University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
SHOWING HOW THE CREDULITY OF THE INNOCENT MAY BE
IMPOSED UPON.

Susan had left the alley in which she dwelt, as we have
seen, at eight o'clock in the evening. At that hour she had
requested her humble foster brother, Timothy Trudge, the
coachman of the widow Dimple, to be at her house. The
provident Susan did not choose to leave her boy without
having a protector near him during her absence. And
Tim had as great an affection for Ned as herself. But

something or other had prevented Tim from keeping his
appointment. It could not be forgetfulness: Tim never forgot
his appointments with his foster sister and protectress,
and never neglected an opportunity of being with poor little
Ned Lorn, as he called him. In truth he was Ned's pupil,
and had learned to read the city papers under his instruction.
Not doubting that Tim would arrive soon after her
departure, Susan, as has been already described, sallied
forth in the snow-storm, to keep her own appointment with
Mr. Parke.

Master Ned, then, was left alone: not entirely alone
either, for Bob was with him—Bob, the playful black tom-cat
who turned summersets on the floor, and performed all
sorts of antics for his amusement.

The house was diminutive, of course. Susan could not
afford to occupy a better one. True, Tim's salary was
$150, which, bating the trifle spent for his clothing, was
always given to his foster sister, to be disbursed as she saw
proper. He well knew that none of it would be improperly
expended by his frugal banker. Susan had procured Tim's
situation for him. When his mother, who had been Susan's
nurse, departed this life leaving no fortune, the girl being
several years older than the boy, had provided for his subsistence;
and now he strove to repay her.

Ned had his books in readiness. Every time the door was
shaken by a gust of wind, he looked up in the expectation
of greeting the smiling face of his friend Tim. And when
he was disappointed, he continued his sports with Bob,
who evinced a most extraordinary disposition for play that
evening. He sprang upon the table; upon Ned's shoulder;
then upon the mantle-piece; and when dislodged from
thence, capered round the room at a rapid rate, making
his feet sound upon the floor like the beating of a muffled
drum.

“Bob, you must be expecting to receive some fine
present this Christmas,” said Ned, standing before the
small grate, and looking down at his sprightly companion.

Bob answered with a mew.

“I can't understand your language, Bob,” he continued,
“unless you mean that you would like something to eat. If

that be it, you must wait till Susan returns. I must not
open the cupboard without her permission.”

Bob had rarely received anything from that source.
Susan could not afford it. But he did not suffer for food,
as his enormous corpulency attested. The rats were too
abundant for that.

“That must be Tim!” said Ned, distinctly hearing footsteps
in the alley. They paused before the door. “Why,
what's the matter, now?” he continued, seeing the cat
humping his back, with his tail elevated and prodigiously
enlarged. The only reply to this was a furious growl from
the animal, whose eyes gleamed and sparkled most surprisingly.
Ned was almost frightened. He had never before
seen the cat assume so ferocious an aspect.

“I wish Tim would come!” said the half-alarmed boy,
gliding noiselessly to the front window, through which he
stealthly peered from behind a dingy calico curtain. He
could hear the sounds of low voices, but the speakers were
standing so near to the wall of the house as to be hidden
from view.

The following was the colloquy which was going on without:

“This must be the house. Betty said it was the seventh
from the corner, and on the east side.”

“There's a light within, suppose we knock?”

“But what shall we say? What shall we do?”

“If this Susan Meek, who was with Parke during his last
moments, has possession of the letters, we must endeavor
to obtain them at all hazards, and at any cost. One
of them, and, perhaps, two, which I wrote under the
cursed influence of weakness, or fear—for he had sworn to
be terribly revenged, if I ruined him—might play the
deuce with me—with both of us—if they should fall into
the hands of any one disposed to demand an investigation.”

And who would be benefited! Old Daniel is dying, or
soon will be. The son is dead. There is no other heir,
you say?”

“None. But yet I am not quite sure the son died at the
house of refuge—”

“Hah! Why, did we not take him up and bury him again
in a handsome lot in — cemetery?”

