time when such a coin was in general use!He handed the money to the seedy gentleman, and then said somethingto him in a whisper, which I could not hear, though I had plankedmyself close by the side of the villain. Lynch then turned to cross thestreet, and I started to follow him.
PHIL MEETS LEONIDAS LYNCHPINNE. Page 100.]
"See here, my lad," said Farringford, grasping me by the arm.
"Let me alone!" I cried, struggling to escape, fearful that I shouldlose sight of Lynch.
"Hold still, my lad. I only want to speak to you," replied Farringford,in cheerful tones, though he did not relax his grasp. "Don't be afraid.I won't hurt you. I've known you ever since you were a baby."
"Known me?"
I was startled by his words, for they seemed to have some relation tothe mystery of my being.
"Certainly I have, Phil."
"Do you know me?" I demanded, forgetting, for the moment, all aboutLynch and my hard money.
"Known you from your babyhood, my lad," said he, glancing towards thehotel.
This act reminded me of my business again. I turned my face towards thehotel. Lynch had disappeared.
"That's all, Phil; you can go now," said Farringford, laughing.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"That's all, my lad. I only stopped you to prevent you from followingmy friend."
"You said you knew me."
"Never saw you or heard of you before in my life," chuckled he,evidently pleased at the trick he had played upon me.
I left him, and rushed into the hotel. I looked for Lynch in all thepublic rooms, but I could not find him. I inquired at the office forhim, and the clerks answered me, very curtly, that no such person wasin the house. I asked a porter, who sat near the entrance, describingLynch. He had seen the gentleman, but did not know where he was; he hadnot taken a room or registered his name, and had probably gone awayagain. It seemed to me that everything was going against me. I had togo home to dinner, as I could spend no more time in looking for himthen; but I determined to renew the search in the evening.
As I walked down Fourth Street, I overtook Farringford, who hadevidently spent a portion of the dollar borrowed of Lynch for liquor.I accosted him, for I thought that I might recover my money through hisagency, as he evidently knew Lynch.
"Ah, my lad! You didn't find him," chuckled the toper.
"I did not. I have heard of you, Mr. Farringford, and I can put you inthe way of making some money."
"Can you? Then I'm your man. Most distinctly, I'm _your_ man," hereplied with emphasis. "There's only two things in this world that Iwant, and those are money and whiskey. If I get the whiskey, I don'tcare for the money; and if I have the money, I can always get thewhiskey."
"I should like to meet you somewhere this evening, for I am in a hurrynow."
"I will be in the bar-room of the Planters' Hotel at seven o'clock thisevening, if you have any money for me. But what's it all about? Can'tyou tell me now?"
"I haven't time now."
"Very well. Planters' Hotel--bar-room--seven o'clock. I'll be there ifthey don't turn me out before that time. If they do, you will find mein the street."
Although I was not very confident he would keep his appointment, itwas the best I could do. If he failed to be there, he was evidentlya character so noted, that I c
ould easily find him. I hastened to mydinner, and reached Mrs. Greenough's rather late. I explained thereason of my tardiness, which was quite satisfactory. My landladyhoped that I should recover my money, and I hoped so too--a degree ofunanimity which does not always exist between landlady and boarder.
I was on the work as the clock struck one, but I had to do some runningthat noon, in order to protect my reputation. Conant did not drivebusiness in the afternoon as he had in the forenoon, when I think heintended to wear me out. We worked steadily, and I kept my end of theboard up. I was not sorry to hear the clock strike six, for I wastired, though perhaps not more so than Conant himself. I went home, atemy supper, did my chores in the house, and at seven o'clock I was inthe bar-room of the Planters' Hotel. It was no place for a boy, or aman either, for that matter. No one was what could be called, in goodsociety, disreputably drunk, unless it was the seedy gentleman whom Imet by appointment; and even he was able to handle himself tolerablywell. No doubt he would have been more intoxicated if he had not drankup the dollar he had borrowed; but his wits were not wholly stupefied.
"Well, my lad, you have come, and so have I," said Farringford, when Ientered the room. "Both come, and that makes two of us, all told."
"Yes. I wanted to see you about--"
"Stop a minute, my lad," interposed he, putting his trembling hand uponmy shoulder. "Let us go to work right. When I used to run steamboats,we had to put in wood and water before we could get up steam."
"When did you run steamboats?" I asked.
"Ten or fifteen years ago. I was a rich man then; but now I'm as pooras a church mouse with his hair all singed off. I am; but I'm jolly;yes, I am jolly. Let's proceed to business."
"Did you own a steamboat--"
"Stop, my lad; I owned half a dozen of them. But that's no matter now.Do you happen to have a dollar in your pocket--one dollar, my lad."
"No, sir; I have not."
"Not a dollar?"
"No, I have not."
"Do you happen to have half a dollar in your pocket, my lad?"
"Not even half a dollar, sir."
"Your name is--somebody told me your name," said he, musing.
"Phil, sir."
"Phil, do you always speak the truth?"
"I always endeavor to do so," I replied.
"I hope so. Truth is mighty, and must prevail. You should always speakthe truth."
"As you did, to-day, when you said you had known me from my babyhood."
"Boys must speak the truth, whether men do or not. Did you speak thetruth when you said you had not even half a dollar?"
"I did."
"Have you any money?"
"I have thirty cents."
"Then lend me a quarter."
"It's all I have."
"We can't do any business till this little matter is attended to," saidhe, with tipsy solemnity. "You shall be paid, my lad; you shall bepaid--when I pay the rest of my creditors."
Finding it impossible to proceed any farther without complying with hisrequest, I reluctantly gave him the quarter; but I felt guilty in doingso. He went to the bar, drank, and returned to the corner where he hadleft me.