Jack's Ward; Or, The Boy Guardian

"You're smart; I can tell by the looks of you."

"Do you really think so?" returned Jack, appearing flattered.

"Yes; you'll make one of our best hands."

"I suppose Mrs. Hardwick is in your employ?"

"Perhaps she is, and perhaps she isn't," said Foley, noncommittally. "That is something you don't need to know."

"Oh, I don't care to know," said Jack, carelessly. "I only asked. I was afraid you would set me to work down in the cellar."

"You don't know enough about the business. We need skilled workmen. You couldn't do us any good there."

"I shouldn't like it, anyway. It must be unpleasant to be down there."

"We pay the workmen you saw good pay."

"Yes, I suppose so. When do you want me to begin?"

"I can't tell you just yet. I'll think about it."

"I hope it'll be soon, for I'm tired of staying here. By the way, that's a capital idea about the secret staircase. Who'd ever think the portrait concealed it?" said Jack.

As he spoke he advanced to the portrait in an easy, natural manner, and touched the spring.

Of course it flew open. The old man also drew near.

"That was my idea," he said, in a complacent tone. "Of course we have to keep everything as secret as possible, and I flatter myself—"

His remark came to a sudden pause. He had incautiously got between Jack and the open door. Now our hero, who was close upon eighteen, and strongly built, was considerably more than a match in physical strength for Foley. He suddenly seized the old man, thrust him through the aperture, then closed the secret door, and sprang for the door of the room.

The key was in the lock where Foley, whose confidence made him careless, had left it. Turning it, he hurried downstairs, meeting no one on the way. To open the front door and dash through it was the work of an instant. As he descended the stairs he could hear the muffled shout of the old man whom he had made prisoner, but this only caused him to accelerate his speed.

Jack now directed his course as well as he could toward his uncle's shop. One thing, however, he did not forget, and that was to note carefully the position of the shop in which he had been confined.

"I shall want to make another visit there," he reflected.

Meantime, as may well be supposed, Abel Harding had suffered great anxiety on account of Jack's protracted absence. Several days had elapsed and still he was missing.

"I am afraid something has happened to Jack," he remarked to his wife on the afternoon of Jack's escape. "I think Jack was probably rash and imprudent, and I fear, poor boy, he may have come to harm."

"He may be confined by the parties who have taken his sister."

"It is possible that it is no worse. At all events, I don't think it right to keep it from Timothy any longer. I've put off writing as long as I could, hoping Jack would come back, but I don't feel as if it would be right to hold it back any longer. I shall write this evening."

"Better wait till morning, Abel. Who knows but we may hear from Jack before that time?"

"If we'd been going to hear we'd have heard before this," he said.

Just at that moment the door was flung open.

"Why, it's Jack!" exclaimed the baker, amazed.

"I should say it was," returned Jack. "Aunt, have you got anything to eat? I'm 'most famished."

"Where in the name of wonder have you been, Jack?"

"I've been shut up, uncle—boarded and lodged for nothing—by some people who liked my company better than I liked theirs. But I've just made my escape, and here I am, well, hearty and hungry."

Jack's appetite was soon provided for. He found time between the mouthfuls to describe the secret staircase, and his discovery of the unlawful occupation of the man who acted as his jailer.

The baker listened with eager interest.

"Jack," said he, "you've done a good stroke of business."

"In getting away?" said Jack.

"No, in ferreting out these counterfeiters. Do you know there is a reward of a thousand dollars offered for their apprehension?"

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Jack, laying down his knife and fork. "Do you think I can get it?"

"You'd better try. The gang has managed matters so shrewdly that the authorities have been unable to get any clew to their whereabouts. Can you go to the house?"

"Yes; I took particular notice of its location."

"That's lucky. Now, if you take my advice, you'll inform the authorities before they have time to get away."

"I'll do it!" said Jack. "Come along, uncle."

Fifteen minutes later, Jack was imparting his information to the chief of police. It was received with visible interest and excitement.

"I will detail a squad of men to go with you," said the chief. "Go at once. No time is to be lost."

In less than an hour from the time Jack left the haunt of the coiners, an authoritative knock was heard at the door.

It was answered by Foley.

The old man turned pale as he set eyes on Jack and the police, and comprehended the object of the visit.

"What do you want, gentlemen?" he asked.

"Is that the man?" asked the sergeant of Jack.

"Yes."

"Secure him."

"I know him," said Foley, with a glance of hatred directed at Jack. "He's a thief. He's been in my employ, but he's run away with fifty dollars belonging to me."