Rupert's Ambition

CHAPTER X.
A BELL-BOY'S EXPERIENCES

It was evident that the guest whom Rupert had conducted to his room was a maniac of the most dangerous character. The man's face was terrible to look upon. His small, ferret-like eyes seemed to dilate with ferocious cunning. He was a man not perhaps robust or strong, but too strong for a boy of sixteen. And Rupert was alone with him.

It was terrible to think that he was to become the victim of such a man. Apart from the pain of death, it was made more terrible at the hands of an insane man.

What should he do?

Rupert had read somewhere that to openly combat an insane person is dangerous. It is advisable to humor his delusions. Fortunately he had read a story recently in which a man had escaped death by this very means. It was a desperate chance, but Rupert resolved to make use of it. Instead of showing the fear he really felt, he forced himself to appear calm.

"You are mistaken," he said; "the boy you are to sacrifice is under the bed."

The maniac was just about to lunge with his knife, but Rupert's words made him pause.

"Look under the bed and you will see him," continued the bell-boy.

The bed was at the other end of the room. The maniac went over to it, and, getting on his knees, began to peer underneath.

Here was Rupert's opportunity. He sprang to the door, turned the key, but did not dare to stop to lock it on the outside, and dashed into the entry. The door of the next room chanced to be open. He darted inside, and bolted himself in.

He was just in time. The maniac, discovering the ruse, rose to his feet, and, knife in hand, ran into the hall with a blood-curdling cry. He looked in vain for Rupert, who was nowhere to be seen. The staircase was near. He ran down, flight after flight, till he reached the office floor, and made a great sensation as he dashed through it with his drawn knife.

Here, however, he had some one more formidable than a boy to contend with. Two burly porters sprang upon him, and felled him to the floor. The knife was taken from him, and the clerk, horror-struck, leaning over him, asked, "What did you do with the boy?"

"I tried to kill him, but he escaped," said the lunatic. "But I will have him yet!"

"Call two policemen," said Mr. Malcolm. "One of you go upstairs and find the bell-boy."

Rupert remained in his temporary refuge, not daring to come out. He heard his unpleasant acquaintance leaving the adjoining room, but was apprehensive that he might return. At length he heard some one calling, "Rupert, where are you?" and recognized it as the voice of one of the other bell-boys. He opened the door and came out.

"Where is the insane man?" he asked quickly.

"He was captured in the office, and his knife taken from him. How did you escape from him?"

"Wait till I go down stairs and I will tell you."

When Rupert reached the office he was eagerly questioned. He gave the particulars of his unpleasant interview with the crank.

"I congratulate you on your presence of mind," said the clerk. "You had a narrow escape from a terrible fate."

"Where is he now?"

"On his way to the station-house. You need not be afraid that he will come back. He is sure to be locked up."

Later in the day the proprietor of the hotel sent for Rupert.

"My boy," he said, "you ran a terrible risk this morning. It was in my service, and I feel that I ought in some way to express my appreciation of your remarkable courage and presence of mind. Here are fifty dollars, which I hope you will find of service."

It was not alone the gift, but the kind words, that gratified Rupert. He was able to buy a new suit for best, and a few other articles of which he had need.

During the day he had a call from a man connected with one of the daily papers, who wished his photograph to reproduce in connection with an account of the incident. This, however, Rupert declined to give, not caring for notoriety. The account of the crank's onset, however, appeared, and a good many curious visitors were attracted to the Somerset Hotel.

Among these was Julian Lorimer. Rupert's name had not been mentioned in the account, and Julian was surprised to meet him.

"How came you here?" he asked.

"I am employed here," answered Rupert, quietly.

"What are you?"

"A bell-boy."

"Is that so? Can you tell me who it was that was nearly killed by a crazy crank yesterday?"

"I was the one."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Julian, in amazement. "Was he really so dangerous?"

"He came near killing me."

"Humph! That was rather unpleasant. Do you get good pay here?"

"Yes, very good—enough to support me."

