Chapter 3

"John, give me a glass of lager; I have got sick of drinking ginger ale. It's nothing but a baby drink, any way. Fred, you'd better try the lager, too. It's ever so much nicer than that slop. Just try it now, and if you don't like it you needn't drink it. See how clear it is! I guess I can beat you at billiards after taking this."

The bartender laughed, and after indorsing all that De Vere had said, added:

"Folks is got about over drinking ginger ale, nowadays. Lager's the proper stuff!"

Fred was a good scholar, but there was a little word of two letters that he had not yet learned how to spell; that is--_no_.

He drank the beer, and his fate was sealed. He was now a tool in Matthew's hands. On some pretense the young hypocrite excused himself from playing a game of billiards as he had at first proposed, and induced Fred to follow him into the street, knowing it was not safe for him to remain longer in the heated saloon.

It was his first intention to go back to the store, thinking that if Mr. Rexford should see Fred in a tipsy state he would discharge him. But just before reaching the merchant's place of business he stopped, and, taking Fred by the arm, walked quickly up the street.

Tim followed close enough to answer promptly if Matthew should summon him.

The liquor had already begun to have the desired effect. Fred had become talkative and boisterous, and in such a condition that he could be influenced to do almost any absurd thing.

Matthew was bound to make the most of his opportunities, and so he incited him by flattering words to call at Dr. Dutton's house, opposite which they now stood. Fred assented to this, provided Matthew would accompany him. This De Vere readily agreed to do, and he led the intoxicated youth up to the door, and rang the bell sharply.

Presently the door opened, and on stepping in Fred looked about for his companion, but he was nowhere to be seen.

VII.

Tim Short made a very wretched attempt to obtain a night's sleep after escaping from captivity, both because the night was well spent before he reached home and because matters of too great importance rested upon his mind to allow him to bury them in slumber.

He reported at the factory at the usual morning hour, but after working a little time complained of being sick, and was released for the remainder of the day. If he was not physically ill, he was doubtless sick at heart, so he speedily sought Matthew, and told him, with more or less ill feeling, of his experience at the hands of Jacob Simmons, and of the latter's demands in settlement (as he called it) for his injuries.

"And you 'squealed' on me?" demanded De Vere, with ill suppressed anger.

"I told him who you were, to save him from choking me to death."

"Is that all you said?"

"He told me to tell the truth or----"

"So you gave him the whole story--you idiot, to tell everything you know!"

"I only wish you had been in my place."

"If I had I wouldn't have been an idiot!" retorted De Vere.

"Oh, you wouldn't have! Some folks are very smart," replied Tim, getting angry.

"I'd have been smart enough for that."

"A lot you would. If he'd had you as he had me, you would have told more than I did, and promised anything he asked."

"I'm not a baby, I want you to understand, to cry if any one looks at me."

"No, you are very brave, to have to get some one to help you to get square with Fred Worthington."

"I was a fool when I got you."

"And I was a fool for having anything to do with you in this business. You will be arrested and sent to prison, and so will I, unless you pay Mr. Simmons the five hundred."

"Arrested! What do you mean?" asked Matthew, turning pale.

"I mean just what I said; if you don't pay him he will come down on us within three days."

"Did he say so?" gasped De Vere.

"Yes, he did. He was going to take me to the sheriff last night, and that's why I told everything."

"Five hundred dollars! I can't get it without asking my father for it."

"Well, ask him then."

"He would find out everything, and would whip me almost to death."

"Better be whipped than go to prison, and have every one know all about it."

"I won't do either."

"How can you avoid it?"

"Five hundred dollars is too much."

"You'd better see Mr. Simmons and fix it with him."

"I don't want to see him."

"You will have to see him or send the money."

The two boys finally called upon Jacob Simmons and entered into negotiations.

"I ought to have more than five hundred," said the latter.

"How can I give it to you if I haven't got it?" asked Matthew.

"Your father is rich, and could give me ten times as much and not miss it."

"Oh, don't tell him. I will pay you what I can."

"If you had the money I would take it and say nothing more to him or any one; but I must have it or hand you over to the sheriff."

Matthew shuddered at this thought. He was in a dilemma, and hardly knew which way to turn.

After a good deal of parley, Mr. Simmons agreed to take three hundred dollars in place of the five originally demanded. This act, however, was not inspired by liberality or a desire to make the penalty less for the boys, but with a feeling that he might get nothing if he were to take the matter to the elder De Vere, as he gathered from Matthew's conversation that the latter would run away from home rather than submit to the severe punishment his father would be sure to give him.

"Three hundred dollars," Jacob argued, "is much better than nothing."

Matthew gave him what cash he had with him--seventeen dollars--and his watch, and signed an agreement to pay the balance within six weeks. He also indorsed the statement that Tim had signed about the assault as being true, and the careful Mr. Simmons replaced it in his large pocketbook for future use if it should at any time be needed.

