Books: Richard Dare\'s Venture
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Edward Stratemeyer >> Richard Dare\'s Venture
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"I want no words with you," interrupted the merchant. "You understand
why you are discharged as well as I do."
"Yes, but I'm sure--"
"No words, sir. Don't you understand me? I wish you to leave instantly,"
cried Mr. Mann irascibly.
Richard colored.
"I'll go," he said. "But let me say that I consider you are treating
me very unfairly."
And with tears of indignation in his eyes, Richard left the office.
CHAPTER XXII.
RICHARD VISITS MR. JOYCE AGAIN.
"I'm discharged, Frank."
Frank Massanet dropped the books he held in his hands. "Discharged!"
he cried. "Surely, Dick, you don't mean it!"
"I do," replied Richard. "Mr. Mann has given me my wages for this week,
and says he wants me to leave at once."
"But how--what did he have to say? What did he accuse you of?"
"He had very little to say. He said I knew quite as well as he did why
I was discharged."
"But didn't he give you a chance to explain?"
"No; he wouldn't let me say a word. I tried to, but he shut me right
up."
"It's a shame," exclaimed the stock-clerk, indignantly. "I never thought
Mr. Mann could be so unfair." He hesitated a moment. "I'll do it; yes,
I will," he went on, half to himself.
"Do what?" asked Richard.
"Go down and have a talk with him. He's in the wrong, and ought to be
told so."
"No, no, don't go down!" cried Richard in alarm. "I could plainly see
that he was in a bad temper, and you'll only get yourself into trouble."
"I don't care, it's--" began the stock-clerk with flashing eyes, that
showed up well the force of character within.
"No, no!" repeated Richard. He would not have his friend get into
trouble on his account for the world. "I am much obliged to you for
wanting to help me, indeed I am, but I'd rather leave the thing as it
is."
"What will you do?"
"I hardly know yet. I'm completely upset and want time to think."
"You're not going to sit down and calmly submit to it, I hope?"
"Indeed I'm not. Mr. Mann has cast a slur on my character, and I'm
going to remove that, no matter what happens afterwards."
Richard washed his hands and put on his coat in silence. Frank Massanet
sat on the edge of a packing case and watched the boy thoughtfully.
"I wonder if Earle Norris has been discharged?" he remarked. "If any
one was to go he should have been the person."
"I don't know," replied Richard. "I'll try to find out as I go down."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know that either. I must think it over."
"Never mind; remember what I said before; you're in the right, so keep
a stiff upper lip," returned Frank.
When Richard went down he passed through the shipping-room. Earle
Norris was hard at work, sending off orders. He looked surprised, or
pretended to, as the boy entered.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, "Off early?"
"Yes, I am," returned Richard briefly.
"How's that? Got a vacation?"
"Yes."
The boy did not care to be further questioned, and so quickly left the
building.
"Reckon he's discharged," muttered Norris under his breath. "So far
Harrison's scheme works well. Now I must use my wits to clear myself."
"Norris does not act as if he had received bad news," thought Richard,
with a shake of his head. "I can't make it out. There is something
behind it all, but what it is, still remains to be seen."
Richard walked down Beekman Street and then turned the corners of
several other streets. He had no definite plan in mind, and time seemed
at that particular moment of no great value.
Finally he found himself in the neighborhood of the leather district,
and determined to call upon Mr. Joyce.
He was not long in reaching the latter's warehouse, and a moment later
found himself in the merchant's office. As usual Mr. Joyce was hard
at work at his desk. He looked surprised at Richard's entrance, but
finished the letter he was writing before he turned around and spoke.
"Well, Dare, dropped in to see me?" he said pleasantly. "Have a chair."
"Thank you, Mr. Joyce. Yes, I--I have come to see you," said Richard,
hardly knowing how to begin. "I want your advice," he added.
"Yes? Well, you can have that, I'm sure. How are you making out at
Williams & Mann's?"
"I was discharged this morning."
"What!"
Mr. Joyce's face betrayed resentment, anger, pity and curiosity, all
in one.
"But believe me, sir, I am not to blame," went on Richard hastily. "I
have done my work, and more, faithfully, and Mr. Mann would give no
reason for discharging me."
"But there must have been some reason," exclaimed the leather merchant
flatly. "No one sends away an efficient clerk without cause."
"Well, I can't make it out," replied the boy. "That's the reason I
came to you. I'm sure I haven't done anything wrong, and I haven't
been negligent."
Richard's earnest manner had its full effect upon Mr. Joyce.
"Well, tell me your story," he said. "Tell me every word of the plain
truth. Unless you do that I can't help you a bit."