"It isn't much of a position, though."

"If you will find me a better one I will give this up," said Rupert, smiling.

"I am expecting to go into a wholesale house soon."

"I hope you will succeed in getting such a place. It is rather hard getting business positions now."

"Oh, my father is well known in the city. He can find me one."

"That will be in your favor."

Here Rupert was called off by a summons from the office, and the interview terminated. He had not told Julian of the handsome gift received from the proprietor, as he knew that his old schoolfellow had no real interest in his welfare.

One who is employed in an American hotel has an excellent opportunity to study human nature. It is free to all comers, and among those who sit in the lobby or use the reading room there are always some who are not guests. The larger proportion of these are respectable persons, but some are adventurers who may be on the lookout for victims.

One young man, stylishly dressed and sporting an eyeglass and a cane, Rupert had more than once noticed. He came in from time to time, bought a sheet of paper and an envelope at the news stand, and wrote a letter at one of the tables in the reading room. Rupert, whose acquaintance with the city was limited, decided from his dress that he belonged to some prominent family. It was noteworthy, however, that he always entered alone. He sometimes, however, entered into conversation with one of the guests of the hotel. Those from the country seemed to have his preference.

This surprised Rupert, who wondered what attraction rural visitors could have for a young man of his elegant appearance.

One day an old man of sixty registered from a town in Orange County. His face was weather-beaten, and he looked like a farmer. His clothing was rusty, and appeared to have been worn for several years.

He might have been taken for a poor man, but Rupert had seen him draw out a large wallet full of bills, and judged that, if not rich, he was in comfortable circumstances.

It so happened that the young man already referred to had also seen the wallet, and he at once began to pay attention to the rural visitor. Watching his opportunity, he sat down beside him in the reading room one afternoon.

"It is a pleasant day, sir," he said, sociably.

"So 'tis, so 'tis," said the old man, feeling flattered by attention from a young man of such distinguished appearance.

"I suppose you live in the country?"

"Yes, I am from Orange County."

"The finest part of the State. If my business did not keep me in the city I should like very much to make my residence there."

"What might your business be?" asked the old man, with natural curiosity.

"I am a broker, sir, in Wall Street. Of course you have heard of Wall Street."

"Oh, yes," answered the old man, proud of his familiarity with the name of this famous street. "Is it a pooty good business?"

"Well, that depends on circumstances. Sometimes I make money hand over hand, but for the last month I give you my word I probably haven't made over two hundred dollars."

"Two hundred dollars in a month!" repeated the farmer. "Why, that's doing first rate, I call it."

The young man shrugged his shoulders.

"Not for a broker," he said. "Why if I make less than five hundred I don't call it much."

"Five hundred dollars a month?" asked the farmer, much impressed.

"Yes."

"Why, that's six thousand dollars a year."

"Exactly. You are good in arithmetic," said the young man, languidly.

"Is—is there any chance to go into that business?" asked the Orange County man, eagerly.

"My friend, I would hardly advise you to go into it. You are rather old to begin a new business."

"That's so, but I don't ask for myself. I've got a son—he's my youngest son—a young man of twenty-five, who's anxious to get something to do in the city. He ain't much good on a farm—don't seem to like it. He's read a good many books and stories about New York city, and he wants to come here. I wish I could get him a chance to learn the broker business. You haven't a place in your office now, have you?"

The young swell laughed in his sleeve.

"I've hooked the old man," he said to himself. "Now if I work my cards right, I shall be able to make something out of him."

"My friend," he said, "I can't tell you at once, but I will think it over, and—see you to-morrow morning."

He had not intended to finish his sentence thus, but just then he espied at the door of the reading room a small, quiet-looking man whose glance rested for a moment upon him. He knew—he had reason to know—that this was Richard Darke, a well-known detective.

He rose from his seat and sauntered to the door, and in two minutes he was one of the motley crowd that throng Broadway.