“We dug up a small coffin and transferred it to the cemetery,
it is true. But there was something equivocal in the
speech and conduct of the old hag of a matron who directed
us to the place of interment.”

“There was? I did not observe it!”

“Ay, there was! There were many mysterious nods
and shakes of the head, that were meant to attract my notice.
And when we parted, she whispered a demand of
$100 per annum.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Job Mallex, who had really supposed
the boy was dead and buried. “It was mere impertinence!
The old hag supposes there is something in the transaction
which you would fain have concealed. She knows not what
it is. But the old wicked strumpet thinks she has you in
her power, and wants to extort money. Curse her! I
wish she were buried! We should have opened his coffin—”

“No!” said Eugene Bainton. “There would have been
no use in it. Who could identify the lad?”

“We should have been sure there was a lad in it. Pah!
I know some one was there. The atmosphere was horrible!
But if the boy had lived, and these unlucky letters once in
our possession, he could never have molested us.”

“Ay; and we must possess them for fear he may turn
up living hereafter; and to keep his old wheezing uncle
quiet.”

“Well. If this is the house, let us enter.”

They knocked. The door flew open.

“Come in! I'm so glad to see you, Tim!” cried Ned.
“Oh it's not Tim! Who do you want to see?”

Bainton and Mallex entered without stopping to answer
the question. There was no hall, and but one room on the
lower floor. The intruders did not pause until they stood
in the centre of the room, which was but dimly illuminated
by the rays of a very small camphine lamp on the table, in
the midst of Ned's books.

“Fasten the door, Job,” said Bainton, after glancing
around the apartment, and finding no one present but the
boy. He was obeyed. The next instant they were startled

by the cries of the King Charles spaniel which had accompanied
them. Bob, the cat, had seized upon it under
the table. Bob was quite as large as the dog, and altogether
its master.

“Kill the cat! Kill it!” cried Mallex. Bainton raised
his cane.

“Don't hurt poor Bob!” cried Ned, who had retreated
in terror to an obscure corner, but now summoned sufficient
courage to intercede for his pet, which he snatched up in
his arms.

“We must not lose time,” said Bainton to his companion.
“My little fellow,” he continued, turning to Ned, and regarding
his beautiful pale face and expressive eyes with an
involuntary interest, “we are not robbers; we do not intend
to injure a hair of your head, or of your cat's head
either. But I see he has slit the ears of my dog.”

“He didn't mean to do it, sir! If the dog hadn't pulled
away from him so fast—”

“Never mind, my lad. Where is your mother?”

“My mother?”

“Yes. Is not Susan Meek your mother?”

“No sir. My mother's dead?”

“Indeed. What is your name?”

“Ned Lorn.”

“Lorn? Ned? That's Edward!”

“They call me Ned, sir, since my mother died.”

“Your mother!” continued Bainton, pale and still
staring at the tearful face of the boy.

“Recollect, we must not lose time,” said Mallex, seeing
that his associate seemed to be rooted to the spot.

“True, Job!” responded Bainton, making an effort to
shake off his troublesome fancies.

“Well, Ned,” he continued, “we are Susan's friends,
and we have brought her a Christmas gift. Where is she?”

“I do not know where she went, sir; but she said she
would be back by ten o'clock.”

“And left you all alone?”

“Tim Trudge promised to be here by eight o'clock, and
stay with me.”

The men exchanged glances.

“Here is the present, Ned,” said Bainton, handing the

boy a purse. “You must give it to Susan when she returns,
and say that Mr. Mallex and his friend left it as a reward
for her faithful services to the deceased Mr. Parke, and for
taking care of the letters the dying man put in her charge.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She still keeps the letters, securely?” asked Mallex.

“Oh, yes sir! You mean my father's letters in the
black box?”

“Do you hear, Mallex? Do you hear that?” said Bainton,
turning deadly pale, and trembling violently.

