Back Aa

Ragged Dick

Close

<h2>CHAPTER XXI. DICK LOSES HIS BANK-BOOK</h2> It was hinted at the close of the last chapter that Dick was destined to be disagreeably surprised on reaching home. Having agreed to give further assistance to Tom Wilkins, he was naturally led to go to the drawer where he and Fosdick kept their bank-books. To his surprise and uneasiness the drawer proved to be empty! “Come here a minute, Fosdick,” he said. “What’s the matter, Dick?” “I can’t find my bank-book, nor yours either. What’s ’come of them?” “I took mine with me this morning, thinking I might want to put in a little more money. I’ve got it in my pocket, now.” “But where’s mine?” asked Dick, perplexed. “I don’t know. I saw it in the drawer when I took mine this morning.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, positive, for I looked into it to see how much you had got.” “Did you lock it again?” asked Dick. “Yes; didn’t you have to unlock it just now?” “So I did,” said Dick. “But it’s gone now. Somebody opened it with a key that fitted the lock, and then locked it ag’in.” “That must have been the way.” “It’s rather hard on a feller,” said Dick, who, for the first time since we became acquainted with him, began to feel down-hearted. “Don’t give it up, Dick. You haven’t lost the money, only the bank-book.” “Aint that the same thing?” “No. You can go to the bank to-morrow morning, as soon as it opens, and tell them you have lost the book, and ask them not to pay the money to any one except yourself.” “So I can,” said Dick, brightening up. “That is, if the thief hasn’t been to the bank to-day.” “If he has, they might detect him by his handwriting.” “I’d like to get hold of the one that stole it,” said Dick, indignantly. “I’d give him a good lickin’.” “It must have been somebody in the house. Suppose we go and see Mrs. Mooney. She may know whether anybody came into our room to-day.” The two boys went downstairs, and knocked at the door of a little back sitting-room where Mrs. Mooney generally spent her evenings. It was a shabby little room, with a threadbare carpet on the floor, the walls covered with a certain large-figured paper, patches of which had been stripped off here and there, exposing the plaster, the remainder being defaced by dirt and grease. But Mrs. Mooney had one of those comfortable temperaments which are tolerant of dirt, and didn’t mind it in the least. She was seated beside a small pine work-table, industriously engaged in mending stockings. “Good-evening, Mrs. Mooney,” said Fosdick, politely. “Good-evening,” said the landlady. “Sit down, if you can find chairs. I’m hard at work as you see, but a poor lone widder can’t afford to be idle.” “We can’t stop long, Mrs. Mooney, but my friend here has had something taken from his room to-day, and we thought we’d come and see you about it.” “What is it?” asked the landlady. “You don’t think I’d take anything? If I am poor, it’s an honest name I’ve always had, as all my lodgers can testify.” “Certainly not, Mrs. Mooney; but there are others in the house that may not be honest. My friend has lost his bank-book. It was safe in the drawer this morning, but to-night it is not to be found.” “How much money was there in it?” asked Mrs. Mooney. “Over a hundred dollars,” said Fosdick. “It was my whole fortun’,” said Dick. “I was goin’ to buy a house next year.” Mrs. Mooney was evidently surprised to learn the extent of Dick’s wealth, and was disposed to regard him with increased respect. “Was the drawer locked?” she asked. “Yes.” “Then it couldn’t have been Bridget. I don’t think she has any keys.” “She wouldn’t know what a bank-book was,” said Fosdick. “You didn’t see any of the lodgers go into our room to-day, did you?” “I shouldn’t wonder if it was Jim Travis,” said Mrs. Mooney, suddenly. This James Travis was a bar-tender in a low groggery in Mulberry Street, and had been for a few weeks an inmate of Mrs. Mooney’s lodging-house. He was a coarse-looking fellow who, from his appearance, evidently patronized liberally the liquor he dealt out to others. He occupied a room opposite Dick’s, and was often heard by the two boys reeling upstairs in a state of intoxication, uttering shocking oaths. This Travis had made several friendly overtures to Dick and his room-mate, and had invited them to call round at the bar-room where he tended, and take something. But this invitation had never been accepted, partly because the boys were better engaged in the evening, and partly because neither of them had taken a fancy to Mr. Travis; which certainly was not strange, for nature had not gifted him with many charms, either of personal appearance or manners. The rejection of his friendly proffers had caused him to take a dislike to Dick and Henry, whom he considered stiff and unsocial. “What makes you think it was Travis?” asked Fosdick. “He isn’t at home in the daytime.” “But he was to-day. He said he had got a bad cold, and had to come home for a clean handkerchief.” “Did you see him?” asked Dick. “Yes,” said Mrs. Mooney. “Bridget was hanging out clothes, and I went to the door to let him in.” “I wonder if he had a key that would fit our drawer,” said Fosdick. “Yes,” said Mrs. Mooney. “The bureaus in the two rooms are just alike. I got ’em at auction, and most likely the locks is the same.” “It must have been he,” said Dick, looking towards Fosdick. “Yes,” said Fosdick, “it looks like it.” “What’s to be done? That’s what I’d like to know,” said Dick. “Of course he’ll say he hasn’t got it; and he won’t be such a fool as to leave it in his room.” “If