A Debt of Honor

“Yes.”

“He hasn’t done the fair thing, I must confess. Let anybody secure me an inheritance of three hundred thousand dollars, and I won’t haggle about paying a twenty thousand dollar fee.”

“I am sorry Mr. Wentworth’s sentiments are not as liberal as yours.”

“Exactly so. I would have treated your father a great deal better. Mr. Wentworth is evidently a mean man. Still he is my employer and I must do what I can for him. Still my sympathies are with you.”

“You have played me a mean trick, Mr. Standish.”

“I admit it, but it isn’t my fault. My poverty, and not my will, consents. However, we are losing time. Will you do me the favor of handing me the papers?”

“Do you insist upon it?” asked Gerald in apparent mortification.

“I must, for reasons which you understand,” said Standish, extending his hand for the expected papers.

Gerald unbuttoned his vest, and from an inner pocket drew out the duplicate documents, or rather the copies of the original papers.

Standish took the two letters and ran his eye over them eagerly.

“I am not surprised that Mr. Wentworth wanted these letters,” he said. “They are a confession in so many words that he committed forgery, and hired your father to bear the blame, in consideration of a large sum which he promised to pay when all danger was over and the estate was his.”

“You have stated the matter clearly, Mr. Standish.”

“Your father was badly used.”

“His life was ruined,” said Gerald bitterly, “his life and his prospects, for his employer. Mr. Wentworth’s uncle intended to give him an interest in the business. As it was he died with the conviction that my father was a forger.”

“It’s too bad, it is upon my honor.”

“Then you will return me the papers?”

“I couldn’t do that. I am a poor man, and the money that Wentworth is to give me is of great importance to me. If you could raise five or six hundred dollars, I might afford to return them to you.”

“That will be quite impossible, Mr. Standish.”

“Then I am afraid I must retain the papers. It goes to my heart to do it, I assure you. I am a very tender-hearted man, Gerald, but I am a poor man, and I feel that I must not injure my own interests. I will do what I can for you, however, and I may be able to persuade Mr. Wentworth to give you something. Now I must bid you good morning.”

Samuel Standish opened the door, and prepared to go out.

“In an hour you will be released,” he said. “I shall leave directions with Tip.”

As he went downstairs, Gerald settled back in his chair, trying to resign himself to remaining for another hour in the shabby room.

CHAPTER XXIX

GERALD IS RELEASED

At length the door was opened and Gerald was free to leave his place of confinement.

There was a cunning smile on Tip’s weazened face.

“I say, boss,” he said. “Ain’t you goin’ to give me somethin’ for lettin’ you out?”

Gerald was amused in spite of himself.

“I ought rather to punish you for getting me into such a scrape.”

“’Twasn’t me. ’Twas Uncle Sam that made me do it.”

“I know that, and for that reason I will forgive you. You were paid for luring me in here, and ought to be satisfied with that. So Mr. Standish is your uncle?”

“That is what he says. I couldn’t swear to it.”

“Perhaps he will leave you some money in his will.”

“He ain’t got no money,” said Tip contemptuously. “He’s strapped most of the time. Did you give him any?”

“No.”

“Didn’t he take your pocketbook?”

“No.”

Tip looked puzzled.

“Then what did he want you shut up for?”

“I had some papers that he wanted.”

“Did you give them to him?”

“Yes.”

“War they worth much?”

“He thought they were.”

Tip was silent a moment.

“I wish I’d known that,” he said, after a pause.

“Suppose you had?” inquired Gerald curiously.

“I’d have let you out before he came for five dollars.”

“That is very kind of you, Tip. What would your uncle have done to you?”

“He’d have licked me, but I’d stand a lickin’ any time for five dollars.”