Part 17

"O, no, I've not," said he, grasping her hand, and shaking it heartily, but tenderly, for the tears came into his eyes; for his Jane, to whom Miss Hattie referred, was dead, and he called to mind how dearly she loved "little Hattie." Ten years had passed since he had seen Hattie. She was then a "wee bit of a thing" of her age, and she was not very large now, though grown to full womanhood, as exquisitely moulded in form as she was beautiful of face. My friend had married a Vermont girl, he himself being a native of New Jersey. The illness of his wife had led them to remove to a little town somewhere above Rutland,--New Haven, I believe, but may be that is not it,--for a summer, in which place he had first known Hattie, when but a child of six years of age. His little daughter Jane was just her age, having been born on the very same day that she was, and the two little creatures, just the opposites, however, in complexion, color of hair and eyes, and quite unlike in all respects, fell into the warmest mutual friendship. "They had not a single taste alike," said he. "Jane was a great romp, loved to be out in the stables with the horses and cows, was full of boisterous life;" but Hattie was as mild as her own blue eyes, and as delicate as her fine, glossy hair. "It was a strange affection these children had for each other," he said; "very beautiful, and I used to be constantly with them when there." He used to spend a month or so of each summer there, while the wife staid from the last of May, he said, into October. For three years his wife made the little town her summer home, and these children grew more and more together. Ten years had gone, and Hattie was now in her nineteenth year,--a beautiful woman, into whose countenance her advanced years had thrown just enough of spirit to make her interesting,--with an air of sweet, just ripe maturity about her, which gave my friend an inkling of what the two villains were pursuing her for. Pretty soon my friend introduced the subject of her "friends,"--her two "fellow-travellers,"--and she shrugged her shoulders with an expression of mingled disgust and dread, and said, "You are going down?"

"Yes."

"O, I am so glad, for you'll be company for me, and keep those mean men away from me--won't you?"

"Why, certainly. Where did you meet them first?"

"They came on at Rutland, I think, and the impudent fellows have tried to talk with me all the way down. At first I said a few words to them, and told them I was going to New York, and they've left their seats several times, and come forward to me."

"Yes, I've noticed them," said my friend, "and that's why I came in here, not expecting to find Hattie Newberry, but sure that you, whoever you are, were being persecuted by those villains, and needed protection."

"O, you are so good," said she, "and I shall be so glad to go with you. I did not know what to do, but I had thought that if they got into the same cars with me on the next train, that I would speak to the conductor about them, or go out into another car. They had the impudence to ask me to take some liquor with them, and I do not think they were drunk."

Their conversation had proceeded to this point, when into the ladies room boisterously came the two men. "Here's the darling," said one, approaching her, bringing cakes, etc., in their hands. "And you must take something with us." She declined, and turned her face away, when my friend said to them, "She doesn't want anything--don't trouble her."

"Yes, she does, too," said one, and the larger of the men; "and she mustn't be bashful--must take it. See here, sis," said he, and placed his hand familiarly on her shoulder to turn her around; at which she shuddered, and gave my friend such a look that he couldn't control himself, "if 'twas in the ladies' room," and dealt the fellow such a blow in the face with his brawny arm--for though he was not very large, he was a Hercules in strength, and as skilful with his fists as a prize-fighter--as stretched him flat upon the floor.

"This young lady is under my protection, and if you harass her any more, I'll break your head," said he, as the scamp "gathered" himself up, and looked for an instant at my friend, perceiving then, perhaps, that the plain-looking man, whom he had quite likely taken for a "common country fellow," was something of a genius in the art of self-defence, as well as that of offence, for my friend was on his "pose," ready to resist the attacks of the two.

The scamps almost instantly decamped, and about this time the expected train arrived, and my friend led Hattie to a car. Into the same the two men came; but my friend, rising, and looking about at them as they passed back, and they perceiving him, they said something to each other, and turned about, and went into a forward car. My friend hoped that that was the last of them; but at several stopping-places on the road, one of them--not the one who got the blow--would saunter through their car, as if looking for some new in-comer, but evidently to feast his eyes on Hattie's beauty,--so my friend thought.

After being well seated in the cars, my friend called to mind, that, not long before, his wife had heard from some of the relatives in Hattie's native village, with whom she kept up an occasional correspondence, that Hattie Newberry was engaged to a young man by the name of Dwight Phelps, a member of a quite wealthy family in that place; and he wondered if Hattie was going to New York to get "fixed up" for the marriage, for he knew that she had some relatives there somewhere, and his curiosity led him to inquire if she was going to stay long in New York.