“That is a poser!” replied Job, thrusting his hands into
the pockets of his capacious overcoat, and surveying the
features of the child. “It is a poser, Bainton. Don't you
think there is a resemblance—”

“Resemblance? I saw it the moment we entered. We
have been deceived. What shall be done now?”

Ned, finding himself the object of so intense a scrutiny,
hung down his head and petted his cat, which still growled
at the dog that whined between his master's feet.

“Ay, that is the question,” replied Mallex, in a low tone.
“But we have the game in our own hands—both the letters
and the boy. My good little fellow, can you tell us where
Susan keeps those letters?” he asked, turning to Ned.

Ned was silent. He recollected that Susan had warned
him never to mention that she had any letters in her possession.
He felt sorry for what he had already divulged in
relation to them.

“Do you know where the letters are?” repeated Mallex.

“Have you seen Susan, sir? Did she tell you that there
were any letters in this house?

“Yes—that is—we know all about it; and that is what
we are giving Susan the money for. Is there another
house in which she keeps her letters?”

“Indeed I do not know, sir. Sit down and wait till Susan,
or Tim comes in. I wonder why Tim don't come!”

“Tim will come presently,” said Bainton; “he could
not get away from his mistress as soon as he promised. I
know Tim very well. He will come as soon as he can.”

“I wish he would come now!” said Ned, in mingled alarm
and vexation.

“Bainton!” said Mallex in a whisper, “You recollect

what Betty Simple told us? She said this boy was very
intimate with the widow's little daughter—that there was
a sort of childish affection subsisting between them—and
by pretending to be the friends of Alice, we would certainly
obtain the confidence of Ned. I think I have a plan by
which we can get the boy away without using violence and
alarming the neighbourhood.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Then set about it quickly. But do not hurt the little
fellow. Since I have seen him, I don't think I could stand
by calmly, while—”

“Nonsense, man! I am not meditating a murder.
But you need not see, you need not know, what is done.
But something must be done! I have myself too much
depending upon his being kept out of the way, to be balked
by trifles! But I will not hurt him. I shall take him
with me in the cab out to Jack Cadaver's house, while you
remain and hunt for the letters.”

“Very good! But be quick, or that foolish fellow Tim
will be here upon us!”

Mallex then approached Ned with a smiling countenance,
which, however, could hardly be observed through the exuberance
of yellow hair which almost covered his face.
Bainton sat down near the table, and seemed to be examining
the books.

“Ned,” said Mallex, “we came near forgetting to
deliver you a message from little Alice Dimple. You
know her?”

“Oh, yes!” said the boy, wonderfully relieved by the
mere mention of her name. “Do you know Alice!” he
asked, advancing a step, and with a smile upon his lip.

“Know her! Just as well as if she were my own child.
We saw her this evening at her mother's house, where we
are in the habit of visiting very often. She is a charming
girl and loves you dearly.”

“She is the only friend I have, near my own age; and
always speaks to me kindly and sweetly when I go with
Susan to Mrs. Dimple's house. You say she sent me a
message?”

“Yes. She is having great fun to-night, and says you
must share it with her.”

“To-night, sir?”

“Yes. Sleighing. She wants you to ride with her and
her mother. Tim is to be the driver, you know. He is
waiting for you, and that is the reason he is not here.”

“But I can't go till Susan comes back! And that will
be too late! Alice will be asleep.”

“Why can't you go at once?” asked Bainton. “I intend
to remain here till Susan comes home, and will give
her the money myself.”

“And you, Ned,” said Mallex, “will be back yourself
before ten o' clock. Tim will come with you, and Susan
will not know you have been away at all. What a fine
Christmas frolic that will be!”

“But that won't do,” said Ned; “I never conceal anything
from Susan!”

“Yet you will have a fine Christmas ride with Alice,
and be all the time near Tim, who, you know, was to be
with you till Susan returned.”

“Yes—if Alice desired me—”

“I tell you she sent word expressly for you to come;
and sent the cab which is now waiting in the street at the
mouth of the alley. Come! have you an overcoat?”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy, taking the garment from an
old wardrobe.

