University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

CONCERT HALL.

—Song.

“Where's Fred. Johnson gone, Dick?”

“New York.”

“Have you heard from Fowler?”

“No, he's got clear; Woodley's mad as
h—l.” G-d, I thought he would be on to
me.”

“You, Dick?”

“Yes, you see I was intimate with the
cursed scamp.”

“Well, you going to Forster's, to-night?”

“I don't know; what's the spree?”

“Oh, a ball. Go; Frank Block is going.”

“Who do you take, Ned?”

“Kate.”

“Hang on to her still, eh?”

“Yes, d—n it, can't get rid of her. But
you'll go, won't you?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Be ou hand, then; I'll meet you at the
Exchange, at 7 o'clock.”

“Exchange, 7 o'clock, yes.”

This conversation took place between our
worthy friend Dick, and a worthy associate,
and clerk, Ned Rifton. Ned was a wild fellow,
but an honorable one; and so Dick
“kept dark,” as he expressed it, in his company.
“Forster's,” as Concert Hall was
designated, was then, as now, used as an assembly
room, for the elite of the town; and
the ball of to-night was the best of the season.
Richard, since his successful villany,
had not mingled much with his former associates,
but had confined himself exclusively
to business, hoping to elude thus the suspicions
of Mr. Woodley, whom he knew suspected
that there had been some foul play.
Mr. Abbot had repeatedly questioned Richard
upon what he knew of his fellow-clerk's habits,
and, with a cunning beyond his years
he had invariably labored to give as favorable
a east to the orphan's character as he
could. He spoke so often of Henry's generosity,
and told how he had assisted him in
his boyish troubles, that he grew daily more
and more in the good graces of his master;
and even Lucia, who had boldly avowed her
suspicions of Richard, in the outset, began
insensibly to believe that she had wronged
him, and that he was indeed, as he protessed,
a friend to the lost Henry.

Concert Hall was in its glory. To be sure
there was no “big lantern” then, and the
deacons, and cobblers, and stone fences, and
fries, and stews, were not then, as now, the
lares of the establishment. But Forster kept
a good table, prime bar, and got out fine
“sprees” for the F. Y. M. of the town. Tonight
the windows were brilliantly illuminated,
and the merry jigs and contra dances
kept time to the inspiring music. There was
the mingling of the pure and the polluted:
the enervated roue, and the young girl trusted
by her proud mamma to “a friend's” protection.
Richard Martin and Ned Rifton
were there, with their associate Frank Block.
Rifton was accompanied by a girl of seventeen,
a lovely creature, yet with the stamp of
violent passions on her brow, and a reckless
expression in her dark eye. She was virtuous,
and Ned Rifton knew it, and he loved
her. Yet his long intercourse with her had
been interpreted by his loose companions as
one not favorable to Kate's character. Ned
had not the courage to deny their suspicions
and hence his slighting mention of her name
to Martin. Yet he loved her, and was beloved.

“How can you endure that Martin?” asked
Kate Willis of her partner.

“Oh, he's a jovial, social fellow, Kate,”
answered Ned. “You don't know him;
you must be acquainted with him. Here,
Dick; allow me to present to you my dear
friend, Miss Willis, Mr. Martin,” said the
young buck, with a wink at the person addressed,
which was not annoticed by the
quick eyes of the fair one.

Richard made his best “Schaffer-bow,” as
the salute of a celebrated professor of antics
in those days was called; and the lady greeted
him with a most captivating smile. He
requested her hand for the next cotillion.
She did not refuse, though she had wondered
`how Ned could endure that Martin'!

What had changed Kate so suddenly? The
wink of Ned had nettled her, for she knew
too well what it meant, and she resolved to
play off Dick against her lover.

Ned Rifton felt unhappy. He knew not
why, but he did not like to see Dick intimate
with Kate so suddenly. Three times he had
asked her hand for a dance; she was engaged;
she danced with Mr. Martin. “The
devil take Martin,” thought Ned; “but I'm
glad of it. I shall get rid of the girl.” Ned
thought so, but he felt it not. Such is the
friendship and confidence of the “jovial
souls!”