CHAPTER XI.
RUPERT RECEIVES A COMMISSION

The detective, as he left the reading room, passed Rupert, who was just entering.

"Let me see," he said, tapping Rupert on the shoulder, "you are the bell-boy who came near being murdered by a crank?"

"Yes, sir."

"You escaped very cleverly. You are evidently a sharp boy. Keep your eyes open, don't you?"

"Yes, sir; except when I'm asleep."

"We detectives have to keep our eyes open all the time, but we can't be everywhere at once. Now I feel a little inclined to make you my deputy—not permanently, but for a time."

"All right, sir."

"Have you noticed rather a flashy young man, looking like a dude, with an eyeglass and cane?"

"Yes, sir; he is frequently in the hotel."

"You know, of course, that he isn't a guest?"

"Yes, sir. We bell-boys know who are guests and who are not."

"Possibly you may have wondered what his business is here?"

"Yes, sir."

"He is a confidence man. His business is to pick up victims, and make what he can out of them. Do you see that old gentleman over by the window?"

"Yes, sir."

"He is an honest and probably well-to-do old farmer, I judge. That fellow has been having a talk with him. When he saw me he had business elsewhere. But he hasn't given up his scheme for bleeding the old man. Probably he will have another interview with him to-morrow. Now I should like to have you keep your eye on the two. Find out if you can what the man is after. I can't, for he knows me by sight. I want to foil his schemes and save the old man from loss. Here is my address."

The detective placed in Rupert's hand a small, plain card, bearing the name,

RICHARD DARKE

Below he put his address, which need not be given here.

"Don't say anything about this," he said, "except to me. Should you mention it to anyone else in the hotel the fellow would soon see that he was watched, and we might fail to catch him. I am reposing considerable confidence in a boy."

"Yes, sir, but you will not regret it."

"I believe you," said the detective, cordially. "I'll see you again soon."

"One moment, Mr. Darke. What is the young man's name?"

"He has several. The one he uses most frequently is Clarence Clayton."

"I will remember it, sir."

Clarence Clayton left the Somerset Hotel in good spirits. He felt like an angler who was on the point of landing a fine fish.

"I wonder if old Darke saw me talking with that old Granger," he soliloquized. "I hope not. Probably he knows me, though thus far I have escaped having my picture in the Rogues' Gallery. Those old fellows know everybody. Fortunately there is no regular detective at the Somerset, and I shall be able to finish my negotiations with my country friend before he drops in again."

Mr. Clarence Clayton was getting low in funds. Somehow fortune had not favored him of late, and the sums he had realized out of recent victims were very small. Yet he felt so confident of success in the present instance that he sauntered up to the Sinclair House, at the corner of Broadway and Eighth Street, and going into the restaurant, which has a high reputation for choice viands, he ordered an appetizing repast at a cost of a dollar.

He was scarcely half through when a young man, got up in very much the same style, came in and sat down opposite him.

"Ha, Clayton!" he said, "so you're in luck."

"How do, Mortimer? What makes you think so?"

"Your extravagant spread. It isn't permitted to failures like your humble servant to dine in such princely style."

"Then why come here at all?"

"I am only going to order fish balls and coffee, but I want those good, and shall get them good here. Have you made a ten-strike?"

"No; business is dull with me, but I think I'm on the track of a fair thing."

"What is it, and where?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Mortimer?" said Clarence, putting one finger waggishly on one side of his nose. "There isn't enough in it for two."

"Oh, I don't want to interfere with you, of course. I thought I'd like to know whereabouts you are operating at present."

"What do you say to the Windsor Hotel?"

"Isn't that rash? Don't the detective know you?"

"He can't be everywhere, the worthy man. Your friend Clarence knows what he is about. You won't interfere with me?"

"Of course not."

In spite of this assurance Mortimer made it in his way to drop into the Windsor Hotel later in the evening, but of course he did not see Clarence Clayton, who had put him on the wrong scent.

A good dinner was not the end of Clayton's extravagance. He dropped into the Star Theatre, and enjoyed an attractive play, though it cost him a dollar.