So Richard told of everything that had happened since he had gone to
work--of his intimacy with the Massanets, his acquaintanceship with
Earle Norris, the adventure at the Laurel Club, and all. Mr. Joyce
listened in silence until the boy's story was concluded.
Then he put a number of questions, to make sure that nothing had been
left out or covered up.
"I can't see how you are to blame," he said at the last. "You did wrong
not to let some one know how this Norris had treated you, but you have
done nothing, as far as I can make out, to warrant dismissal. I will
go up and see Mr. Mann in a little while--just as soon as I finish my
morning's work. Will you go along?"
"If you think I ought to. Mr. Mann wanted me to get out though, and
talked as if he didn't want to see me again."
"Never mind. Everybody is entitled to a hearing, and Mr. Mann is
probably laboring under a false impression."
In half an hour the two were on the way. Richard's heart beat quickly
as they walked along, for in some manner Mr. Joyce's presence inspired
him with confidence.
When they reached the store Mr. Mann had gone out for lunch. In a few
minutes, however, he returned. He greeted Mr. Joyce with cold
politeness, and then frowned openly upon Richard.
"Say, Mel, what's the trouble here?" began Mr. Joyce, diving right
into the subject at hand. "My young friend says he has been discharged
without warning."
"We have paid him his week's wages," replied Mr. Mann stiffly.
"So he says, but he wants to know why you discharged him. He says you
acted as if something was wrong."
"Well, something _is_ wrong," admitted the book-merchant; and
then he added in an undertone: "I meant to send you word about it. I
don't care to have the boy aware how much or how little I do know.
Send him out, and I'll tell you the whole affair. The boy is not so
innocent as he looks."
"Bosh! I told you before I knew an honest face when I saw it, and I'll
wager he's as honest as the day is long. Dare," continued Mr. Joyce,
turning to Richard, "just go outside in the store and wait for me."
"Yes, sir."
Richard went out as directed. In the short time that he had been with
Williams & Mann he had come but little in contact with the clerks
downstairs, and they hardly knew him, and now allowed him to stand
around as though he was a stranger.
The dismissal made him feel strange, too. He wished he could go upstairs
to Frank, but he did not know how soon Mr. Joyce might want him. He
wondered how Frank was getting along, and who the firm would get to
help him.
A short half hour passed. It seemed like an age to Richard.
Then the private office door opened and Mr. Joyce called for him to
come in.
Hardly knowing what to expect, the boy entered. Mr. Joyce closed the
door carefully behind him.
"Well, Dare," began Mr. Mann, "we have talked your case over pretty
thoroughly, and while there are some things in your conduct that I
don't like, yet I admit that perhaps I was hasty in judging you. I did
not care to explain all I know for reasons you may learn later. You
may go to work again if you wish."
"Thank you, sir," replied the boy, nearly as much surprised at this
sudden turn as he had been at the first. "But I--"
"Never mind, now. I know there are many things you would like to know,
and which, perhaps, I ought to explain; but for the present you will
have to let that pass."
"I'm willing to, as long as it comes out right in the end," replied
the boy. "Thank you, Mr. Joyce, for your kindness," he added, turning
to the leather merchant, and then withdrew.
CHAPTER XXIII.
STRANGE DISCOVERIES.
Frank Massanet was surprised and delighted to have Richard come to
work again.
"You have indeed a good friend in Mr. Joyce," he remarked when the boy
had told him what the leather merchant had done. "One such is worth
a thousand of the common sort."
During the afternoon Earle Norris had occasion to come up to the stock-
room. He started back upon seeing Richard at work.
"Why, I thought you had taken a vacation!" he exclaimed.
"So I did--for an hour," replied Richard, and without further words
went on with his work.
"Why, I thought--" began the shipping-clerk.
"What did you think?" demanded Frank, coming forward.
"Why I--I----" stammered Norris. "What business is it of _yours_?"
he added rudely.
"You thought he was discharged," went on Frank. "You've been trying
your best to get him discharged."
"Who says so?" demanded Norris, but he turned slightly pale as he
uttered the words. "I say so. I don't understand your scheme, but
that's what you are trying to do; and I warn you that you had better
quit it."
It was seldom that Frank Massanet spoke in such an arbitrary way, yet
it was plain to see that he meant every word he said.
"You're mistaken," returned Norris, hardly knowing how to reply. "But
it's only natural that you should stick up for your mother's boarders.
They help support the family, I suppose."
And with this parting shot the shipping-clerk hurried below.
In the middle of the afternoon Mr. Mann sent for Richard and asked the
boy to accompany him to an office on lower Broadway.