VIII.

When Fred found that he was in Dr. Dutton's house, and that Matthew had disappeared and deserted him, he was at a loss to know what to say or what move to make. His mind was far from clear, and his tongue so unwieldy that he could hardly manage it.

He stood silent for a moment, evidently trying to collect his thoughts and make out his situation; then, muttering some half intelligible words, he made a start as if to leave the house.

The doctor, who answered the summons of the bell, was struck nearly dumb by the sight that greeted his eyes. He closed the door, and, taking the youth by the shoulder, supported his unsteady steps to the office.

The fumes of whisky readily indicated the cause of this unfortunate occurrence, but the doctor was at a loss to know why Fred should be in such a state. Was he not one of the most exemplary boys in town, and did he not belong to the school, of which Dr. Dutton himself was superintendent?

Surely something must be wrong, thought the doctor, and he began to question the boy, who on going from the cool air to a warm room had grown so suddenly sick that he looked as if he would faint.

The kind physician laid him gently on a lounge, and gave him such professional treatment as the case demanded.

There is a vast difference between one who has become intoxicated by a single glass and one who has been drinking for hours, and has thereby paralyzed his nerves and deadened his brain. In the former case the liquor can be thrown from the stomach, and the victim soon recovers the powers of his mind; while in the other event it may take several days to restore his customary vigor.

This sickness of Fred's was the very best thing that could have happened to him, for he got rid of the vile poison before it had time to stupefy him to any great extent. Nevertheless the dose was so strong and the shock so great for his stomach that for a time he was extremely sick and weak.

But after lying quietly on the lounge for an hour or so, he regained a little strength.

The doctor ordered his carriage, helped Fred into it and took him home. The latter was still so unnerved that he could hardly walk, but the cool air benefited him so much that when he reached home he managed to get into the house alone, and up to his room without disturbing his parents, who had retired some time before.

The next morning he awoke with a severe headache, and seemed generally out of tune.

The mere thought of what he had done--how he had disgraced himself by going to a public bar, and there drinking to intoxication--caused him the deepest sorrow and regret; but when he fully realized what a severe wound his conduct would inflict upon his mother and father, and how they would grieve over it--when he thought what the people of the town would say, and remembered that he had actually called in this lamentable state at Dr. Dutton's house--the place of all others he would have wished to avoid--he became sick at heart as well as in body, and his tumultuous feelings were only soothed by tears of honest repentance.

However, Fred hurriedly dressed himself, went to the store as usual, and commenced his accustomed labors. He saw at once, by Mr. Rexford's manner, that he did not know what had happened the previous night, and this afforded him a slight temporary relief; still, he knew it was only a question of time before his employer would learn the whole story.

When this took place, what would be the result? Would he lose his situation? He knew that Mr. Rexford was a stern man, having little charity for the faults of others. That his clerk should have been intoxicated the previous night would undoubtedly irritate him greatly.

Fred imagined that every one whom he saw knew of what he had done, and looked upon him with disgust. He felt tempted to leave the village, and never be seen again where he had so disgraced himself. Could he only go to some new place, among strangers, and commence life over again, he might have a better chance to work his way upward; but here this shame would always hang, like a dark cloud, above him.

On reflection, however, he saw that it would be both unmanly and ungrateful to leave his parents.

No; he was the guilty party, and he must stay here, where the unfortunate occurrence had taken place, and here try, by the strictest discipline, and the most watchful care, to regain his former standing among his friends.

As Fred thought over the occurrences of the past few weeks--of Matthew's decided hostility, of his course at the party, and his sudden friendship since that time--of his treachery and meanness the night before, in getting him to call at Dr. Dutton's while intoxicated, and his deception in so suddenly leaving him at the door--he saw clearly that he had been made the victim of De Vere's mean and cruel malice.

Moreover, he did not believe that a single glass of beer would have produced such an effect upon him, and so he strongly suspected the truth--that he had been drugged.

Still, he decided to bear the blame himself, and not throw it upon another, though there might be justice in such a course. He felt confident that the truth would at some time come to light, if he said nothing about it, whereas, should he bring forward his suspicion as an excuse for getting tipsy, the charge would at once be denied, and then he would be less liable to fix the guilt upon the young villain who had made him the plaything of his ill will.

He knew, also, that he was to blame for having visited the iniquitous den at all, and much more for allowing himself to be persuaded to indulge even in what is popularly considered a harmless drink.

He was so absent minded during the day, and showed so clearly in his face that something was troubling him, that keen eyed John Rexford observed it, and wondered what had happened to check the flow of the boy's spirits.

