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

They parted. As Dick walked with hurried
steps along, he noticed that he was followed
by a stout man, dressed in a great white
coat. Dick fixed his eyes on him, and kept
his way, but he found that the stranger still
dogged him. As he reached his lodgings in
Milk street, the man advanced, and laying
his hand upon the clerk's arm, “I should
like to speak with you,” said he.

“Walk in,” said Richard, surprised; “I
have not the pleasure of knowing you, sir,”
continued he, as the light fell on the stranger's
face.

“No. You will probably know me better
some time, however,” said the stranger,
carelessly, as he unbuttoned his coat, and
threw himself back in a chair; “my name
is Stimson”

“Stimson?” echoed Martin.

“Ay! you have heard some fine tales of
me, probably. You were closeted with my
young friend, Fred. Johnson.”

“And how know you that?”

“O, some have considered me ubiquitous,”
said the stranger. “But no matter. I want
to have a little talk with you. Will you tell
me how you are connected with Johnson?”

“And why should I inform a stranger—”

“Let's be better acquainted; if you'll trust
me, we shall. Did Johnson tell you of the
gambling business?”

“Bogus,” said Dick, placing his forefinger
at the side of his nose.

“Ah, I see you know; well, he said I
backed out—left him, eh?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, it's true. But, I'll tell you why.
I found he was—honest!”

“Honest!—ha, ha!”

“Yes, or about to be. Now, my dear
young friend,” continued the stranger, with
a bland smile, “I have a great horror of the
animal called a `repentant rogee.' I'd rather
have a fine, spirited fellow, who don't mind
sticking sea-captains, on a pinch, or unlocking—safes—
etc.—ha, ha, ha!”

Dick started. “He knows all,” thought
he. “I must work my card.” Stimson noticed
his agitation.

“Now will you trust me?”

“Can I depend on you?”

“Depend? why, my boy, can't I blow you
this minute, if I wish it. But you are safe.”

“And what—”

“I know what you would ask. I'll be
frank with you. Johnson told me all about
your scrape, when he was half-drunk. Says
I, this is a fellow of the right mettle, and I
resolved to see you. I have a scheme in
preparation, and want a fellow of your spunk.
As for that fellow, Johnson, he's a cowardly
curse. Now, tell me what he said, for I
reckon he tried to milk you.”

“D—n him,” said Dick; and he proceeded
to detail Fred.'s conversation; for he
felt himself in the power of the stranger,
and resolved to trust him, though he plotted
in his heart—revenge!

“And you are going to pay him the hush-money,
eh?”

“What can I do?”

“Do? I'll let you into the secret Pay
him the fifty—pay him. He has in his possession
a hundred or two of the bogus; but
his d—d honest scruples, that he has picked
up, will make him destroy them. He has
not yet done so, I know. Well, pay him,
and make him promise not to reveal your
secret. Then, my boy, I'll jug him. I will
send a letter to the police, informing them
that a famous gambler and counterfeiter is in
town. They'll arrest him, and the bogus
will be found. D—n it, don't you see,”
cried Stimson, rubbing his hands, and good-humoredly
punching his comrade; “don't
you see?”

“I see it, yes!” said Dick. “But won't
he peach? And how shall you escape?”

“Ho, ho—I shall make myself scarce.—
Now, will you come into my scheme?”

“What is it?”

“The particulars are in this paper,” said
the stranger, taking a packet from his bosom.
“Read them, and I will see you at this hour
to-morrow night. Pay Johnson—two hours
from the time he receives your fifty—he's
jugged. All night, my boy!”

For a few minutes after Stimson had left,
Richard Martin remained in deep thought.
Then, seizing the paper which the stranger
had given him, he hurriedly perused its contents.
It was the plan of a contemplated mutiny
on board the ship Halcion, in which
Stimson, and three others had engaged passages.
Four others also, were in the plot,
who had shipped as seamen in the same vessel.
The paper went on to state that, after
the mutiny, the vessel was to run for the
Floridas, and then take on board twelve
more who were sworn to the business.

“A well-concerted plan, truly,” thought
the young clerk. “But if the fool thinks I'll
play second fiddle, he's mistaken, that's all.
But hang it, can't I turn this to my advantage?
This paper—But no; blast it, he'll
blab my secret if I try to injure him. I'm in
a h—l of a hobble; but I reckon I'll sleep
on it.” So saying the `nice young man' adjourned
to the land of Nod.

After Fred. Johnson left Dick, he took his
course for the North End, and crossing the
Mill Creek, wound round the back street, till
he reached Sun Court, where now stands the
Mariner's Bethel, but which was then occupied
by one of those old oak-panelled, family
mansions, that have now nearly all been
swept away before the avalanche of bricks
and mortar. It was once the residence of
one of the colonial dignitaries, when Boston
was a colonial town, and the North End was
in its glory. But it was now no longer illumined
by the blaze of festal mirth, nor
echoed the deserted chambers to the sound
of merry music. Fred. entered the unfastened
front door, and passed along the broad
hall, till he reached the small winding staircase,
which conducted him to the chamber
of his Mary.

She was a beautiful being. With a face almost
infantile in its contour, and in the expression
of trust and confidence that beamed
from it; a complexion as fair as the lily,
through which the rich blood mantled like
the sunlight upon an alabaster bust. She
was indeed beautiful. And for such as thou,
Fred. Johnson, had this being of beauty fallen.

She sprang to her feet, as Fred. gently unclosed
the door, and threw herself in his
arms. “My dear Frederick, you have been
gone so long.”

“But I am returned, my love,” said the
young man tenderly, as he kissed her fair
brow, “Soon, soon I hope we shall be always
together.” Mary sighed. Alas! she

felt that prescience which the sage nor the
wizard can command.

“Frederick, have you seen that rough
man who came to visit you in New York?”

“No, my love! have you heard aught of
him?” asked Johnson, anxiously.

“He has been here.”

“Here!” echoed Fred., “then I am lost!”

“What mean you, Frederick,” cried
Mary, alarmed at the paleness which overspread
her lover's countenance. “Lost—
nay— what mean you?”

“Nothing. But that man is my enemy.”

“Ah, Frederick, will you not confide in
me? There is some trouble in your heart.—
Dear Frederick, speak!”

“I dare not tell you, Mary, you would—”

“Cling to you and comfort you, forever,”
cried the girl. “O, if you are guilty, you
are still my Frederick—my own dear—”

“Husband, it shall be,” interrupted the
youth vehemently. “O forgive me for my
cruelty—my baseness. We will fly from the
town to the happy home of my father. He
will pardon his guilty son, and love that son's
dear wife. Mary! I will reveal all to you—
my guilt—my misery.”

And while the head of the trusting girl
rested on the bosom of her lover, he told the
whole history of his life—left not one word
unsaid. And then Mary looked up in his
face with a quiet smile, and said, “I love
you better—better than ever!

“But you must not receive that Martin's
money. We will fly from him. Here—
here are the jewels which you gave me,
here are some of my own—my watch; take
them, Frederick, they will be sufficient for
us. We will go to your home, and it shall
be mine, shall it not, dear Frederick!”

“Forever! And here,” cried the youth,
sinking upon his knees, “here I swear, never
again to swerve from the strict path of rectitude.
May God give me strength to keep
my resolution.”

“Amen,” said Mary.