A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy

Jack elbowed his way up the bank steps and into the building. The cashier's window was closed, and behind the glass this notice was pasted up:

"Depositors are hereby notified that owing to the unexpected run upon this bank, no further payments will be made until the more available assets are converted into cash."

The crowd were all talking loudly and excitedly, and Jack tried in vain to obtain definite information concerning the cause for the suspension.

At length, sick at heart, he returned to the sidewalk, where Andy Mosey, the worse for several glasses of liquor, again addressed him.

"Not wan pinny av me two hundred dollars, Jack, me b'y!" he repeated in a heavy voice; "an' they call it a free counthry! Sure it's only free fer rich people to rob the poor!"

"It's rough," replied Jack.

"Old Gray will pay dearly fer it, mark me wurruds!"

"What will you do?"

"Never moind, Jack, me b'y! Thrust Andy Mosey to get square wid the ould villian!"

Jack retraced his steps homeward with slow and unwilling steps. All his bright hopes of the past hour had been dashed to naught. No money meant no start in business, and with a thousand men idle what chances were there of finding employment?

"If I had a few dollars in my pocket I might try some other town," he thought. "But without some money, it's hard lines, sure enough."

Jack would not have felt it so much had he been alone, but with Deb depending upon him, his responsibility seemed more than doubled.

Their home was on the second floor of a large apartment house standing upon one of the side streets of Corney. As Jack ascended the stairs he heard talking in the kitchen.

"Wonder who is here? Visitors of some kind," he thought.

Entering, the young machinist found Mr. Hammerby, the house-agent, in earnest conversation with Deb.

Mr. Hammerby was a short, dapper business man, small in form, and a person of few words.

"Yes, I never allow a rent day to go by," he was saying. "People who hire from me must expect to pay promptly."

"But sometimes people fall ill, and get behind-" began Deb.

"True, but that's not my fault, and I never-ah, here is your brother at last. Good morning, Mr. Willington."

"Good morning, Mr. Hammerby," returned Jack, soberly, and with a sinking heart. "You came for the rent, I suppose."

"Yes, sir, always prompt, you know," replied the agent, rubbing his hands together.

"I told him you had just gone to get the money," put in Deb.

"I-I'm sorry, but I can't pay you today," said Jack, as calmly as he could, but with a worried glance at his sister.

"Oh, Jack, what has happened?" burst out Deb, growing pale.

"The bank has stopped payment."

"And you expected to get your money from that place?" asked Mr. Hammerby.

"Yes, sir."

"Your sister told me you had gone out for it, but did not tell me where."

"Can't you get any money, Jack?" asked Deb, catching his arm.

"Not a cent."

The tears started in the girl's eyes. Here was indeed a blow.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I must have the rent," said Mr. Hammerby, firmly.

"I can't pay it," replied Jack. "If I had the money, nothing would please me more. But I haven't got any pay for the past two weeks' work, and I have but three dollars and a half, and that we must keep for living purposes."

"Humph! When do you propose to pay?"

"In a few days. Just as soon as I get my money from the factory."

"That won't suit me. If I don't have my money by to-night I'll serve you a three-days' notice to quit."

It may seem strange that Mr. Hammerby should be so hard upon his tenants, but the truth was, he understood more of the factory and the bank affairs than was generally known.

He was well aware that it would be a long time before cash could be had at either place.

"But surely you wouldn't turn us out for being behind just this once!" exclaimed Jack. "We have paid promptly for three years."

"I can't make any allowance. It's pay or leave. I might have got more than you pay for these rooms, but I let you have them at a low figure because I thought you would be prompt."

"But Mr. Gray owns this building," put in Deb, eagerly; "surely he will not allow his own workmen, to whom money is due, to be put out."

"He doesn't bother his head about it," returned Mr. Hammerby, with assumed dignity. "He expects me to obey orders, and those orders are to collect or give notice."

"Well, I haven't the money," repeated Jack.

"I'll step in in the morning," went on the agent, "and then it's money or notice. Good day."

And without further words Mr. Hammerby left the apartment. The minute the door was closed Deb burst into tears.

"They will set us into the street!" she sobbed. "Was ever a person so cruel before! Oh, Jack, what shall we do? What shall we do?"

Jack sank into a chair without replying. His mind was busy trying to devise some means of averting the blow that appeared so imminent. Though it cut him to the heart to see his sister so distressed, he could offer her no comforting hope.

"I'm going up to see Mr. Gray," he said, finally, "I'll tell him just how the matter stands. I don't believe if he knew the particulars that he would let Mr. Hammerby put us out."

"If he did he'd be the hardest-hearted man in Corney," declared Deb, between her sobs.

For Jack to think, was to act, and in a few seconds he was ready to depart.