"I wish you to keep our visit to the place a secret," he said. "I might
as well tell you something is going wrong at our place. Goods are
missing from several departments and we cannot trace them. They are
taken by some one in our employ, but there must be a confederate
outside."
"Did Mr. Joyce tell you about----"
"Norris? Yes; but I knew that. I thought you were in collusion with
him, because you were seen in his company."
"By that detective, I suppose."
"Do you know him?" asked the book merchant, in much surprise.
"Not much; Frank Massanet told me of him."
And Richard related the particulars.
"But did not Norris try to get me out of a position?" he added.
"Yes--no--I don't know." Mr. Mann contracted his brow, and then a light
seemed to break in upon him. "He did cast suspicion upon you, but I
thought that was only done for effect--I couldn't exactly understand
it."
"Perhaps he wished to get some one in my place--some one who would aid
him--that is, if he is the guilty party. Who had my place before?"
"A tall young man named Springer. He was discharged for incompetency.
"Springer!" exclaimed Richard. "That was the name of the doorkeeper
at the Laurel Club. He and Norris are great friends."
"Ah! Then I see it. Hold up! We received two applications for your
position only last week."
"What were the names?" asked the boy, deeply interested.
"I have them here in my note-book," replied Mr. Mann, feeling in his
pocket. "Do you remember the names of those you met at that club?"
Richard thought a moment.
"Harrison, Foley, Nichols and Springer, I think. I'm pretty good at
remembering names," he returned.
Mr. Mann got out his notebook.
"Here they are!" he cried. "Andrew S. Foley is one, and Henry Nichols
the other." He jammed the volume back into his pocket. "It's as clear
as day. There is no necessity for your going with me now. You can
return to the store; but remember, not a word of this, even to
Massanet."
"I'll remember, sir."
When Richard returned to the stock-room, his friend, of course, wanted
to know what was up, but the boy only replied that it was all right,
and that Mr. Mann had requested him to keep silent.
Throughout the entire establishment there appeared to be the feeling
that something was about to happen--what, no one knew.
As the two boys were returning home that evening, they met the street
urchin Pep, who greeted them politely. He had a bigger bundle of papers
than ever, and seemed to be prospering in his street trade.
Nevertheless, he had a sober, earnest look upon his countenance that
caught Richard's eye immediately.
"What's up, Pep?" he asked kindly.
"Dad's worse, sir," replied the boy. "I don't think I can come up
Sunday, 'ceptin' he gets better."
"Wouldn't you like us to come down, any way?" asked Frank.
"I would, yes; but he wouldn't. His head ain't right, and he don't
want no one around 'ceptin' me."
"Well, will you come up to the house, and get some nice stuff I will
give you? Some eating and the like?" continued Frank.
"Yes, sir; thank you."
"I'll expect you. Good-by."
"Good-by, sir. Good-by, Mr. Dare," cried Pep. "Oh, say," he added,
running back, "I reckon I can give you that other dollar by Monday."
On Saturday afternoon, as they were starting home early, Frank unfolded
his scheme of one day going into business for himself.
"I would like to see you do it," cried Richard, "and make a big success
of it, too. You deserve it, Frank--such a good fellow as you are!"
A few minutes later a funeral of some old soldier passed. There were
several coaches, and then a post of Grand Army men. The sight was a
sad one to Richard.
"My father was a soldier," he said to his companion. "He was shot,
too," he added, with a sigh.
"Yes?" said Frank. "Then your mother gets a pension," he added, after
a pause.
"No, she does not. She ought to have one, but we cannot get our claim
passed. My father let it rest so long that when he did try he could
find no witness."
And Richard related the full particulars of the case. Frank Massanet
listened attentively.
"I think, as your sister Grace says, I'd turn the whole country upside
down before I'd give up the hope of finding a witness," he said. "Why,
it would amount to several thousand dollars! A small fortune!"
"I'm going to try as soon as I get settled," replied Richard. "I haven't
any money to do anything with yet."
"I'd advertise as soon as I could afford it," suggested Frank. "And
I'd write to the secretaries of all these old soldiers' organizations,
too, giving your father's full name and what he belonged to."
"That's a good idea," exclaimed Richard. "I'll do that this week. I
have plenty of time in the evening, and can get the addresses from the
directory."
CHAPTER XXIV.
PEP'S HOME.
Sunday morning dawned clear and bright. Richard was naturally an early
riser, but the unaccustomed sounds in the streets awoke him at an even
earlier hour than he usually arose, and when seven o'clock came, and
the Massanets assembled for breakfast, they found that their boarder
had had quite a delightful walk.
By ten o'clock the Massanets were all ready and bound for church.
