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

His face grew troubled upon seeing Deb.

"I vas sorry for you," he said, approaching her.

"Sorry for me?" repeated the girl, with a puzzled look. "Why, Mr. Snitzer?"

"Gracious! Didn't you hear?" returned the man, dropping his paper in astonishment.

"Hear what?" faltered Deb.

Mr. Snitzer spoke in German to his wife, who jumped to her feet.

"Nein! nein!" exclaimed the woman, vehemently. "He nefer done dot-nefer in his whole life!"

And then as gently as possible Mrs. Snitzer related how Jack had been accused by Mr. Felix Gray of setting fire to the mansion, and was now languishing in the town jail.

Deb's outburst was dreadful to behold. She threw herself upon the old German woman's breast and sobbed as if her heart would break. Her Jack-her own dear brother, in prison! The only one she had in the wide world taken away from her, and sent to a criminal's cell! It was too horrible to realize.

"How cruel of them to do it!" she moaned. "And he is innocent, too. He was home when the fire broke out;" and she shook her head in despair.

"Of course he didn't do it," said Mr. Snitzer. "All der men say so. Jack vas as steady as anypody. I dink it vas some of der hot-headed men vas guilty."

"So don't cry, my dear girl," added Mrs. Snitzer, sympathetically. "It vill come out all right by der end;" and she took one corner of her clean gingham apron and wiped the tear-stained cheeks.

"Where is the-the jail?" asked Deb presently, in a low voice.

Mr. Snitzer described its location.

"You don't vas going there!" exclaimed the German woman.

"Yes, I am," declared the girl, resolutely, with a sudden, strong look in her beautiful eyes.

"But it vas a terrible bad blace," Mrs. Snitzer ventured to remark.

"I don't care," replied Deb. "I won't mind going where Jack is. I must see if I can't do something for him."

Deb ran up stairs. Her heart was full of fear, and beat wildly.

She exchanged her wrapper for a suitable dress, and arranged her hair. As she was adjusting her hat, there was a knock on the door, and thinking Mrs. Snitzer had come up, she bid the person enter.

"Ah, just in time, I see!" was the exclamation, made in Mr. Hammerby's voice.

Deb's face clouded even more than before.

"Oh, dear, you here?" she ejaculated in vexed tones.

"Yes; on hand, as I always am," replied the agent, removing his hat. "I suppose you are ready with the rent?"

"No, I haven't the money," replied Deb. Somehow it was all she could manage to say.

"Your brother was unable to raise the amount?"

"He hasn't had time to try."

"I'm sorry, but as I said before 'business is business,' and I'll have to serve the notice," and drawing a paper from his pocket, Mr. Hammerby handed it over.

It was a regular notice drawn up in due form, demanding that in three days they quit the place.

Deb read it, but in her excitement did not notice that the avaricious agent had dated it one day back.

"And must we leave in three days?" she faltered.

"Most assuredly-unless you raise the cash."

"But where will we go?" continued the girl hopelessly.

"That's for you to decide," was the answer. Mr. Hammerby had gone through so many "scenes," as he termed them, that the evident suffering of the person he addressed did not affect him.

"But we haven't got anywhere to go," burst out Deb.

"Well, that's not my fault, is it?"

"No, but-"

"Then it's pay or leave," was the cold reply.

"What's up now, Mr. Hammerby?" asked a quiet voice from the hallway.

It was the nephew of the tool manufacturer who had come. His name was Monteray Gray-the Monteray being generally shortened to Mont. He was a young man of twenty, and kept the books for the shipping department of the tool works.

"What, Mr. Gray, is that you?" exclaimed the agent, taken back at the sudden interruption. "Oh, it's only the same old story of no money for the landlord," he added.

Mont looked at Deb. He knew both her and Jack very well.

"I am sorry to hear it," he said, with a pained face.

"It's all because of the shut-down at the factory," explained Deb, who, for a purely womanly reason wanted to set herself right with the young man.

In a few short words she made him acquainted with the situation. Involuntarily Mont's hand went down in his pocket, and then he suddenly remembered that he had no money with him.

"See here, Mr. Hammerby," he said, "you had better take this notice back. There is no doubt that you will get your money."

"Can't do it," replied the agent, with a decided shake of the head.

"But my uncle would never consent to having them put out," persisted the young man.

"Mr. Gray's orders are to give notice to any one who doesn't pay," returned Mr. Hammerby, grimly; "I'm only doing as directed."

"But this is an outrage!" exclaimed Mont. "My uncle virtually owes Mr. Willington twenty odd dollars, and here you intend to put him out for a few dollars rent."