"Yes, perhaps so. I am going with my cousin Charlotte,--going to work in the same store with her. She's been trying to have me come for a long time, and at last I've made up my mind to go." Hattie's parents were poor people; industrious and respectable, but with quite a large family; and Mr. Newberry himself, never a very "touch" man, as they express it in Vermont, and ill a good deal, they had hard work enough to make ends meet, and send the children to school, and all that.

"O, so you are going to live in New York! How's that? Let me see; it seems to me that somebody wrote to my wife a few weeks ago, that you and young Dwight Phelps were to be married; and so I supposed you'd always stay up there."

Hattie blushed, and replied, "O, there was such a rumor; but that's all over now." She tried to be cheerful, but a sigh, which did not escape my friend's ear, and a sad look, for an instant, which did not escape his eye, revealed to him that something had gone wrong with her; and he finally found, on joking her a little about the matter, kindly, that young Phelps's father, who was a sort of a miser, was in the way; that he wanted his son to marry some rich girl, or not a poor one in money, at least, however poor she might otherwise be; and the young man was in his father's hands, so far as pecuniary means were concerned, and would not be independent enough to think of marrying soon. The old man Phelps had threatened to disinherit him if he married against his will; and she had determined to not make difficulty in the family, and was on her way to New York, at her cousin's solicitation, to go to work where she could earn something, and help her father and mother support the family. The subject was a painful one for Hattie to descant upon, and my friend addressed himself to other matters of conversation. Hattie informed him that her cousin, Charlotte Keeney, was the chief clerk in a confectioner's establishment, with a neat restaurant attached, in Sixth Avenue, near Twelfth Street, New York, the proprietor of which was a certain Mr. Henry ---- (Brown, for a name)--a popular, thriving business man, of the rigid school of morals; just, generous, and kindly in manners, but as fixed in his opinions, and as relentless against evil-doers, and as unforgiving of actual moral delinquencies, as if he had been carved out of the "ribs" of the Mayflower--(before she became a slave-ship); a sort of wooden-headed man in all matters of morals; a descendant of the Puritan stock. This fact lightened my friend's regret that Hattie had resolved to go to the city to live, for he chanced to know Mr. Brown's reputation, otherwise he would have felt it his duty to say more to her of the perils and trials of city life than he did. He said, as he looked upon her wonderful beauty, and thought how many girls, almost as beautiful, had found city life full of thorns; had borne sad trials, and suffered deathly sorrows, principally through the fact of their exquisite beauty; and reflected, too, that she was going there with a wound upon her heart, and therefore less likely to resist the city's temptations,--his heart quite overcame him, and he wanted to take her directly into his own family, and as a father protect her.

Along the route, as I have observed before, he noticed the impertinence of the two men, constantly seeking to get a sight at Hattie whenever the cars stopped. My friend (call him Frederick Daniels) was greatly annoyed by this; but it gave him occasion to descant to Hattie upon the character of certain heartless beings she might meet with in the city, and to advise her touching the companionships she might make. But Hattie thought that in her cousin Charlotte's riper experience she should find sufficient protection, and she seemed to look upon Charlotte as a wonder of wisdom as well as of goodness; and Mr. Daniels, reflecting that Mr. Brown's must be as safe a place as any for a young lady, probably contented himself with asking Hattie to visit his family as often as she could; but he lived far up town, and on the other side of the city from Mr. Brown's, so it was not likely that she could find time, save on Sundays, and then she would be obliged to walk much to get to his house. But she promised him to visit his family when she could, and to always come to him if she needed aid or protection of any kind. The journey was passed pleasantly on to New York, without notable incident, save that at Hartford, where the cars were delayed for some time on account of an accident which had occurred on the road some miles below: the two men were met by a man of the same character with them, evidently, and who gave them something to drink from his flask, theirs being apparently empty, and which fired one of them into unusual impudence, which made him annoying to Hattie and Mr. Daniels--breaking in at times into the ladies' sitting-room in the depot, whither they had gone, with other passengers, for "sake of change" from the cars. Mr. Daniels, it chanced, knew this third man, who seemed to have no memory that he had ever run across Mr. D. before; and knowing him, Mr. D. was not at a loss where to place them. He told Hattie that they were gamblers, and worse; besides, probably being pickpockets. She, in her innocence, was surprised to learn that so well-dressed men as these could be so low in character, and Mr. D. felt that she almost questioned his judgment. So, hoping to impress her with the danger of "trusting to appearances," in a great city especially, he told her such tales about such elegantly-dressed scoundrels as came into his mind; and filled up the time of the journey with such lessons as he thought might be of use to Hattie, and put her on her guard against evil.

