The two clerks, or, The orphan's gratitude :: :: University of Virginia Library

The situation of Henry Fowler in the
service of Mr. Abbot was a pleasant and
happy one. Every day he received new
demonstrations of his master's confidence
and generosity. In the family, he soon became
a favorite William Abbot still continued
his friendship; and though separated
from him, being at a distant boarding-school,
pursuing his studies, many were the letters
which passed between them. But with the
sister of William, the bright little Lucia,
Henry became an especial favorite. When
he returned at evening from the store, she
was the first to welcome him; and when the
happy circle met around the social fire, the
chair of Lucia, was drawn close to Henry's,
and the maiden listened with rapt attention
while he read from the stories of distant adventures,
or recited the beautiful poetry he
had himself learned to admire. Happy indeed
was the orphan in the home of the
Abbots. But it was destined to be fleeting—
as what joy is not!

Henry had been but a year in the store of
Mr. Abbot, when he and Richard were advanced
to stations in the establishment usually
held by older and more experienced
clerks. But their employer had the utmost
confidence in their integrity; and as Richard
Martin was not an inmate of his house, he
was entirely ignorant of the habits which he
had formed. Consequently the smooth
tongue of Dick, and his punctual business
habits, (for he never neglected his duties,)
had the effect of concealing his true character
from his unsuspecting master.

A short time after Richard's “spree,” as
he termed it, Henry was detained late at
night at the counting room. He was engaged
in copying letters which were to be
despatched the next morning. The clocks
of the town had pealed the hour of midnight;
yet Henry still continued at his task. Suddenly
he heard the lock snap in the inner
store, and the door creaked on its hinges.
Surprised he well might be, for he had been
intrusted with the keys of the building, and
even now they lay before him on the desk.
But Henry was brave, and his resolution was
formed in an instant. Hastily extinguishing
the lamp, he retired to a corner of the
counting-room, and awaited the approach of
the midnight visitor. A stealthy step approached
the office, seemingly a familiar
one, for it avoided the boxes and bales, and
advanced directly to the glazed door; the
intruder entered, and Henry held his breath,
and listened to his movements. A moment
after, he heard the click of the steel and
flint of a tinder-box; and the next, the light
of an ignited match discovered to him the
countenance of Richard Martin. Wondering
what could have called him to the store,
at that late hour, and how he had effected
an entrance, he awaited his further movements.
And his worst suspicions were
realized; for the young man unlocked the
desk, and, looking fearfully around, laid his
hand upon a roll of bills which lay within it.
But as the gaze of the young robber wandered
over the room, it met the steady glance
of his fellow-clerk, and uttering a wild cry,
he dropped his prize.

Henry advanced towards him. “Richard!”
he said; and his voice was choked and sorrowful.
“Richard!”

The guilty boy fell upon his knees, and
hid his face in his hands.

“Oh, Harry! do not expose me! I—I—
Oh, save me, Harry!”

Henry was silent; but his breast heaved,
and his face was pale. At length he said,

“Richard, how could you do this? How
could you—” The word would not come
to the orphan's lips, for the child of his mother's
friend was before him.

The ready lie came to the aid of Richard.

“O, Harry! I never would have thought
of this, but I owed Fred. Johnson; and I had
no money to pay him. I intended to replace
it next week. Oh, Harry, I did not mean to
steal it; do you think I did?”

“I hope not, Richard; but how did you
procure a key? How did you enter?”

“It was the key of the upper loft door;
it fits this.” Richard trembled while he uttered
the lie, for he had taken a wax impression
of the lock. But Henry noticed it
not.

“And you will not inform Mr. Abbot,
Henry! It would ruin me. I should be
cast forth, on the world, without a character.
Oh, Harry!” and the artful youth smiled inwardly,
for he saw the tears in the eyes of
his credulous friend.

“Will you promise me never to attempt
the like again, Richard!”

“Yes! yes! I swear it.”

“Only promise, Richard! and keep your
promise. Now how much do you owe your
friend?”

“Five dollars”

Henry took out his pocket book. “Here
is the sum,” said he; “and when you want
money, come to me, and I will share with
you what I have. But O, I implore you,
Richard, never contemplate the crime you
have this night escaped. And leave these
companions! They will lead you into new
difficulties, that perhaps I cannot relieve.”

“I will, Henry!” said Richard; “you
have saved me, and I will follow your advice!”

“Well, Richard, heaven grant you may!
And now good night!” continued he, as he
prepared to leave the store. “I will keep
your secret for your dead mother's sake!”

They parted, and Henry proceeded to his
home.

“D—n him!” muttered Richard between
his teeth; and he half turned back to the
store. “But I won't, though! His five
dollars will pay for the next spree! Cursed
fool!—ha, ha!”