he hasn’t been to the bank, it’s all right,” said Fosdick. “You can go there the first thing to-morrow morning, and stop their paying any money on it.” “But I can’t get any money on it myself,” said Dick. “I told Tom Wilkins I’d let him have some more money to-morrow, or his sick mother’ll have to turn out of their lodgin’s.” “How much money were you going to give him?” “I gave him three dollars to-day, and was goin’ to give him two dollars to-morrow.” “I’ve got the money, Dick. I didn’t go to the bank this morning.” “All right. I’ll take it, and pay you back next week.” “No, Dick; if you’ve given three dollars, you must let me give two.” “No, Fosdick, I’d rather give the whole. You know I’ve got more money than you. No, I haven’t, either,” said Dick, the memory of his loss flashing upon him. “I thought I was rich this morning, but now I’m in destitoot circumstances.” “Cheer up, Dick; you’ll get your money back.” “I hope so,” said our hero, rather ruefully. The fact was, that our friend Dick was beginning to feel what is so often experienced by men who do business of a more important character and on a larger scale than he, the bitterness of a reverse of circumstances. With one hundred dollars and over carefully laid away in the savings bank, he had felt quite independent. Wealth is comparative, and Dick probably felt as rich as many men who are worth a hundred thousand dollars. He was beginning to feel the advantages of his steady self-denial, and to experience the pleasures of property. Not that Dick was likely to be unduly attached to money. Let it be said to his credit that it had never given him so much satisfaction as when it enabled him to help Tom Wilkins in his trouble. Besides this, there was another thought that troubled him. When he obtained a place he could not expect to receive as much as he was now making from blacking boots,—probably not more than three dollars a week,—while his expenses without clothing would amount to four dollars. To make up the deficiency he had confidently relied upon his savings, which would be sufficient to carry him along for a year, if necessary. If he should not recover his money, he would be compelled to continue a boot-black for at least six months longer; and this was rather a discouraging reflection. On the whole it is not to be wondered at that Dick felt unusually sober this evening, and that neither of the boys felt much like studying. The two boys consulted as to whether it would be best to speak to Travis about it. It was not altogether easy to decide. Fosdick was opposed to it. “It will only put him on his guard,” said he, “and I don’t see as it will do any good. Of course he will deny it. We’d better keep quiet, and watch him, and, by giving notice at the bank, we can make sure that he doesn’t get any money on it. If he does present himself at the bank, they will know at once that he is a thief, and he can be arrested.” This view seemed reasonable, and Dick resolved to adopt it. On the whole, he began to think prospects were brighter than he had at first supposed, and his spirits rose a little. “How’d he know I had any bank-book? That’s what I can’t make out,” he said. “Don’t you remember?” said Fosdick, after a moment’s thought, “we were speaking of our savings, two or three evenings since?” “Yes,” said Dick. “Our door was a little open at the time, and I heard somebody come upstairs, and stop a minute in front of it. It must have been Jim Travis. In that way he probably found out about your money, and took the opportunity to-day to get hold of it.” This might or might not be the correct explanation. At all events it seemed probable. The boys were just on the point of going to bed, later in the evening, when a knock was heard at the door, and, to their no little surprise, their neighbor, Jim Travis, proved to be the caller. He was a sallow-complexioned young man, with dark hair and bloodshot eyes. He darted a quick glance from one to the other as he entered, which did not escape the boys’ notice. “How are ye, to-night?” he said, sinking into one of the two chairs with which the room was scantily furnished. “Jolly,” said Dick. “How are you?” “Tired as a dog,” was the reply. “Hard work and poor pay; that’s the way with me. I wanted to go to the theater, to-night, but I was hard up, and couldn’t raise the cash.” Here he darted another quick glance at the boys; but neither betrayed anything. “You don’t go out much, do you?” he said “Not much,” said Fosdick. “We spend our evenings in study.” “That’s precious slow,” said Travis, rather contemptuously. “What’s the use of studying so much? You don’t expect to be a lawyer, do you, or anything of that sort?” “Maybe,” said Dick. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. If my feller-citizens should want me to go to Congress some time, I shouldn’t want to disapp’int ’em; and then readin’ and writin’ might come handy.” “Well,” said Travis, rather abruptly, “I’m tired and I guess I’ll turn in.” “Good-night,” said Fosdick. The boys looked at each other as their visitor left the room. “He came in to see if we’d missed the bank-book,” said Dick. “And to turn off suspicion from himself, by letting us know he had no money,” added Fosdick. “That’s so,” said Dick. “I’d like to have searched them pockets of his.” <h2>CHAPTER XXII. TRACKING THE THIEF</h2> Fosdick was right in supposing that Jim Travis had stolen the bank-book. He was also right in supposing that that worthy young man had come to the knowledge of Dick’s savings by what he had accidentally overheard. Now, Travis, like