Rexford was a selfish man, and thought that possibly something pertaining to the store had gone wrong. Such an idea was enough to arouse his suspicion, for he was wholly wrapped up in his business. He could not look beyond that, and had no feeling for others--only making an occasional show of it for the sake of policy.

A man who lives in such a way is not half living. He is not broad, intelligent, liberal, and sympathetic, but is narrowed down to a sordid, grasping existence.

I often pity such men, for though they may have wealth in abundance, they know not how to enjoy it. Neither do they possess the faculty of deriving pleasure from kindness and generosity.

They can see no beauty in art or nature, and when they become unfit for pursuing their vocation, they have nothing to look forward to. The life beyond is something to which they have given little thought. They have starved their nobler nature that is nourished on higher things, until it is dwarfed and shriveled, and the baleful results of such an unnatural mode of life are pictured in their countenances.

Fred's most trying ordeal during the day was that of going to Dr. Dutton's house with goods; for if others did not know of what was on his mind, surely the doctor's family did. He knew that he had forfeited the good opinion they had had of him, and he wished to avoid meeting them.

To his surprise Mrs. Dutton greeted him pleasantly, and made no reference whatever to the affair of the previous night. Her motherly nature pitied him sincerely, for she saw plainly written in his face the sorrow that he so keenly felt. Bless the dear soul for her kind, sympathetic heart, and the cheerful, helpful look she gave the boy in the hour of his trial!

This unexpected charity helped Fred not a little; but the conspicuous absence of Miss Nellie, evidently due to a purpose of avoiding him, sent a chill deep into his very heart, which was plainly reflected in his face and exhibited in his demeanor. Fred's regard for her, I think we may safely infer, was much stronger and of a finer type than the ordinary preferences shown by boys of his age; therefore we can understand why he was so deeply affected by her turning away from him as if he were unfit to be her associate.

Matthew De Vere made the most of his opportunity. He felt that he was being revenged now. He took great care to spread the report, and to inform a certain one in particular of the facts concerning Fred. His version of them was a highly colored one; but of course he made no allusion to the adulteration of the liquor. He claimed that he induced Fred to leave the bar room, and intimated that he must have drunk several times before he saw him, "for," he said, "one glass of beer could not have made him tipsy."

By afternoon, the report spread nearly through the town, for, as Milton says:

Evil news rides post, while good news baits.

Dave Farrington and Tom Martin called to see Fred and talk the matter over with him. The latter did not breathe his suspicions of the real cause of the occurrence, but simply told the facts. The boys quickly replied that they considered it a trick of De Vere's, and that this was the mean way he had taken to carry out his threat of "getting the advantage of him."

This conversation confirmed Fred's opinion, and though he felt ashamed of himself, and was bound to suffer for his foolish act, while the guilty party went free, yet he reflected:

"I would rather be in my place than in Matthew's, for I shall learn by this experience not to be influenced by another to do anything without first counting the cost, and seeing whether it is right and best. If it is not, I won't do it for anybody's friendship. This will also teach me to keep away from suspicious places, and to avoid the temptations and corrupting influences of a bar room. De Vere's guilt will work more injury to him, in the long run, than my damaged reputation will to me."

Towards the close of the day Mr. Rexford heard of the previous night's occurrence. He immediately called Fred into the counting room, and sternly, and in an excited manner, questioned him as to the truth of the report.

The latter acknowledged its correctness, and told his story, stating that he drank but one glass of beer, and that that was his first, and would also be his last.

The suspicious merchant was very angry, and disposed to doubt the boy's statement. He said that it was a mystery to him where Fred got the money to spend for such a purpose--intimating that perhaps it came from his own cash drawer. Then, after giving him a sharp lecture, he hinted at discharge, saying that he would have no drinking persons about him.

John Rexford well knew the value of such a boy as Fred, and had no real intention of sending him adrift. But he wished to make the most of his opportunity, and to impress the boy, and the public if possible, with the idea that in keeping him he was doing a very magnanimous act.

So he said that he would overlook this fault, though a grave one, and retain Fred for the present on probation; but he warned the boy that he must keep a sharp lookout, as the first misdeed, or suspicious act on his part, would result in immediate discharge.

The turn of affairs was anything but pleasant to Fred, though better than he had expected. And it was far more satisfactory to him than the previous suspense, when he had not known what his employer would decide to do.

When the day's work was over, Fred went directly home, where he found his father and mother seated before the open fire.

The latter was somewhat worried about her son, for he looked pale and worn, and had eaten hardly anything since the night before; still she knew nothing of the cause of this. His father had received some intimation of what had happened, but had decided to say nothing to his wife about it for the present.

Fred had no intention, however, of keeping his parents in ignorance of his adventure; but taking his seat by the side of his mother, and where he could look both parents in the face, he told them the whole story, going minutely into all of the details.

He also told them of the conversation which had occurred between himself and Rexford.