The merry sets whirled round in the mazy
dance. The brilliant lights shed their glare
on the smiling faces, and the gorgeous dresses.
Dick talked, and laughed, and rattled
away, the gayest of the gay. Kate had enchanted
him. Where was Henry Fowler!

There was a pause in the dancing, and
Richard Martin and Kate Willis promenaded
the hall. Suddenly a hand was laid upon
the arm of the clerk. He turned and beheld
—Fred. Johnson.

“You here,” cried he, turning pale.

“Yes; can't you disengage yourself,
Dick?”

Martin spoke a few words to Kate, and
led her to a seat. Ned Rifton was by her
side in a moment.

“You were agreeably entertained by the
`unendurable' Martin?” said Ned.

Kate looked up with a provoking smile.

“Yes, he is another instance of how one
may be deceived by first impressions.”

“And pray may I ask who was the first?”

Kate sighed; she saw he was vexed.

“I can interpret that sigh—”

“And what may be your interpretation,
sir?”

“That you are tired of me, Miss Willis.”

“Ha, ha! you are a wizard,” laughed Kate.

Ned Rifton sprang to his feet.

“Don't let us have a scene here,” said the
malicious girl.

“H—l and—”

“Ah, Ned, how are you,” said Frank
Block, advancing. “Miss Willis, may I request
your hand for the next dance?”

“Certainly.” And she gave her hand to
Frank, with a triumphant smile, as she noticed
Ned's amazement. Rifton looked after
her a moment. “The devil! does she
mean to—”

He walked across the hall, and requested
the homeliest girl he could find to favor him
with her hand; and led her to the set in
which were Kate and her partner.

And there they danced. Both felt vexed
and unhappy; every word they spoke seemed
to choke. Yet they exchanged scornful
glances. This was jealousy; and what
young lovers call—a proper spirit! Ho, ho!

“What in the old-boy's name are you back
here for?” asked Dick, as he rejoined Fred.
Johnson; “supposing you're suspected?”

“I'm in a serape and you must get me
out; what say you?”

“What's the row?”

“I've been passing bogus.”

“The devil you have! Where's your
share of our lift?”

“Gone by the board long ago, and, d—a
it, I wish I had gone too—”

“Come in here,” said Martin, leading him
to a private room; “let's hear the yarn.
Here, waiter, a couple of punches.”

“Why, you see it's just here,” said Fred.
as he drained his liquor and replaced the
glass, “I got to New York flush; staid there
a fortnight, and found myself with a hundred
and fifty out of six hundred—the d—d
faro-table swallowed it up. I then went up
the river, to see an old aunt of mine, and—”

Fred. stopped. He seemed undecided
whether to go on or not.

“Well, what then?” asked Dick.

“I was received by the old lady like a
son; and by her daughter Mary—”

A smile stole over Richard Martin's features.

“But what's the use in dwelling on it,”
continued Fred. “I fell in love with Mary—”

“And seduccd her, eh, Fred.?”

“Yes! black-hearted scoundrel that I was
—I did—”

“Ha, ha! Fred. Johnson, going to preach?”

“Preach? no, but practise; will you listen
to me?”

“Go on.”

“We eloped together—hired lodgings in
New York, and—I lived happy for a short
time. Well, the money was soon spent.
How long have I been gone?”

“Three months.”

“Well, six weeks from the time I left
Boston, I found myself with twenty dollars
in my pocket, expensive lodgings, and a
helpless girl depending on me. Dick, I risked
that—that last—and—lost it!”

Fred. paused, and covered his face with
his hands.

“More fool you,” thought Richard Martin,
but he said nothing.

“Well, I lost it, and left the table. As I
went out of the door, the man who won it
followed me; `Sir,' said he, `I'll lend you
what you've lost, if you want to try your
luck again.' I grasped at his offer; played,
and won—won, won, won!”