a very large number of young men of his class, was able to dispose of a larger amount of money than he was able to earn. Moreover, he had no great fancy for work at all, and would have been glad to find some other way of obtaining money enough to pay his expenses. He had recently received a letter from an old companion, who had strayed out to California, and going at once to the mines had been lucky enough to get possession of a very remunerative claim. He wrote to Travis that he had already realized two thousand dollars from it, and expected to make his fortune within six months. Two thousand dollars! This seemed to Travis a very large sum, and quite dazzled his imagination. He was at once inflamed with the desire to go out to California and try his luck. In his present situation he only received thirty dollars a month, which was probably all that his services were worth, but went a very little way towards gratifying his expensive tastes. Accordingly he determined to take the next steamer to the land of gold, if he could possibly manage to get money enough to pay the passage. The price of a steerage passage at that time was seventy-five dollars,—not a large sum, certainly,—but it might as well have been seventy-five hundred for any chance James Travis had of raising the amount at present. His available funds consisted of precisely two dollars and a quarter; of which sum, one dollar and a half was due to his washerwoman. This, however, would not have troubled Travis much, and he would conveniently have forgotten all about it; but, even leaving this debt unpaid, the sum at his command would not help him materially towards paying his passage money. Travis applied for help to two or three of his companions; but they were all of that kind who never keep an account with savings banks, but carry all their spare cash about with them. One of these friends offered to lend him thirty-seven cents, and another a dollar; but neither of these offers seemed to encourage him much. He was about giving up his project in despair, when he learned, accidentally, as we have already said, the extent of Dick’s savings. One hundred and seventeen dollars! Why, that would not only pay his passage, but carry him up to the mines, after he had arrived in San Francisco. He could not help thinking it over, and the result of this thinking was that he determined to borrow it of Dick without leave. Knowing that neither of the boys were in their room in the daytime, he came back in the course of the morning, and, being admitted by Mrs. Mooney herself, said, by way of accounting for his presence, that he had a cold, and had come back for a handkerchief. The landlady suspected nothing, and, returning at once to her work in the kitchen, left the coast clear. Travis at once entered Dick’s room, and, as there seemed to be no other place for depositing money, tried the bureau-drawers. They were all readily opened, except one, which proved to be locked. This he naturally concluded must contain the money, and going back to his own chamber for the key of the bureau, tried it on his return, and found to his satisfaction that it would fit. When he discovered the bank-book, his joy was mingled with disappointment. He had expected to find bank-bills instead. This would have saved all further trouble, and would have been immediately available. Obtaining money at the savings bank would involve fresh risk. Travis hesitated whether to take it or not; but finally decided that it would be worth the trouble and hazard. He accordingly slipped the book into his pocket, locked the drawer again, and, forgetting all about the handkerchief for which he had come home went downstairs, and into the street. There would have been time to go to the savings bank that day, but Travis had already been absent from his place of business some time, and did not venture to take the additional time required. Besides, not being very much used to savings banks, never having had occasion to use them, he thought it would be more prudent to look over the rules and regulations, and see if he could not get some information as to the way he ought to proceed. So the day passed, and Dick’s money was left in safety at the bank. In the evening, it occurred to Travis that it might be well to find out whether Dick had discovered his loss. This reflection it was that induced the visit which is recorded at the close of the last chapter. The result was that he was misled by the boys’ silence on the subject, and concluded that nothing had yet been discovered. “Good!” thought Travis, with satisfaction. “If they don’t find out for twenty-four hours, it’ll be too late, then, and I shall be all right.” There being a possibility of the loss being discovered before the boys went out in the morning, Travis determined to see them at that time, and judge whether such was the case. He waited, therefore, until he heard the boys come out, and then opened his own door. “Morning, gents,” said he, sociably. “Going to business?” “Yes,” said Dick. “I’m afraid my clerks’ll be lazy if I aint on hand.” “Good joke!” said Travis. “If you pay good wages, I’d like to speak for a place.” “I pay all I get myself,” said Dick. “How’s business with you?” “So so. Why don’t you call round, some time?” “All my evenin’s is devoted to literatoor and science,” said Dick. “Thank you all the same.” “Where do you hang out?” inquired Travis, in choice language, addressing Fosdick. “At Henderson’s hat and cap store, on Broadway.” “I’ll look in upon you some time when I want a tile,” said Travis. “I