Mr. Daniels chanced to observe that the third villain took passage with the other two from Hartford, and he saw that this man had become more interested, if possible, in Hattie than the other two, if anything was to be judged by the more extreme eagerness with which he eyed her. The third villain, whose name or _alias_ was, as Mr. D. knew, "Harland," was a more accomplished man than the rest. He hailed from Meriden, Conn., where it was said he was quite respectably related, and had at one time occupied a respectable business position in New York; but turning to sporting, he at last got involved, and operated some adroit forgeries, and had been connected with a swindling bogus lottery. It was in the detection and breaking up of this concern that my friend Daniels had come across Harland. This man had lost his best old friends, who discarded him outright, he being obliged to take up with a low class of society; yet there was a natural, or educated pride in him, which probably suffered much from his debasement, and which prompted him to make tools of these beings, whom he regarded, notwithstanding his fraternizing with them, as inferior beings. Mr. Daniels felt a renewed interest for Hattie when he considered this adroit man; and the fear came over him that the rascal would, in some way, manage to make himself felt by her to her sorrow; and he told Hattie that the fellow would as likely as not seek her out in her employment, and that the place she was going to, being open to the public, he would doubtless find her out; but that if he did, she must not allow him to make her acquaintance, beyond what her necessity as a clerk would demand of her allowing. She promised him to observe his advice. My friend, with his usual shrewdness, had preconceived that these villains would endeavor to follow Hattie, to see where she went on her arrival in New York; and when the passengers alighted from the cars, he was not surprised to find these men near him, watching his movements; and to thwart them, he took Hattie and her trunk, by coach, to the hotel, intending, as he did, to soon after take her to her place of designation on Sixth Avenue, and to send from there some trusty man for her trunk. The scoundrels followed in another coach, and kept close behind him, alighted at the same hotel, and registered their names just below his and Hattie's. "Fred. Harland," "Edward Rowe," and "Philip Jas. McHenry," were the entries, in the bold and elegant hand of Harland. Mr. Daniels procured a room for himself and one for Hattie, who began now to see the desperate course which these men would pursue, and was very willing to be guided by Daniels, to avoid being followed by these fellows. Mr. Daniels, not being willing to be kept close prisoner there by these men,--and the night was coming on, too, and he wished to be at home,--went out to a trusty friend's store, advised him of what was going on, and asked him to allow one of his lady clerks, about Hattie's size, to go to the hotel parlor, the gentleman to follow soon; and the girl, "for the fun of the thing, if nothing more," as she giddily said, acquiescing, made entry to the hotel parlor, whence Mr. Daniels took her to Hattie's room, and caused her to assume Hattie's hat and shawl, in exchange for which Hattie took hers; and after the merchant had come over to the hotel, and had been made acquainted with Hattie, Mr. Daniels took the young lady, and proceeded through the hall to the street; and acting as if utterly oblivious or careless of the existence of these fellows, passed on, with his thickly-veiled charge upon his arm, down the street. In crossing to the opposite side, at no great distance from the hotel, he had opportunity to look back without being suspected, and saw Harland, and the man "Rowe" (the one whom he had knocked down at Bellows' Falls), following slowly, but with eyes bent upon him. He would have been better satisfied had he seen the third following him. The young lady liked the sport, and Daniels led the fellows quite a chase, and finally brought about to the store of his friend, trusting that the latter's sagacity had enabled him meanwhile to leave the hotel with Hattie, and take her to Mr. Brown's, on Sixth Avenue.

He had told Hattie to take the key of her room with her, and give it to his friend. The surprise of the scamps in seeing Mr. Daniels come away from this store, and leave "Hattie" there, must have been considerable. Mr. D. went back to the hotel, and to his joy found that the merchant had gone with the real Hattie; and he withdrew to the store again, and awaited his return, which he made in good time. It was then arranged that the porter of the store should be sent for Hattie's trunk, and it be brought there. Mr. D. went with the porter, paid the bills, and took the trunk, brought it to the store, whence the next day it was sent to Hattie's new home, and Mr. D. then betook himself to his own home,--feeling that his stratagem had saved Hattie much annoyance in the future, and perhaps much suffering. The next day the ladies re-exchanged, through the porter, their hats and shawls, and Mr. Daniels, being called away from the city soon on business, and being exceedingly occupied for some two months and over, had almost lost memory of Hattie altogether. She, however, called at his house once in the mean while, in his absence from home, and had a cheerful "reunion" with the wife and the family. Mrs. Daniels took the greatest interest in her, and regarded her beauty as something "almost superhuman," she said. She knew that as a child she bade fair to become a beautiful woman; but the change had been so great in her in the last eight years (for Mrs. Daniels had seen her once since her husband had, before the latter's late meeting with her), that she would not have known her at first, had she not given her her name, and then could barely recognize that it was she.