"Josiah Onthank will pay for it, I hope," he said, for he had ascertained from the hotel register the name of his Orange County friend. "It will cost something," he laughed, "to get his son into my office in Wall Street. Oh, Clarence, you're a sly one, you are!"

Rupert was free from his duties at seven o'clock, but, remembering the commission he had received, he sought out the farmer and opened a conversation with him.

"How do you like New York?" he asked.

"It's a big city," answered the farmer. "I haven't been here before for twenty years."

"Have you ever traveled on the Elevated cars?"

"No, I'm a little mite afeard to travel so high in the air. Suppose the train should go through?"

"I don't think there's any danger, sir. The road is strongly built."

"I s'pose I'm timid, but I guess I won't ventur'. My son Ephraim wouldn't mind. I came to the city mostly on his account. He wanted me to see if there wasn't an opening here. He's got sick of the farm and wants to be a city man. Are you at work here?"

"Yes, I'm a bell-boy in this hotel."

"Does it pay you well?"

"Yes, sir. I get five dollars a week and my board."

"That's good for a boy like you. It's more than I pay my hired man, and he's twenty-eight. Is your work hard?"

"I have to run upstairs and down a good deal. I got pretty tired at first."

"I met quite a slick young man here this afternoon; he says he's a broker in Wall Street. He knows how to make money."

"Does he, sir?" inquired Rupert, getting interested.

"Yes; he says he made two hundred dollars last month, and he thinks that pretty small."

"I should think it a good deal to make."

"He doesn't have to work very hard, either. Ephraim would like being a broker. He always did like to dress up, but at home he can't do it till evenin' after he has milked the cows and finished the chores."

"Did the gentleman mention his name to you?"

"Yes, he said his name was Clarence Clayton. He thinks he may be able to take my son Ephraim into his office."

"Did he tell you where his office was?"

"Well, down in Wall Street somewhere. I s'pose there's a good deal of money made in Wall Street."

"And a good deal lost, too," suggested Rupert.

"When are you going to see Mr. Clayton again?"

"To-morrow morning. He's goin' down to show me his office, and he'll think it over whether he can take Ephraim or not."

"I suppose he is a rich man."

"I expect he is. He dresses fine. Ephraim would like to dress that way, but he hasn't the shape for it. I should feel proud to have him doin' as well as Mr. Clayton."

"I hope you won't mind my giving you a little advice, Mr. Onthank, even if I am a boy."

"Go ahead, sonny! I'm sure you mean well."

"Don't make any arrangements with Mr. Clayton to take your son till you have had a chance to talk over the matter with some one. I have a friend, a very experienced man, and I am sure his advice would be worth taking."

"You don't think there's anything wrong about Mr. Clayton, do you?" asked the farmer, startled.

"I don't say that, but if he wants you to pay him some money for giving your son a a place, don't do it till you have mentioned it to me."

"I won't. There won't be no harm in that."

"And don't tell him who it is you are going to consult. Supposing he wasn't all right, it would put him on his guard."

"Thank you, sonny, you are a young boy, but I guess you've got a level head."

"I hope so," laughed Rupert.

"Do you know where there's a good place to take supper—a good country supper? I've been to the hotel eatin' houses, but it don't exactly suit my country taste."

"Yes, Mr. Onthank, I think I can find a place that will suit you."

Rupert took the farmer to a plain restaurant not far away, where he got some cream toast, a good cup of strong tea, and a piece of apple pie.

"That's good," said the farmer, with a sigh of satisfaction. "It's better than all them fancy dishes I get at some places. There ain't nothing like plain home livin'."

Rupert didn't part from Mr. Onthank till nine o'clock, when the farmer expressed a wish to go to bed.

"I always go to bed at nine o'clock when I'm to home," he said. "Folks here in York seem to sit up all night."

