Chapter XV: Ten Thousand Dollars

ARTHUR was soon at Mr. Irvington's door, and was ushered by the servant into the gentleman's office at the end of the hall. He had been in the habit of going there often to do business. From the library adjoining, he heard sobs and a stern voice.

"You promised to retrieve your character if I would forgive you: now you have disgraced yourself and your parents forever."

"And sinned against God," added the mother's trembling voice.

"I am sorry, father. You may send me back to the Farm School or you may give me up to the police; but oh, if you could forgive me and try me once more."

"On condition you confess every thing—mind, I say 'every thing.'"

"I will! I will! Only give me time."

Poor Arthur stood with his cap in his hand, trembling from head to foot. "My errand is useless, they know all," was his reflection. "I must not hear this; but how can I go?"

At last, resolved not to hear another word, he went softly down the stairs and knocking at the kitchen door asked the cook, his old friend, to say that his business was not pressing and as they were engaged, he would go home.

"Or," he added, "you need say nothing about my call."

The next morning, Munger appeared muffled in a thick scarf, scarcely able to speak from a hoarse cold.

"I made an effort to come," he whispered, "there is so much to do; but I'm afraid I can't stay."

"Tell me what to do and I'll try to get through with it."

"Dixon will be in to pay his note of ten thousand dollars, due to-day, and it must be deposited in the bank, and there is a whole roll of bills to be cashed."

"You do look sick," remarked Arthur, "you had better go home and keep your bed."

Munger's apparent illness alone prevented his fellow-clerk from demanding an explanation of the scene of the night before.

The note of ten thousand dollars was paid. And Arthur locking the office was carrying it to the bank. For the sake of haste, he turned off the main street, and ran down by a shorter cut to the place. He was passing an alley, his thoughts intent on Willie Irvington, when a youth, with an old felt hat pulled far down his face, rushed forward and snatched the bank-book containing the bills, giving him, at the same time, a stunning blow on his head, and saying with sudden surprise,—

"Is it you, Arthur? Well, I told you I'd be revenged."

For a moment he was blinded, and staggered against the wall. Then he ran back into the alley, pounding at the only door opening into it. Finding this useless, he rushed back into the street and called loudly for a policeman. Two or three stout officers answered his summons. They burst open the door in the alley and went all over a house which seemed to be deserted. Arthur had recognised the voice as belonging to Joseph Hickie, and he eagerly related to the officers his former acquaintance with the beggar.

"What shall I do? Oh, how can I tell Mr. Irvington?" exclaimed Arthur, bursting into tears.

"Come, come," said the man; "it's no use to take on so. We'll go back with you and take the number of the bills, and if the thieves go to change them, we'll nab them there."

"Who has the number of the bills?" enquired Arthur, his heart beating painfully. "Mr. Dixon paid the money to me and I promised the clerk who was sick to deposit them in the bank. He said nothing to me about taking the numbers; but probably Mr. Dixon has them."

When he returned to the office with the policeman, Arthur looked years older than when he went out. There were deep lines of suffering on his features; but it was all occasioned by his sorrow for the loss his employers had sustained. Not one idea of being suspected as a party to the enormous theft had entered his mind, no, not even that they might consider him careless. As he turned the key, he started back. There sat Munger at his desk and speaking as if no cold had ever broken his voice.

"The money is gone," gasped Arthur, pressing his hands to his head.

"What money?"

"Dixon's ten thousand dollars. I was carrying it to the bank and a thief snatched it from me and ran. The police are after him now. I know who the thief is."

Arthur's voice was thick, and he gasped out the words as if he could scarcely breathe.

Munger started from his stool, his face white and quivering, but noticing that the eyes of the officer were fixed upon him, he exclaimed, "That 'is' a go!" and sank back into his seat.

Messrs. Irvington and Ross, for whom Arthur had sent, came hurrying in, and by this time, Munger had regained self-control.

"A likely story," he said with a sneer. "I was absent from the office at my dinner when Dixon came in, paid the money, and Arthur without waiting for me, or even numbering the notes, hurried off with them to the bank."

Arthur threw up his arms with a shriek of horror. Like a flash it, came upon him that Munger was throwing suspicion on his honesty. Then he sat down on his stool and buried his face in his hands.

"What do you say, Arthur?" inquired Mr. Irvington, trying to control his anger.

The young clerk looked up, fixed his eyes full on the gentleman's face, and repeated the account of the day's transactions, beginning with Munger's hoarseness, Mr. Ross meanwhile glancing keenly at the head clerk, who did not notice him.

There was an incredulous smile on the man's face, but as Arthur went on in a truthful voice relating every particular, his employer saw Munger's chin twitch convulsively and his mouth turn ashy pale.

Half an hour later, Arthur walked slowly home, more wretched than he had ever been in his life. Yes, the jail was nothing to this, for he was not then a professor of the religion of Jesus, and therefore suspicions of his theft could not dishonor the cause he loved.

Munger also had left him with a muttered curse, detectives were scouring the city in search of Joseph Hickie, and the partners sat alone in the office.

They sat silent for some moments, and then Mr. Irvington striking his hand on the desk, exclaimed, "This is our reward for forbearance. If we had dismissed the young hypocrite when we at first found our accounts tampered with, we should have saved Dixon's note."

"It's a terrible loss," returned his partner; "but I'm not sure that Arthur is not right, and that the money was not stolen from him. I have watched him closely, and I've watched Munger too."

"Munger? You don't suspect him?"

"I'm certain he drinks wine, and frequents the theatre. Such luxuries are expensive, to say the least. I kept my eye on him, while Arthur was telling his story, and I don't like his agitation."

"I don't see that we can do anything till the detectives report," was the excited reply. "The sums we have missed, and the change in the books must come up then."

"Did you write this?" inquired Mr. Irvington, a few days later, touching Arthur, as with a pale, but calm face, he sat writing at his desk.

The young man took the sheet, and with a deep blush answered, "Yes, sir."

"Jane says you called at my house."

"I overheard you talking to Willie, sir, and I went out. I couldn't stay when you didn't know I was there. I went to—to let you know that I had seen him—but if you have read the letter, you know all I do, sir."

The father walked back and forth through the office, trying to control his agitation. At length, he turned to the youth and with quivering lips exclaimed:

"I have read it. Willie gave it to me, and of his own accord confessed his wrong-doing. Munger, whom I trusted like a son, has led him on. Munger has proved a curse. Did you know that he has left the city?"

"No, sir, no indeed! When was that?"

"Last night. Can you forgive my suspicion of you, Arthur?"

He held out his hand, and the youth pressed his lips upon it. He had no voice to reply to such a question.

"I was blind," the gentleman went on, "not to suspect him instead of you—a man who had never given me reason to suppose he was governed by religious principle. Your letter to my poor Willie brought me to my senses."