When the congregation was dismissed, Richard and Frank hurried home
ahead, wishing to see if Pep had come.
They found the street urchin waiting for them at the door. He was very
pale and nearly out of breath.
"I was thinkin' you'd never come!" he gasped. "I run all de way, and
went upstairs, but couldn't find nobody."
"What's the matter?" cried Richard. "Is your father worse?"
"Yes, indeed; a heap worse. I was thinkin' he was goin' to croak last
night."
"I'll go right down with you."
"Shall I go, too?" put in Frank hesitatingly. "I'll go willingly if
you want me."
"I dunno," replied Pep slowly. "Dad don't want no visitors. I was only
going to get Mr. Dare. But I reckon you can come. Dad won't know de
difference. He ain't right here."
And the street urchin tapped his forehead significantly.
Rushing upstairs, Frank got out a basket and filled it with a number
of things that Mrs. Massanet and Mattie had prepared. He was down again
in a moment, and then the three, guided by Pep, hurried off.
It was far down on the east side, through streets that are narrow,
dirty and notorious for crimes of all kinds, that the boy led them.
"'Tain't no nice walk to take," he said, "and you're dressed too good
to go through here after dark. If you come ag'in put on yer old clo'es;
da won't notice you so much."
"I'm glad that your sister isn't along," said Richard to Frank, with
a shudder. "I never dreamed of a place as wretched as this."
"Mattie knows how bad it is," returned Frank. "In her mission class
she has several children from the Italian quarter, and that's every
bit as bad as this."
"Here we are," remarked Pep, as they came to a narrow court. "Dis is
my street. Da calls it de Fryin' Pan, 'cause one of de houses took
fire last year and ten people were burnt up."
On this Sunday morning the Frying Pan was alive with people, Jewish
tailors and cloakmakers, who were enjoying a bit of needed rest. They
filled the doorways and the steps, and down on the pavement the children
ran around, shouting and playing games.
Picking their way among the latter and the heaps of dirt and streams
of filthy water on all sides, the two boys followed Pep to the end of
the court. Curious eyes gazed after them, and open remarks concerning
their presence in that locality were not wanting.
But to these the two paid no attention, though both were glad enough
to escape into the hallway of the tenement to which the street boy led
them.
"Look out for de stairway," cautioned Pep, as they ascended the first
flight. "It's mighty rotten, and you kin break a leg widout half
tryin'."
Up and up they went, until finally they stopped at the door of a room
on the top floor and in the rear.
"Here we are," whispered Pep. "Let me go in alone first, and see how
he is."
The street urchin opened the door and went inside. In a moment he
reappeared.
"He's asleep," he said. "You can come in."
The room was part of a garret, with a sloping side and a dormer window.
Opposite was a large brick chimney with an open fireplace. Near it lay
a mattress on the floor, and upon this rested a man.
He was apparently nearly fifty years of age. His face and form were
terribly shrunken, and his untrimmed hair and beard and generally
untidy appearance made him a repulsive object indeed.
"That's him," whispered Pep. "Glad he's asleep. Hope he don't raise
no row when he wakes up."
Just then the man turned and moaned to himself.
"Water! Water!" he cried.
"Have you any?" asked Richard.
"Yes, but 'tain't fresh," replied Pep. "I'll get some."
And catching up a pail, he ran out of the room and down the stairs.
"That man has a raging fever," declared Frank, after a careful look
at the sufferer.
"There ought to be more ventilation here," said Richard, "I'm going
to open that window."
For the dormer window, the only one in the place, was tightly closed.
It was no easy job. The window had probably not been opened for some
time, and stuck obstinately. Finally it went up with a bang, and a
draught of fresh air swept into the place.
"It's a pretty stiff breeze," remarked Frank; "but too much is certainly
better than too little."
The noise had aroused the sick man, and, opening his eyes, he stared
at the two boys.
"Ah, I've caught you!" he cried. "Pep! Pep! Bind them--don't let 'em
get away Where's the water?--
"Water, water everywhere,
Upon the deep blue sea;
Water, water, here and there,
But not a drop for me!
"That used to be Doc's favorite song. Why don't you give poor Tom a
drink? Where's Betty? She'll give her brother what he wants. Oh, Pep,
Pep, don't leave your dad to die of thirst!"
Richard uttered an exclamation, and grasped Frank's arm.
"That man is Tom Clover!" he gasped. "He is Doc Linyard's lost
brother-in-law!"
CHAPTER XXV.
TOM CLOVER.
For a moment Richard could not realize the discovery that he had made.
Could this weak, delirious man be Doc Linyard's brother-in-law, the
one for whom the old sailor had been searching so diligently and so
unsuccessfully?