Both parents listened intently to this statement. The mother at first sobbed bitterly, on hearing from the lips of her own child--on whom her hopes and pride were centered--that he had been in such company and in such a condition.

The father doubtless felt the disgrace quite as keenly, for he was a sensitive, intelligent man and naturally feared that this was but the beginning of a dissipated life. Still, he could hardly look for that from a boy whom he had tried so hard to instruct in what is manly and right, and who had always seemed to profit by his teaching.

But as Fred progressed in his narration, and showed how the lamentable result had been brought about, and that he had been made a victim of De Vere's revenge in consequence of the latter's jealousy, both parents looked upon the whole matter in a very different light. Mr. Worthington was extremely indignant, and expressed his determination to see De Vere's father and demand redress for the despicable course Matthew had taken. He also vowed that he would wage war against that bartender, and drive him out of town.

Fred, however, urged his father not to do either, since he believed it would only make a bad matter worse; adding that he had decided that it would be better for him to say and do nothing about the affair, further than to mention that Matthew was with him. He requested his father to adopt the same course. Mrs. Worthington, too, thought this the better plan, so after some persuasion her husband agreed to accept the situation and wait for time to bring the truth to light.

The wisdom of such a course must be apparent to my readers when they stop to think upon the matter, as did Fred. For, had he charged De Vere with being the cause of his misfortune, and alleged that the bartender had drugged him, both villains would instantly have denied it, and would, doubtless, have thrown the lie upon young Worthington, thus making him appear more at disadvantage than before. Besides, the villagers would be disposed to believe them, as it is well known that every one guilty of a misdemeanor is sure to give some excuse for his action, though excuses usually have but little weight.

On the other hand, a secret becomes burdensome to one after a time. If it is of a trivial nature, and the author finds he is not suspected, he will finally tell it as a joke, contrasting his cunning with the stupidity of his victim; while if it be of a graver sort, it will finally be disclosed, if for no other reason than to unburden the mind.

While both of Fred's parents regretted most deeply what had happened, they felt proud to think that he had told the whole truth, without even waiting to be questioned upon the subject.

If all boys would follow Fred's example in this respect whenever they get into any trouble, they would not only retain the confidence of their parents, but would receive the rewards of a clear conscience and an unburdened heart.

IX.

There is something rather peculiar about the fact that troubles of any sort never seem to come singly. This has been noticed by almost every person of wide experience, and the idea is crystallized in the proverb: "It never rains but it pours." The adage certainly held true in Fred's case.

Only a few days after the occurrence related in the preceding chapter, and when Fred had begun to feel a little more at ease in his mind, he was called up sharply one night by his employer, who said to him:

"Fred, what have you done with the twenty dollar bill that was in this drawer?"

"I have seen no such bill there to-day, sir," replied the clerk.

"You have seen no such bill, do you say? I took a new twenty dollar bill of James D. Atwood this afternoon, when he settled his account, and I put it in this drawer," pointing to the open cash drawer before him.

"It seems queer, sir; but I am sure that I have not paid it out or seen it. Didn't you give it to Woodman and Hardy's man when you paid him some money to-day?"

"No!" replied the merchant nervously, "he was here early in the afternoon, before I took the bill. There has been no one to the cash drawer but you and myself--unless you neglected your business and allowed some scoundrel in behind the counter while I was at tea."

Fred flushed up at this intimation that he might have been false to his trust, and replied, with some show of injured feeling:

"Mr. Rexford, if any money has been lost, I am sorry for you; but as I said, I know nothing about it. You say you took in a twenty dollar bill, and that now it is gone. If a mistake has occurred in making change, I don't know why it should be laid to me any more than yourself, for I am as careful as I can be."

"Do you mean to say, young man, that I have made a mistake of this size in making change?"

"I simply say, there must be a mistake somewhere. Have you figured up your cash account to know just how it stands?"

Mr. Rexford had not figured it up, but on discovering that the bill was missing, and noticing that there was little increase in the other money, he jumped to the conclusion that the drawer was twenty dollars short. But on carefully going over his cash and sales accounts, and reckoning the money on hand, he found that there was just eighteen dollars missing.

This discovery only added mystery to the already perplexing matter. It certainly looked now as though some cunning method had been employed to swindle him.

The merchant's brow contracted at the thought, and after a few moments he said, in an excited and angry manner:

"Worthington, you know about that bill, and are trying to deceive me. I can see no way but that you took it during my absence, and in trying to cover up your act put two dollars in the drawer; but, young man, I'd have you know that such tricks can't be played on me!"

The flush that had appeared upon Fred's face was now gone, and in its stead appeared the paleness of anger. He stepped squarely up to his accuser, and said, in a determined tone:

"Do you mean to say that I stole your money? If you mean that, sir, you say what is false, and you shall----"