CHAPTER XII.
CLAYTON'S SCHEME

About ten o'clock in the forenoon Clarence Clayton entered the Somerset Hotel and looked about for the Orange County farmer. Clayton was clean shaved, his shoes were brilliantly polished, and there was a rose in his buttonhole.

"My dear old friend," he said, with effusion, as he espied Josiah Onthank sitting near the door, "I hope you are feeling in the best of health this fine morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Clayton. I feel pooty smart. Why, you're all dressed up. You look as if you'd just come out of a bandbox."

"Men in my position have to be particular about their appearance. Now if I was in the country I wouldn't care, but I have an appointment with Mr. Vanderbilt this morning, and, of course, I must be particular."

"Do you know Mr. Vanderbilt?" asked Mr. Onthank, considerably impressed.

"Intimately. I dined at his house last week."

Mr. Clayton took in with a quick glance the dress and outward appearance of his rustic friend. Mr. Onthank certainly did not look as if he had just stepped out of a bandbox. His clothing was dusty, and his shoes were innocent of blacking.

"My friend," he said, "if you will pardon the suggestion, it would be well to have your boots blacked."

"I didn't bring any blacking with me," responded the farmer. "Besides, I had 'em blacked last Sunday."

"As you are going to Wall Street, and may meet some of the prominent people of the city, it will be well to have them blacked this morning. Leave it to me. I will find a boy who will do it for a nickel."

"I always black my own boots when I am to home."

"In the city we employ bootblacks."

"Five cents seems pooty good pay for blackin' boots. It don't take more'n five minutes."

"Oh, well, the poor boys need the money. I look upon it in that light."

"To be sure!" and Mr. Onthank began to look upon his companion as a very kind-hearted man.

Out in the street they came upon a boy who was quite ready to undertake the job. Before he got through, however, he began to think there wasn't much profit in it. The farmer's shoes were of cowhide, and absorbed a great deal of blacking. Still the boy was an expert, and made them look better than they ever had before.

"That's worth a dime," he said.

"I won't pay it," declared the farmer. "Ten cents for blackin' a pair of boots! Why it's ridiculous!"

There might have been an angry discussion, but Clayton drew a dime from his pocket and put it into the boy's outstretched palm.

"Very likely he's got a mother to support," he said. "Besides, he's made your boots look fine."

"That's so," assented the farmer, looking complacently at the boy's work. "He seems to know his business. Mrs. Onthank would be surprised if she could see me now."

He walked along with unwonted pride, ever and anon glancing delightedly at his renovated boots.

"I can't make 'em look like that," he said. "They look better than they did when they was new, but ten cents is an awful price to pay."

They walked along Broadway till they reached Wall Street, down which they turned.

Mr. Onthank was considerably impressed by the tall and stately buildings on Broadway.

"Is your office near here, Mr. Clayton?" he asked.

"Yes, quite near."

Near the junction of Wall and New Streets Clayton led the way into a handsome office, occupied by a firm of well-known brokers.

"This is my office," he said. "Don't ask me any questions till we come out."

They entered the room, but many were entering, and no particular notice was taken of them.

"There's a sight of clerks," said the farmer. "You must do a big business."

"We do. Wait here a minute till I speak to my cashier."

He went up to a window, and in a tone inaudible to Mr. Onthank asked the price of a particular stock. Of course an answer was given, so that they appeared to be conferring together. Then he rejoined his Orange County friend, and they walked slowly to the end of the counter.

"Now we'll go out," said Clayton. "I have one or two calls to make on the street."

"Do you trust your clerks to do the work while you are away?"

"Oh, yes, they understand their duties. Things will go on like clockwork. You see we have a perfect system."

"You don't do business alone, do you?"

"No, there are several of us in the firm. I may say frankly that I only have one-fourth interest in the business. Still I am well paid, very well paid."

"I s'pose you have to pay a big rent."

"Ten thousand dollars a year."

"You don't say! Why, you can get a big store where I live for only twelve dollars a month."