“Put it on quick! The sooner you get there, the
longer time Tim will have to drive you.”

“But if Susan should come while I'm away—”

“If she does, I will explain everything to her,” said
Bainton.

“But, my cat—”

“Never mind him. There is no danger of my dog
attacking him again; and I promise you he shall not be
hurt.”

“Come, Ned!” continued Mallex, taking the lad gently
by the arm, “I will go all the way with you; and when
you are with Tim and Alice, I can leave you.”

Ned was led out. There were some lingering misgivings,
or symptoms of reluctance, manifested in his doubtful
looks and hesitating steps. But Mallex followed up his

advantage. He did not suffer the child to think for himself,
until they were seated in the cab and gliding out
Broad street at a rapid pace.

Both Bainton and Mallex were known to be rich. They
were large dealers in the stocks, and held a vast deal of
real estate in the city. Hence they found admission into
the best society. They had been, as they had intimated,
at the mansion of the widow Dimple that day. They were
truly frequent visitors there, and on such terms of intimacy
with that wealthy and fashionable lady, that many regarded
them as rival suitors for her hand and fortune.

While seated in one of the splendid saloons of the
widow's mansion that day, they chanced to hear little
Alice mention the name of Susan Meek. Mallex had not
met with Susan for several years, and Bainton had not
seen her since his sister's death. But in their frequent
conferences, since the return of the latter to the city, her
name had been often referred to. They had arrived at the
conclusion that the missing letters must have fallen into
her possession. From that moment they sought to ascertain
the place of her abode. Hitherto their endeavours
had been fruitless, although they had both been seen more
than once by the vigilant Susan.

Hence when they heard the name so unexpectedly
mentioned, they immediately declared that they were in
quest of Susan, and desired to see her on business of some
importance. Alice, and her nurse, Betty Simple, were
called in and questioned fully in regard to her. Indeed so
particular were the interrogatories of the gentlemen, so
prolonged were their investigations, and so absorbed had
they become in the subject, that the widow withdrew to
another part of the house, leaving them to pursue a matter
which seemed to be so interesting without the embarrassment
which might be produced by her presence.

Alice expressed her admiration of Ned in very emphatic
terms; Betty, simple by nature, as well as by name, was
thoughtless and excessively voluble. She was only too
happy to be able to pour out a prodigious volume of information,
every word of which being, however, turned to
account by the listeners. Even Tim, honest Tim, almost
as simple as Betty, and quite as fond of talking, was called

in. From him they learned that he was to spend the evening
at his foster-sister's house, and was to be the companion
and protector of Ned during Susan's absence.

At once the idea was conceived to balk Tim's purpose,
and to visit Susan's lodgings themselves. And, when it
was near eight o'clock, and after the stately widow had
resumed her place in the parlor, Mr. Mallex started up
suddenly, and declared that he had most neglectfully left
upon his table in his office a fine volume which he intended
to bring as a present for Alice. Alice seemed disappointed.
The weather was very bad. The office was in the eastern
part of the city. It was determined to send Tim for the
book immediately. Mr. Mallex wrote a note to his clerk,
who slept in the office, and Tim set out on his errand at a
very brisk pace. He did not use the omnibuses—he passed
them all. It was economy of time that actuated and impelled
him—not of money. He would have expended a
dollar cheerfully, rather than disappoint Ned; but his legs
could accomplish more than his purse, and he did not
spare them.

Tim arrived, panting, in an almost inconceivably brief
space of time in front of Mr. Mallex's office. Shaking the
snow from his cap and coat, he gave a startling rap at the
door. The old man—Mr. Mallex's confidential clerk, was
a pale, wrinkled, bald-headed person—hastened to open the
door. He seemed alarmed. The violence of Tim's rapping
had made him fear the house was on fire. Tim thrust
the note into his hand, and evinced an impatience to be on
his return. The clerk looked at him in surprise, and then
at the superscription of the note, which he found no difficulty
in recognizing by the effulgence of the gas-light which
he had not omitted to turn fully on before he opened the
door.