suppose you sell cheaper to your friends.” “I’ll be as reasonable as I can,” said Fosdick, not very cordially; for he did not much fancy having it supposed by his employer that such a disreputable-looking person as Travis was a friend of his. However, Travis had no idea of showing himself at the Broadway store, and only said this by way of making conversation, and encouraging the boys to be social. “You haven’t any of you gents seen a pearl-handled knife, have you?” he asked. “No,” said Fosdick; “have you lost one?” “Yes,” said Travis, with unblushing falsehood. “I left it on my bureau a day or two since. I’ve missed one or two other little matters. Bridget don’t look to me any too honest. Likely she’s got ’em.” “What are you goin’ to do about it?” said Dick. “I’ll keep mum unless I lose something more, and then I’ll kick up a row, and haul her over the coals. Have you missed anything?” “No,” said Fosdick, answering for himself, as he could do without violating the truth. There was a gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of Travis, as he heard this. “They haven’t found it out yet,” he thought. “I’ll bag the money to-day, and then they may whistle for it.” Having no further object to serve in accompanying the boys, he bade them good-morning, and turned down another street. “He’s mighty friendly all of a sudden,” said Dick. “Yes,” said Fosdick; “it’s very evident what it all means. He wants to find out whether you have discovered your loss or not.” “But he didn’t find out.” “No; we’ve put him on the wrong track. He means to get his money to-day, no doubt.” “My money,” suggested Dick. “I accept the correction,” said Fosdick. “Of course, Dick, you’ll be on hand as soon as the bank opens.” “In course I shall. Jim Travis’ll find he’s walked into the wrong shop.” “The bank opens at ten o’clock, you know.” “I’ll be there on time.” The two boys separated. “Good luck, Dick,” said Fosdick, as he parted from him. “It’ll all come out right, I think.” “I hope ’twill,” said Dick. He had recovered from his temporary depression, and made up his mind that the money would be recovered. He had no idea of allowing himself to be outwitted by Jim Travis, and enjoyed already, in anticipation, the pleasure of defeating his rascality. It wanted two hours and a half yet to ten o’clock, and this time to Dick was too precious to be wasted. It was the time of his greatest harvest. He accordingly repaired to his usual place of business, succeeded in obtaining six customers, which yielded him sixty cents. He then went to a restaurant, and got some breakfast. It was now half-past nine, and Dick, feeling that it wouldn’t do to be late, left his box in charge of Johnny Nolan, and made his way to the bank. The officers had not yet arrived, and Dick lingered on the outside, waiting till they should come. He was not without a little uneasiness, fearing that Travis might be as prompt as himself, and finding him there, might suspect something, and so escape the snare. But, though looking cautiously up and down the street, he could discover no traces of the supposed thief. In due time ten o’clock struck, and immediately afterwards the doors of the bank were thrown open, and our hero entered. As Dick had been in the habit of making a weekly visit for the last nine months, the cashier had come to know him by sight. “You’re early, this morning, my lad,” he said, pleasantly. “Have you got some more money to deposit? You’ll be getting rich, soon.” “I don’t know about that,” said Dick. “My bank-book’s been stole.” “Stolen!” echoed the cashier. “That’s unfortunate. Not so bad as it might be, though. The thief can’t collect the money.” “That’s what I came to see about,” said Dick. “I was afraid he might have got it already.” “He hasn’t been here yet. Even if he had, I remember you, and should have detected him. When was it taken?” “Yesterday,” said Dick. “I missed it in the evenin’ when I got home.” “Have you any suspicion as to the person who took it?” asked the cashier. Dick thereupon told all he knew as to the general character and suspicious conduct of Jim Travis, and the cashier agreed with him that he was probably the thief. Dick also gave his reason for thinking that he would visit the bank that morning, to withdraw the funds. “Very good,” said the cashier. “We’ll be ready for him. What is the number of your book?” “No. 5,678,” said Dick. “Now give me a little description of this Travis whom you suspect.” Dick accordingly furnished a brief outline sketch of Travis, not particularly complimentary to the latter. “That will answer. I think I shall know him,” said the cashier. “You may depend upon it that he shall receive no money on your account.” “Thank you,” said Dick. Considerably relieved in mind, our hero turned towards the door, thinking that there would be nothing gained by his remaining longer, while he would of course lose time. He had just reached the doors, which were of glass, when through them he perceived James Travis himself just crossing the street, and apparently coming towards the bank. It would not do, of course, for him to be seen. “Here he is,” he exclaimed, hurrying back. “Can’t you hide me somewhere? I don’t want to be seen.” The cashier understood at once how the land lay. He quickly opened a little door, and admitted Dick behind the counter. “Stoop down,” he said, “so as not to be seen.” Dick had hardly done so when Jim Travis opened the outer door, and, looking about him in a little uncertainty, walked up to the cashier’s desk. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2