"Very likely; but there is a good deal of difference between the country and the city. Now let us walk along Broadway, down to the Battery. We will sit down there, and I will tell you what I can offer your son."

In a few minutes they were sitting on one of the benches, looking out to Governor's Island.

"It's a great privilege to live in New York, Mr. Onthank. I think your son would enjoy it."

"I know he would. Why, Ephraim would give all his old boots to be at work here."

"If they were all cowhide boots like yours the offer wouldn't be very tempting," thought Clayton.

"Yes," he said, "I can easily believe it. May I ask what wages your son would expect."

"Well, I reckon twenty-five to thirty dollars a month would satisfy him."

"Twenty-five to thirty dollars a month! Why, my dear friend, what are you thinking of?"

"I thought he couldn't live in the city in good style for less," said the farmer, deprecatingly.

"Of course, of course, but you don't understand me. I wouldn't think of offering him less than seventy-five dollars a month, to begin with."

"Gosh! you don't mean it?" said the farmer, his eyes opened wide.

"Certainly I do. That is the minimum salary I pay my clerks."

"Why, Ephraim would feel as rich as a king with that salary. When can you make room for him?" he added anxiously.

"I must ask a few questions first. Has your son a fair education?"

"He attended the district school till he was fifteen."

"Then I suppose he is well up in the fundamental rules of arithmetic?"

"What's them?"

"I suppose he can add, subtract and multiply."

"Oh, yes."

"And write a fair hand?"

"He's pooty good at writin'."

"I presume he will do. Now, Mr. Onthank, I will tell you how I am placed. There will be a vacancy next week, but a merchant up town wants me very much to take his son. He will pay a liberal premium."

"What's that?"

"We always expect our clerks to pay a premium on entering our service. How much money have you brought with you?"

"I've got two hundred dollars in my wallet. But what has that to do with it?"

"A great deal, my friend. The premium must be paid down at once, and that guarantees your son the place."

"How much do you ask?"

"The merchant I refer to is willing to pay two hundred dollars, but between ourselves I don't favor engaging his son. I have been told that he drinks. I hope your son doesn't drink?"

"Ephraim drinks cider at Thanksgivin', but he never drinks anything stronger."

"I am glad to hear it. Intemperance is very objectionable in our business. Now about the premium. I will agree to take your son for a hundred and fifty dollars, though I have never before accepted less than two hundred."

"A hundred and fifty dollars is a good deal of money," said Ezekiel, cautiously.

"So it is, but think of the advantages. Think of his getting seventy-five dollars a month, to begin with. Why in six months I shall probably raise him to a hundred dollars a month."

Ezekiel Onthank was dazzled, and Clayton saw that he was. He felt that he had almost landed the fish for which he was angling.

"I guess I'll take a day to think on't," said the farmer.

"I would advise you to accept at once. The other party may get in ahead of you."

"Can't you give us the refusal of it for a day?"

"Really I don't see how I can."

"A hundred and fifty dollars is a good deal of money, and I want to think it over."

"My dear friend, I don't see the need of it. Such situations are not to be had every day. Why, the young man's salary the first year, supposing he were promoted in six months, would amount to over a thousand dollars. Deducting the premium, that would leave your son nearly nine hundred dollars. That's a good income, isn't it?"

"Yes, so 'tis. Why our minister only gets six hundred dollars a year, and he's a man of forty-odd."

"Exactly. You see what a brilliant prospect Ephraim will have. Really I ought to insist on the full premium of two hundred dollars."

Clayton did his utmost to induce the farmer to decide at once, but Mr. Onthank had promised Rupert not to do anything without talking the matter over with him, and he kept his word.

"Well," said Clayton, "I'll give in to you. I'll give you twenty-four hours to think over the matter, but of course I must ask you to pay me something for the favor. Give me five dollars on account of the premium, and you shall have a day to make up your mind."

This Mr. Onthank finally agreed to, and when the matter was settled they walked back to the Somerset Hotel.

"You had better not say much about our negotiation," Clayton advised, "till the matter is decided."