If such was the fact then his visit to Frying Pan Court would
undoubtedly be productive of more than one good result.
"What makes you think he is the man?" asked Frank Massanet, with
considerable astonishment.
"Because he mentioned his own name as Tom, and I know Betty is the
sailor's wife's name," replied Richard.
"He doesn't look very respectable," went on Frank. "He isn't a relative
for even a man like Mr. Linyard to be proud of."
"He may look better after he's shaved and washed and fixed up a bit,"
returned Richard; "that is, if he gets well," he added, in sudden
alarm.
"Pep, Pep," went on the sufferer, "where's the water?"
"Here you are, dad, nice and fresh," and Pep entered with his pail
full. "Whew! but he does drink a pile!" he added to the two, as he
held a cup to his father's lips.
"I've brought something you can give him," said Frank, going to his
basket and depositing the articles upon a rickety table that stood in
a corner.
"And we'll send a doctor around here, too," he added. "You haven't had
one lately, I guess."
"Not this week. He charged too much, and he wouldn't come if I didn't
pay aforehand," replied the street urchin.
"Pep, what is your full name?" asked Richard abruptly.
The boy was silent.
"Why won't you tell me? I don't want to hurt you."
"Dad said afore he got sick he didn't want people to know it; that's
why," exclaimed Pep finally.
"Why not? He's honest, I'm sure."
"Honest? Bet yer he is! But he don't want his old friends to know how
he's come down."
"Oh!" exclaimed Richard, a new light breaking in upon him.
"Then you were better off once?"
"'Deed we were when marm was alive, and sister Mary. When they died
dad went on a spree--the first and last one--and spent what money was
left after the bills was paid. Then he sold our stuff and we came here,
and I got into the streets."
"How long ago is that?"
"'Most three years. It's been tough times since then."
And Pep suddenly raised his coat sleeve to wipe away two big tears
that had started to come down his cheeks.
"Did you ever know anything of an Uncle Doc?" asked Richard suddenly.
Pep gave a cry.
"What do you know of my Uncle Doc?" he exclaimed trembling. "Oh, Mr.
Dare, did he--did he--"
"What? Send me here? No; but he is looking all over for your father.
Then your name is Pep Clover?"
"Yes, sir. But how did you find it out?"
"Your father's talking led me to think so. I'm glad I found you for
there is money coming to your father. How much I don't know, but quite
some."
"Money coming to him?" Pep's eyes opened widely. Then suddenly his
face fell. "Yer foolin' me."
"No, I'm not. It's money from an uncle in England, left to your father
and your Aunt Betty."
Pep gave a whoop. "Hooray!" he cried, with a wild fling of his arms.
"How much is it? As much as twenty--as fifty dollars?"
"Yes, a good many fifty dollars," replied Richard with a smile.
"And kin dad have a nuss and medicine? Maybe they'll let him in the
hospital if he pays, hey? And I'll get some new clo'es, and then they'll
let me come and see him."
Pep rattled on as if the idea of sudden wealth had turned his head.
"I'll go and tell your uncle," said Richard at length. "I know it will
be a big surprise to him."
"Kin you find the way from here and back?" asked Pep anxiously.
"I don't know," replied Richard doubtfully. "I wish you could come
along."
"I would, only--" and the urchin pointed to the mattress. "Go ahead,"
put in Frank. "I'll tend to him while you are gone, I don't think I'll
have any trouble."
"Dad gets mighty cranky sometimes," returned Pep, with a doubtful shake
of his head.
"Never mind; I'll manage it. You won't be gone over an hour, I guess,"
added the stock-clerk to Richard.
"I think not; that is, if we can find Doc Linyard. His place is no
doubt shut up and he may be away."
A moment later Richard, accompanied by Pep, went down into the court
and made their way to the street beyond. The urchin was all eager
expectation, and if it had not been for Richard, for whom it was hard
work to keep up as it was, he would have run the entire way.
In a few minutes they were down on the Bowery, and passing Park Row,
the only lively spot in lower New York on Sunday, they crossed Fulton
Street and so on down to West.
As Richard had anticipated, the Watch Below was closed. Doc Linyard
did not keep his place open on Sunday, excepting for an hour or two
early in the morning.
"I'll have to see if I can knock him up," he said to Pep.
And raising his foot he kicked several times on the lower portion of
the door.
"Something like the first night, when I got lost," he thought to
himself. "What changes have occurred since then!"
Richard repeated his kicking, and presently there were sounds of
footsteps within, the turning of a key in the lock, and then the door
opened cautiously, revealing Mrs. Linyard.
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