“Oh, ay; come back with me,” he said, reading the epistle,
while something resembling the faint glimmer of a
smile played upon his thin lips. He closed the door very
carefully. It seemed to fasten itself by a spring, the clicking
of which made Tim start.

When they were in the back part of the office, the old
clerk re-perused the note very carefully, and seemed, for
several moments, to be lost in thought.

“It's only a book, isn't it sir?” asked Tim, who declined
the invitation to be seated.

“Yes; but its not here; at least I don't see it,” said Mr.
Fawner, looking about among the desks.

“He said he left it in his office. I'm sure its here,
somewhere,” replied Tim, glancing his eyes in every direction,
for his impatience to be off increased rapidly.

“I don't see it!” continued Fawner, still peering about
very deliberately, and by no means partaking of Tim's impatience.

“Mr. Fawner!” said Tim, “if we cannot find it now, I
can come again to-morrow, when Mr. Mallex will be here
himself.”

“No, no; don't be in a hurry. Mr. Mallex has perhaps
put it carefully away in some hole or corner, not doubting
any one could find it. I will read his note again.”

He did read it again; and if there had been twenty pages
of it instead of but a few lines, Tim felt certain that he
might have perused them all, over and over again, during
the time he expended staring at the sheet.

“Mr. Fawner!” said Tim, almost losing his patience,
“the book ain't in the letter! You don't seem to hunt for
it anywhere else!”

“Let us both search for it, then,” replied Mr. Fawner,
crumpling up the note and throwing it in the stove. It rebounded,
however, and falling at the feet of Tim, he picked
it up unobserved and placed it in his pocket. He determined
to get Ned to read it for him, just to find out what it
was that seemed to occupy so much of Mr. Fawner's precious
time.

They searched together; but in vain. More than a
quarter of an hour was consumed in this manner.

“There's no use in it!” said Tim. “It isn't here.”

“Don't give it up so!” said the clerk, still rummaging
about among the papers and peeping into the pigeon holes.
“We must not be discouraged by trifles. Perseverance is
the secret of success, as all the rich philosophers say.”

“Consume the rich philosophers, I say! Mr. Fawner,
I want to be on my way back. Do you know I am to be
at Miss Susan's this evening at eight o'clock?”

“No; really? Why, look there,” said he, pointing at

the clock against the wall. “Time was up half an hour
ago.”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Tim, looking at the clock
with dismay depicted in his face. “Good bye, Mr. Fawner,
I must run for it. Can't wait a minute longer for all
the books in the world.” Saying this Tim buttoned his
heavy coat up to his chin, and pulling his cap down over
his ears, started for the door. Upon reaching it, he turned
the knob of the ponderous lock, and uttered an exclamation
of surprise when he found it would not come open.

“You can't open it that way,” said Mr. Fawner; “it is
locked; turn the key.”

“There's no key here!” said Tim. “Come and let me
out!”

“No key?” cried Fawner, striding forward quickly;
“where is it? I left it in the door. Did you hear it fall
when I closed the door? Help me to find it.”

Some ten minutes were consumed in hunting for the key.

“I shall burst it open before your face!” exclaimed Tim,
unable to stand still a moment in his excessive agitation.
I will not stay here another minute, Mr. Fawner! I'll be
consumed if I do!”

“Nonsense, man! Just wait till I find the key.”

“I won't! By gosh, I can't wait another minute!'

“You must be patient till I find the key. How can you
get out before the door is open?”

“I'll smash it!”

“That's impossible. It is five inches thick, and ironed
on one side.”

“My goodness! What shall I do! Ned's waiting;
Alice is waiting; Susan 'll be mad! The confounded key
must be somewhere. Where is it, Mr. Fawner?”

“Yes; it must be somewhere; and in this room, too;
for it was in my hand when you entered. Now, sir!” said
the clerk, “if you've got it, and intend to rob the office, I'll
show you that I'm not unprepared to defend the premises!”
Saying this, he exhibited a pistol and pointed it towards
Tim's breast.

