Chapter XII The Train Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger
PAUL'S CRITICAL POSITION
Paul felt that he was in a tight place. He could not understand how the wallet could have got into his pocket. Yet there it was, and appearances were decidedly against him in spite of his innocence.
"I did not steal the wallet," Paul said firmly.
"I did not steal the wallet," he said, firmly.
"Then how came it in thy pocket?" asked the old man.
"I don't know. Some one must have put it there."
"Verily that is a poor excuse," said the aged Quaker.
"It's too thin!" said a young man near by, who thought himself a wit. "It won't wash!"
Paul looked at him in disdain. Still it troubled him, because he feared the other passengers would agree with the speaker.
Just then the conductor entered the car. He was a firm friend of Paul, whom he had known ever since he first came on board the train.
"What is the matter?" asked the conductor, looking with surprise at the group around Paul.
"A pocket-book has been stolen, I believe," said a quiet passenger.
The conductor walked up to the scene of excitement.
Paul looked up at him with a feeling of relief.
"Mr. Bates," he said, "do you think I would steal?"
"Certainly not, Paul. Who charges you with it?"
"This gentleman here," answered our hero, pointing to the Quaker.
"I fear thee is guilty, for I discovered my wallet in thy pocket," said the Quaker, mildly.
"Is this true, Paul?" asked the conductor, puzzled.
"Yes."
"Can you explain it?"
"No. This gentleman asked me for a magazine, and, on looking for his money, could not find his pocket-book."
"I looked in thy pocket, and straightway found it," supplemented the Quaker.
"What made you look there?" asked the conductor.
"I thought the boy might have yielded to a sudden temptation. It grieves me to think he was so weak."
The detective here spoke.
"Conductor," said he, "do you know this boy well?"
"Yes, sir."
"Has any charge ever been made against him before?"
"No, sir."
"Has he ever been suspected of dishonesty to your knowledge?"
"Certainly not. He is the most popular train boy we ever had. I would stake a years salary on his honesty."
"Thank you, Mr. Bates," said Paul, gratefully.
He felt gratified, in this trying emergency, to find that there was one man who had full confidence in him.
"He looks honest," said the detective, thoughtfully.
"Verily, appearances are deceitful," said the Quaker. "I cannot afford to lose my money because the boy looks honest. Was not the wallet found in his pocket? I call upon thee, officer, to arrest him."
Paul felt very uncomfortable. Though he was buoyed up by the consciousness of his innocence, he was troubled by the thought that he might be carried back to Chicago handcuffed, or at any rate under arrest. Suppose he should meet some one whom he knew, would it not always be remembered against him, even if he were acquitted?
"You wish to press the charge, then?" said the detective.
"Verily, it is my duty."
"I hope, sir," said Paul, "you will not injure me to that extent. I swear to you that I am innocent."
"Probably thee art equally regardless of honesty and the truth."
"Will you be prepared to appear in court upon the charge to-morrow morning?" asked the detective.
"Yes, verily," answered the Quaker, with a little hesitation.
"Do you live in Chicago?"
"Nay, I live in Philadelphia."
"Of course, all the broadbrims come from Philadelphia," said the witty young man. "Yea, verily, they do."
"Friend, do not deride me," said the old Quaker, looking rebukingly at the speaker.
"What is your name, sir?" asked the officer.
"My name is Ephraim Perry," answered the old man.
"Where are you staying in Chicago?"
"At the Commercial Hotel."
"Shall you be there to-morrow morning?"
"Yea, verily."
"It strikes me," thought the detective, who was himself a native of Philadelphia, "he rather overdoes the 'yea, verily.' I have lived in Philadelphia, and I never heard any of the 'Friends' use the expression so freely."
"How do you identify the wallet?" he asked, aloud. "How do you know it is yours?"
"By the appearance."
"Appearances are deceitful, as you said a little while ago. Can you tell me what are the contents?"
So saying, the detective, to whom the wallet had been passed, made a motion to open the wallet.
"I trust thee will not open the wallet," said the Quaker, hastily.
"Why not?"
"It contains private papers."
"Such as what? It is necessary that I should satisfy myself that the wallet is really yours."
"Will thee not take my word?" asked the Quaker, uneasily.
"Will you swear that the pocket-book is yours?"
"Yes. Nay, I never swear," said the Quaker, hastily interrupting himself. "I will affirm."
"I am ready to swear that I didn't take the wallet," said Paul.
"That is different," said the Quaker. "Will not that be satisfactory?" asked the Quaker, turning to the detective.
"No."
"Does thee doubt my word?" asked the old man, reproachfully, and seeming very uneasy.
"Not necessarily, but I think you may be mistaken," answered the detective, composedly.
"Yes, open the wallet," said the conductor, who, as Paul's friend, was led to hope that the result of the search might, somehow or other, turn out for Paul's advantage.
"Thee shall not do it!" exclaimed the old Quaker, in excitement. "It is my property, and no one shall open it."
He thrust out his hand and tried to clutch it, but the detective held it above his head.
"I cannot understand your reluctance," he said. "Is there anything in it that you are anxious to conceal?"
"Nay," answered the Quaker, faintly; "but it is my property."
"Will you tell me what is in it?"
The old man was silent.
"Then I will open it."
"Ha!" exclaimed the detective, drawing out two pieces of pasteboard. "Here are two pool tickets; and here," drawing out another paper, "is a lottery ticket. Do Quakers deal in such articles?"
"Some evil-disposed person must have put them there," said the old man, nervously, "The boy——"
"The boy had no chance. Come, sir, I believe you are masquerading. Let me see. Here is a card—Luke Denton. Ha! I begin to see what it all means."
With a quick and unsuspected movement, the detective grasped the hat of the pretended Quaker, and next seized his wig, which came off readily in his hands, displaying to the gaze of the astonished passengers the dark hair and the face of a man of thirty-five, instead of an old man of over sixty.
"The pickpocket that jumped from the train!" exclaimed Paul, in excitement.
"I recognize him now," said the conductor. "This is clearly a plot to get you into trouble."
"Yea, verily," chimed in the witty young man.
"I'll clip your feathers some time, young man!" said Denton, scowling at the speaker.
"My Quaker friend," said the detective, "you are wanted for that little affair on the cars the other day."
He produced a pair of handcuffs. Luke Denton struggled vigorously, but the conductor assisted, and his hands were soon securely fastened.
"I congratulate you, Paul," said the conductor. "It was a mean plot, and might have succeeded. But I never doubted you."
"I know you didn't, Mr. Bates. I shall never forget that," said Paul, gratefully.
"I came near succeeding," said Denton, grimly. "The next time I will wholly succeed."
"Perhaps not," rejoined the detective. "Your disguise was very good, Mr. Denton; but there was one thing you forgot."
"What is that?"
"To wear gloves. Any one would know that the hands did not belong to an old man. Besides, Quakers don't generally wear rings. I suspected you from the first."
"What a consummate fool I was!" muttered Denton, in disgust. "I ought to have thought of that."