A Debt of Honor

“I see, Tip, you are a sharp boy. I haven’t any hard feelings against you. I hope you will grow up a good man.”

Tip shook his head.

“It ain’t likely,” he said. “There ain’t many good boys round here. This ain’t a Sunday-school neighborhood.”

“I am afraid it isn’t,” thought Gerald. “I fear Tip isn’t likely to turn out a good man or a model citizen. He is smart enough, but he isn’t using his smartness in the right way.”

“Where have you been, Gerald?” asked Mr. Brooke, when his secretary returned to the hotel. “You don’t often come back late to lunch.”

“I was unavoidably detained, Mr. Brooke. In other words, I was imprisoned.”

“Is that true?” asked the English tourist in surprise. “Please explain yourself.”

Gerald did so.

“So the papers were taken?”

“Yes, they are gone,” answered Gerald, smiling. “I should like to see Mr. Wentworth when he discovers that he has been duped.”

“He and his agent will both be disappointed. Do you know if he is in the city?”

“I believe he is at the Southern Hotel.”

“Waiting till his agent has secured the papers, I presume?”

“I suppose so.”

“Really, Gerald, this is an excellent joke. I don’t think he will make any further attempt to rob you. We can afford to laugh, but it might have been quite otherwise.”

Meanwhile Mr. Standish made his way slowly towards the Southern Hotel. He was plunged in deep thought. Should he give up the papers to Mr. Wentworth, or should he stand out for a larger sum? He had been promised two hundred dollars, but his principal had repeatedly offered a thousand dollars for them, and he persuaded himself that he ought to receive at least half this amount. He could not quite make up his mind what to do, and was still in a state of indecision when he reached the handsome hotel where Mr. Wentworth was a guest.

He entered the office, and did not have far to look, for Bradley Wentworth was standing at the news counter where he had just purchased a Chicago paper.

“Well?” he said eagerly when he saw Standish enter. “What news?”

“I’ve got the papers,” nodded Standish.

“You have? Give them to me.”

“Wait a minute, Mr. Wentworth. I want to see you alone.”

“Oh, very well! Come up-stairs.”

They boarded the elevator and stopped at the second landing, where Mr. Wentworth led the way to a front room, of which he unlocked the door and bade Standish enter.

“Give me the papers,” he said, “and I will give you a check.”

Samuel Standish made no motion to get the papers. Wentworth eyed him in some surprise.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

Standish cleared his throat.

“You agree to give me two hundred dollars,” he said, “while I find that you have more than once offered the boy a thousand dollars for them.”

“Who told you that?”

“Gerald himself.”

“It is a lie,” said Wentworth harshly. “Do you think I am a fool?”

“No; I think you are a very shrewd man. The papers are worth all that you offered for them?”

“How do you know? How can you judge?” demanded Wentworth hastily.

“I have read them, and the boy explained the circumstances.”

Bradley Wentworth turned red. He saw that his secret was exposed, and that this man knew that he had once been a forger.

“You can’t depend upon what the boy told you,” he said.

“It is confirmed by the letters.”

“You had no right to read the letters. It was a breach of faith.”

“I don’t look at it in that light. I wanted to be sure that they were the papers I was instructed to secure.”

“Very well. I will excuse you. Give me the papers and I will give you two hundred dollars, as I promised.”

“I must have five hundred,” said Standish firmly. “Even then you will save five hundred. If you had bargained with the boy you would have been obliged to give him a thousand.”

Then ensued a wordy wrangle, not necessary to detail. Wentworth, after trying in vain to keep Standish to the original agreement, finally paid him three hundred and fifty dollars, two hundred in bills and one hundred and fifty in a check payable to the order of Samuel Standish. Though he had not secured as much as he desired, Mr. Standish was reasonably satisfied, not for years having had so large a sum in his possession.

Bradley Wentworth was about to examine the papers when a bell-boy came up with a telegram. Wentworth tore it open hastily.

It was an urgent summons to return, as matters of importance demanded his presence at the factory.

He thrust the papers into his pocket.

“I am called home to Seneca,” he said. “I must catch the next train for Chicago, if possible. I will not detain you any longer, as I have no time to give you.”

“All right, Mr. Wentworth! I don’t want to interfere with your plans. My acquaintance with you has been very agreeable, and, as I trust, for our mutual advantage. I hope you may some time have further occasion to employ my services. Good day, sir!”

Bradley Wentworth was already packing his valise, and did not think it necessary to notice his agent’s farewell greeting.

“Three hundred and fifty dollars!” soliloquized Standish. “Did I ever have as much money before? I can’t remember the occasion. Mr. Samuel Standish, you can afford to live comfortably for a time. Did I do well to part with the papers, or should I have stood out for a larger sum? It is hard to tell. They must be worth more to the boy than this, but it is not likely he had money enough to buy them. On the whole, Samuel, you have probably done as well as you could.”

It will be remembered that Mr. Standish had a room at the Lindell. As he entered the hotel he met Gerald in the corridor.