“Goo—goo—good—Gracious! Mr. Fawner!” stuttered
Tim, retreating backward, with his arms extended, and
his fingers spread apart.

“I don't charge you with having such an intention, Tim;
but you know one must always be prepared for such contingencies.”

“Oh my goodness gracious!” exclaimed Tim, the perspiration
rolling from his aghast countenance. “In all
my born days, I never once thought of robbing a human
mortal of the value of one cent! And if you kill me on
the spot, Mr. Fawner, you will murder an innocent man,
who never did anybody any injury in the world!

“Have you not got the key in your pocket?”

“Me! I'll strip! Search my pockets! No! I'm afraid
of that pistol! Here, look!” He turned his pockets inside
out. The crumpled note fell to the floor. “That's all! as
the Lord is my witness, that's all!”

But as Fawner did not observe it, and was in fact under
the necessity of averting his face to conceal the smile produced
by the terror and ludicrous attitudes of his victim,
Tim seized the note and thrust it back again into his pocket
without explaining what it was.

“I'm satisfied, Tim,” said the clerk.

“Then put away that pistol, I beg of you!”

“Very well. I'll put it in my desk,” said Fawner,
walking back to the rear of the office, while Tim stood
trembling, and looking wistfully at the door.

“There's nine, and I'm here!” muttered the poor coachman,
hearing the clock strike.

“And here's the key!” said Fawner. “I must have
left it on the desk myself.”

“Thank goodness!” cried Tim, skipping back to the
desk in great glee. “I'm so glad! Oh, it's a mighty
terrible thing, Mr. Fawner, for a poor innocent man to be
charged with stealing. It sticks to his character like
aqua-fortis upon plated brass; you cannot scrub it off without
ruining the ornament.” Tim was perhaps thinking of
his coach or his mistress's door-plate.

“True, Tim; and I hope you will forgive me.”

“Oh, there's no harm done; the key's found. Now I
can go with a light heart, if I am an hour behind my
time.”

“Yes. Take the key, and unlock the door.”

Tim stepped forward with alacrity, and inserting the key

in the lock turned it with a vigorous wrench. Then seizing
the knob, he turned it, too; but still the door would not
come open. He turned the key back the other way; but
the result was the same.

“Mr. Fawner,” cried he, “I can't unlock the door.
How do you turn it?”

“It is a very simple process. Turn it to the right.”

“I did, sir, but it wouldn't come open.”

“Then there's something wrong about it,” said the clerk,
going forward.

The truth was, the key had to be turned three times,
which never could have occurred to Tim. For a long time
the clerk seemed to essay in vain to unlock the door, declaring
that Tim had broken the lock. Tim, miserable
from his cruel detention, solemnly protested his innocence.
He even wept with vexation. Finally, and when it wanted
only twenty-five minutes to ten o'clock, Fawner, making a
seemingly violent wrench of the key, the door flew open.
Tim flew out. He fled along the street. One or two pedestrians,
muffled, and nearly blinded by the falling snow,
were tumbled into the gutter on coming in collision with
him. Although he begged pardon, and declared it was accidental,
he did not stop to pick them up. He never paused
until he reached the point where it was necessary for him
to decide whether he should go first to his mistress's or to
Susan's house, and then he halted with an abruptness
almost as sudden as if he had run against a wall. For
several moments he remained perfectly motionless, unable to
decide the difficult question. If Mr. Mallex had remained
at the mansion awaiting his return, it would be very wrong
not to report his ill-success to him. If, on the other hand,
anything should happen to frighten Ned, or to cause him
any injury or unhappiness, how could he ever forgive himself
for not having rushed to his rescue at the earliest moment
in his power?

“Oh, goodness!” exclaimed he, “I wish I could be split
in two, if it wouldn't hurt me, and a half of me could run
to each place at the same time! Poor Ned! I'll go to you,
if I die for it!”

And after losing no inconsiderable time, and precious
moments, too, in solving this difficult problem, he set forward
again.