Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

“For my arrest!” exclaimed Herbert, in amazement. “What for?”

“On complaint of Eben Graham, for abstracting postage stamps and money from the post office last evening.”

CHAPTER XI. TRIED FOR THEFT

Herbert stared at the constable in blank amazement.

“I am charged with stealing stamps and money from the post office?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Who makes the charge?” demanded Herbert, in great excitement.

“Eben Graham.”

“I don’t know what it means,” said our hero, turning to George Melville.

“It means,” said Melville, “that the fellow is envious of you, and angry because he cannot supersede you with me. He evidently wants to do you an injury.”

“It must be so; but I did not imagine that Eben could be so mean. Mr. Bruce, do you believe that I am a thief?”

“No, I don’t, Herbert,” said the constable, “and it was very much against my will that I started out to arrest you, you may be sure.”

“When do you want me to go with you?” asked Herbert.

“You will go before Justice Slocum at two o’clock.”

“Is it necessary for me to go to the lockup?” asked Herbert, shrinking, with natural repugnance, from entering the temporary house of tramps and law breakers.

“No, Herbert,” answered the constable, in a friendly tone. “I’ll take it upon myself to let you go home to dinner. I will call for you at quarter of two. Of course I shall find you ready to accompany me?”

“Yes, Mr. Bruce, I am impatient to meet Eben Graham, and tell him to his face that he has been guilty of a mean and contemptible falsehood, in charging me with theft. Not a person in the village who knows me will believe it.”

“I will also call at your house, Herbert,” said George Melville, “and accompany you to the office of the justice. I shall ask leave to give the details of Eben Graham’s visit to me last evening.”

“Thank you, Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, “I am glad you do not believe a word of this story.”

“I am not so easily deceived, Herbert. It is quite possible that stamps and money have been stolen, but, if so, it is your false friend and accuser who is guilty.”

Of course Herbert had to tell his mother what had happened. She was agitated and alarmed, but became calmer when Herbert told her what was Eben’s probable motive in making the charge.

“How can he behave so shamefully!” exclaimed the indignant parent.

“I didn’t think him capable of it, myself, mother, although I had a poor opinion of him.”

“Suppose that you can’t prove that you are innocent, Herbert?” said Mrs. Carr, anxiously.

“It is for him to prove that I am guilty, mother,” answered Herbert, who knew this much of law.

At a quarter of two Constable Bruce and Mr. Melville walked to the house together.

The door was opened for them by Herbert himself.

“So you haven’t taken leg bail, Herbert,” said the constable, jocosely.

“No, Mr. Bruce, I am on hand; I am in a hurry to meet Mr. Eben Graham and see whether he can look me in the face after his shameful behavior.”

“Oh, Mr. Bruce, I never thought you would call at my home on such an errand,” said Mrs. Carr, on the point of breaking down.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Carr,” said the constable; “anybody may be charged with theft, however innocent. Your son has good friends who won’t see him treated with injustice.”

Herbert’s mother was desirous of accompanying them to the office of the justice, but was persuaded to remain behind. Herbert knew that in her indignation she would not be able to be silent when she saw Eben Graham.

Justice Slocum was an elderly man, with a mild face and gray hair. When Herbert entered he greeted him in a friendly way.

“I am sorry to see you here, my boy,” he said, “but I am sure there is some mistake. I have known you ever since you were a baby, and I don’t believe you are guilty of theft now.”

“I submit, Judge Slocum,” said Eben Graham, who sat in a corner, his mean features looking meaner and more insignificant than usual, “I submit that you are prejudging the case.”

“Silence, sir!” said Judge Slocum, warmly. “How dare you impugn my conduct? Though Herbert were my own son, I would give you a chance to prove him guilty.”

“I hope you’ll excuse me, judge,” said Eben, cringing. “I am as sorry as you are to believe the boy guilty of stealing.”

“Do your worst and say your worst, Eben Graham!” said Herbert, contemptuously, “but be very careful that you do not swear falsely.”

“I don’t need any instructions from you, Herbert Carr, considering that you are a criminal on trial,” said Eben, maliciously.

“You are mistaken, sir,” said George Melville. “To be under arrest does not make a man or boy a criminal.”

“I am sure I am much obliged for the information, Mr. Melville,” said Eben, spitefully. “You’ve chosen a nice companion.”

“There you are right,” said Melville, gravely. “I have done much better than if I had hired you.”

Eben winced, but did not reply.

George Melville whispered to Herbert:

“Are you willing to accept me as your lawyer? I am not much of one, to be sure, but this case is very simple.”

“I am very grateful for your offer, and accept it,” said Herbert.

I do not propose to record the whole scene in detail, but only to give a general idea of the proceedings.

Eben Graham was sworn as a witness, and deposed that he had left Herbert in charge of the post office the previous evening. On his return he examined the stamps and contents of the money drawer, and found, to his surprise, that five dollars in money and six dollars’ worth of stamps were missing.

“How did you know they were missing?” asked Melville.

“Because I knew precisely how much money was in the drawer and how many stamps were there.”