Mrs. Daniels gladly accepted the husband's invitation to "go down and call on Hattie Newberry," which they did; and on entering the confectioner's shop, what was Mr. Daniels's astonishment and horror, on discovering there both Harland and McHenry, in cheery conversation with one of the girls, whom he took, and who so proved, to be Charlotte Keeney, Hattie's cousin! Evidently they were old acquaintances of hers. Mr. and Mrs. Daniels passed by them, on to where they discovered Hattie, who saluted them cordially, asked them into the little rear saloon, and called in her employer, Mr. Brown, to whom she presented them as old friends, who "used to live in Vermont." They had a charming visit with Hattie, who was released from her engagements by her kind employer, in order to entertain them, and Mr. Brown sent in confections and "goodies" for them to carry back to their family, and gave them much of his attention besides. Mr. Daniels was indignant to find those two men there; but he knew not precisely what to do. Had they hunted out Hattie, or were they old acquaintances of Charlotte, and had found Hattie there by accident when calling on the former? Were they time-old customers of the place, or recent comers? These and such like questions occupied his mind. He wanted to speak to Mr. Brown, and tell him of the character of these men; but they might be good customers,--certainly they were lavish with their money that night,--and it was clear that Charlotte liked them; indeed she seemed fond of them, and Mr. Daniels hesitated as to what to do, for fear of giving offence. He knew the reputation of Mr. Brown, to be sure, and that he would not wish his clerks to be on terms of friendship with such villains, if he knew their true character. But then he, Daniels, was a comparative stranger to Mr. Brown, and why should Brown accept his single word as against such well-behaved "gentlemen," who were good customers, too. Besides, business men, however good they may be themselves, exist upon, and make their money out of, their customers; and whoever should enter upon a close scrutiny of the character of his patrons in New York, would be apt to find nine scamps in every ten persons. The fact is, that the greed for money is so great in New York, and all over the country, that the best men come to be as polite to their most wicked patrons and customers, as to those of high and noble characters.

Mr. Daniels, as a detective, whose business it is to "mind other people's business" in some respects, felt more keenly than most men feel the like, the propriety and expediency of minding his own business, and was cautious in his proceedings therefore. He made up his mind to say nothing to any one except Hattie, at first, at least; and so, when she, and his wife, and himself were quite alone together, he spoke to her of these men as the ones whom they had encountered on the cars, and whom she had escaped. What was not his astonishment when he found that she did not recognize them as such. It appeared that Harland was an old friend of Charlotte, of whom Charlotte had, in fact, written her before she came on,--speaking of her having been, the night before her letter was dated, to the theatre, with her friend, Mr. Harland, "a very fine, spirited gentleman," etc., whom Hattie would like, she thought. Mr. Daniels had not mentioned the names of these men to Hattie on the day of her escape from the hotel. It had not occurred to him to do that; and when, in the course of a week or two after her arrival at Mr. Brown's, Harland called on Charlotte, who received him joyfully, and after a while presented him in warm terms to Hattie, she of course did not recognize him by his name, though she thought she'd seen him somewhere; but she reflected that on her way to her boarding-house--for she did not board with Charlotte--she saw many noticeable men, and probably had encountered him somewhere in going or coming. But notwithstanding Mr. Daniels's assurance, she could not identify either of the men as having been aboard the cars that day; and it was evident that they had made quite a pleasant impression upon her mind. They had been there quite often; and Mr. Daniels, from what he saw of their sly glances towards Hattie, discovered that it was she, rather than Charlotte, whom they came most to see. But Mr. Daniels was not willing to leave without making some further effort in Hattie's behalf; and he asked her to call Charlotte into the room, to see him and his wife, while Hattie should wait upon the customers, and especially these men. He thought that possibly Hattie might yet call them to mind as the scamps who pursued her that day.