A Debt of Honor

“It is not necessary, Gerald.”

“But I prefer that you should look over some papers that I have with me, and for which, by the way, Mr. Wentworth is ready at any time to pay me a thousand dollars.”

“But why should he be willing to pay so much?” asked the Englishman in surprise.

“Because they prove that he, and not my father, committed the forgery. My father agreed to have it charged upon him at Mr. Wentworth’s urgent request, in order that Wentworth might not be disinherited by his uncle.”

“But your father ought not to have made such a sacrifice. Why did he do so?”

“Because Bradley Wentworth promised him twenty thousand dollars when he came into his fortune.”

“Was the fortune so large, then?”

“Over three hundred thousand dollars.”

“And he came into his fortune?”

“Yes.”

“And refused to carry out his agreement?”

“Yes; he said it was absurd to expect such a liberal reward, though it brought disgrace and loss to my poor father, and finally, as I think, shortened his life.”

“It should have been considered a debt of honor.”

“So my father thought, but Mr. Wentworth only offered him a thousand dollars, which, poor as he was, he indignantly refused. I don’t think he would have offered anything, if he had not known that my father had letters proving that he was innocent, and Wentworth himself the forger.”

“Who has these papers now?”

“I have.”

“And you say Mr. Wentworth has offered a thousand dollars for them?”

“He made me that offer this very morning.”

“And you declined to accept it?”

“Yes.”

“Gerald, the man seems to be unscrupulous. If he finds he cannot obtain the papers in any other way he may plot to have them stolen from you.”

“I don’t know but you are right, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald thoughtfully.

“Shall I advise you?”

“I wish you would.”

“When you get to St. Louis, deposit them with some safe deposit company, and carry about with you merely copies of them. Then, if they are stolen, there will be no harm done.”

“Your advice is good, Mr. Brooke, and I shall follow it.”

This conversation took place in their stateroom. Meanwhile, Bradley Wentworth was engaged in reflection.

“That boy means mischief, I fully believe,” he said to himself. “He is of a different nature from his father. He is firm and resolute, and if I read him aright, he will never forego his purpose of demanding from me the sum which I so foolishly promised his father. The worst of it is, the papers he carries will, if shown, injure my reputation and throw upon me the crime of which during all these years his father has been held guilty. Those papers I must have! My security requires it.”

It was easy to come to this conclusion but not so easy to decide how the papers could be obtained. He would gladly have paid a thousand dollars, but that offer had more than once been made, and always decidedly refused.

As Bradley Wentworth paced the deck with thoughtful brow, Samuel Standish, who was always drawn towards men whom he suspected to be wealthy, stepped up, and asked deferentially: “General, may I ask you for a light?” for Wentworth chanced to be smoking.

Bradley Wentworth paused and scanned the man who accosted him closely.

“Why do you call me General?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon, but I took you for General Borden, member of Congress from Kentucky.”

“I am not the man.”

“I really beg your pardon. Perhaps, however, you will oblige me with a light all the same.”

“I will. What is your name?”

“Samuel Standish.”

“Humph! I suppose you are not a member of Congress?”

“No, indeed!” laughed Standish. “I wish I were.”

“Perhaps I could give a good guess as to who and what you are.”

Standish looked curious.

“Suppose you do!” he said.

Bradley Wentworth looked the man full in the face. It was a glance of sharp scrutiny, so sharp that Samuel Standish, though not a sensitive man, flushed and winced under it.

“I may be wrong,” said Wentworth, “but you look to me like an adventurer.”

“Do you mean to insult me?” demanded Standish, starting angrily.

“No; in fact, I rather hope that you are the sort of character I take you to be.”

“I don’t understand you,” and Standish looked and was really bewildered.

“Only because if you are as unscrupulous as I believe you to be, I may be able to throw a job in your way.”

“You may assume then that you are correct.” Wentworth laughed slightly.

“I thought so,” he said.