“D—d lucky dog,” thought Dick, but
he still said nothing.

“After the hell was closed, I refunded the
money which the stranger had lent me. He
requested me to aceompany him home; when
we arrived—”

“This is a cursed long yarn,” thought
Dick, but he did not think aloud.

“`Young man,' said he `do you know
what you've been doing to-night?' I looked
at him. `You've been playing with counterfeit
stakes. Look at the bills I let you
have.' I looked; they appeared to me as
good. `And yet,' continued he, `this is all
bogus.'

`Explain yourself, sir,' says I.

`Why, it is simply this. I saw you were
in a strait. I thought your fortune might
turn, and I offered you this loan. If you had
lost, it would have been only the expense of
the paper to me; if you gained, you'd pay
me in current money.'

`But supposing I had been discovered, and
the money proved false?'

`That would have been your business.'

`But if I had revealed your loan?'

`What good would it have done you? I
could and should have proved that you had
lost your money to me in the evening. I
should have maintained that I lent you what
I won of you; could you have disproved it?'

I was thunderstruck. `You are uncommonly
candid, sir,' said I.

`Why should'nt I be; no one overhears
our conversation. But hark ye, young man.
I have an object. If you will join me, you
shall be rich. You see how easy it is to escape
detection. We will work together. If
one is accused at the gaming table, the other
shall support him in implicating some one
else.”'

“And you closed with him, eh, Fred.?”
said Dick, with a cunning wink.

“What could I do? I knew not what the
man might do. His coolness surprised me,
and, to speak the truth, I felt afraid of him.
Then I thought of Mary; she had been accustomed
to every luxury; d—n it, I
couldn't have her suffer, and I knew not but
she might.”

“Why didn't you leave her?”

“Look here, Dick! I love that girl; she
is the—By heaven, I would not leave her
for my life!”

“And yet you seduced her,” said Richard,
sneeringly.

“Yes, and by heaven, I will marry her
Dick Martin, you don't know her She has
changed me.”

“Well, no matter about that. Go on with
your story.”

“I fell into the snare. I started the false
money, and won. And Stimson, the villain,
encouraged me. But it could not last long.
I lost; I was discovered, and Stimson, the
traitor, deserted me.”

“And you was lagged?”

“No, thank God. I escaped. I gave up
to the master of the hell five hundred dollars.
I had won. I am here, without a cent Mary
is here, too.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I want two hundred dollars, and will
leave town.”

“And where do you expect to raise it,
Fred.?”

“Of you, Dick?”

“Of me?”

“Yes, yes! I must have it of you. I know
you've got it, and—why do you look so,
man?”

“Fred., you had your share.”

“Dick, I know you're a d—d rascal.
But I must have that money. I know your
secret, and by H—I, old Abbot shall know it
too, if you refuse me.”

“Softly, Fred.; who talked of refusing
you?” said Dick, startled at the vehemence
of his companion. “But, hang it, I—I—
havn't got it now.”

“None of that, Dick,” said Fred., threateningly.

“It's a fact. I have put it in some ventures.”

“It's a lie!”

Dick turned pale, and clinched his hands;
but his prudence did not forsake him. “I
tell you it's true. I have invested it in half
a dozen small ventures. I've got but fifty
on hand.”

“Dick, I believe you are gumming. But
let us have the fifty. That'll only pay a
few of my debts.”

“Let 'em run.”

“I've had an officer dogging me all day—”

“D—n it, you shall have it!”

They re-entered the hall.

“Ha! Fred., returned?” exclaimed Frank
Block, as he recognised them. “Here, Ned,
Johnson's got back.”

“Hillo, old boy! glad to see you.”

Richard Martin rejoined Kate Willis. He
danced, laughed, and chatted with her. Ned
was in an agony. The brilliant ball closed,
and not till then, did he rejoin Kate Willis.
He attended her home in silence.