The Mark of Cain

“The detective? Yes; that is I know him by reputation. I never chanced to meet him.”

“He’s the guy, Judge Hoyt. He can find a moiderer by clues what ain’t there! Gee, but he’s a wonder!”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve read about him a heap o’ times. I’ve read up most every case he’s ever had, if it was in the papers. Why,” and Fibsy pulled a newspaper from his pocket. “Here’s a account of a case he’s jest finished – ”

“And here’s the waiter with our steak. Suppose we let Mr. Stone wait.”

“Will we!” and Fibsy’s eyes shone as he saw the platter that was offered for the Judge’s inspection. “Gee! I’ve dreamed of a steak like that, but I never spected to have one soived up to me!”

“And now,” the judge resumed, after the steak had been cut and “soived,” “let us discuss your next position of trust and responsibility. You want to be in New York? But suppose we arrange for your aunt to live in Philadelphia, and then you can keep your place with Mr. Stetson.”

“Mighty nice plan,” Fibsy’s fork paused in mid-air, while he thought, “but, – oh, hang it all, Judge, – I jest love New York! Why, its old torn-up dirty streets are more ’tractive to us, than Philly’s clean, every-day-sloshed-up w’ite marble steps.”

“Ah, a true Gothamite,” and the Judge smiled. “Well, we must try for a place in this metropolis, then.”

“Yes, sir, please. And, too, Judge Hoyt, I gotter be here to keep me eye on that ’ere trial of Mr. Landon.”

“You have that in charge, eh?”

“Now, don’t you make fun o’ me, please. But I got a hunch that I can put in an oar, when the time comes, that’ll help Mr. Landon along some – ”

“What do you mean, Terence? If you know anything of importance bearing on the case, it’s your duty to tell it at once.”

“I know that, sir, but it ain’t of importance, ’cept to somebuddy who can ’tach importance to it. Now, I told you, Judge Hoyt, that I had some – some clues, – an’ sir, you jest laughed at me.”

“Oh, I remember. Some buttons and some mud, wasn’t it?”

“Yes sir, that’s what they was.”

“Well, I confess the mud doesn’t seem of great importance, and as for the button, – was it a coat button, did you say?”

“No, sir, I said a – a suspender button.”

“Oh, yes. Well, the detectives have examined all possible clothing for a missing button of that sort, but without success. It is, of course, a button from some other garment than any of interest to this case.”

“Yes sir, I s’pose so.”

“You see, Terence, all clues have been traced to their last possible degree of usefulness in our investigations.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir. Say, Judge Hoyt, I’m kinder sorry you wasn’t in town that day. If you had a been, you might a kep’ Mr. Trowbridge from goin’ to the woods at all.”

“Maybe so, Terence. We can’t know about those things. Some people hold there’s no such thing as chance; if so, it was ordained that I should be out of town.”

“Yes, sir. Funny, ain’t it? An’ sorter pathetic that Mr. Trowbridge should have your telegram, what you sent from Philly in his pocket.”

“Well, that was only natural, as he must have received it shortly before he went away from his office.”

“An’ he thought a heap of you, sir. Why, jest takin’ that telegram shows that. He wouldn’t a taken a plain business telegram.”

“Probably not. Yes, if I had been here I should doubtless have been at his office most of the day. But even then, if he had expressed a desire to go to the woods, to look for his specimens, I should not have detained him. By the way, Terence, here’s a rather interesting photograph. That day, in Philadelphia, there was a camera man in the station, taking picture postcards of the place. And, purposely, I got in his focus. See the result.”

From his pocket-book, Judge Hoyt took a picture postcard, and handed it to the boy. The great station showed up well, and in the foreground was easily distinguishable the figure of Judge Hoyt, standing in his characteristic attitude, with both hands behind him.

“Say, Judge, that’s fine! My, I’d know you in a minute. Kin I keep this?”

“Wish I could give it to you, but it’s the only copy I have left. I’ll send for some more, if you really care to have one.”

“Sure I do, – I mean, soitenly I do.”

“Well, do all you can to improve that execrable diction of yours, and I’ll get you a card like this one.”

Seeing Fibsy look a little disappointedly at the two demi-tasses that appeared as a final course, Judge Hoyt asked the waiter to bring a cup of breakfast coffee for the lad.

“Oh, thank you,” said the guest, “I sure do like a cup o’ coffee worth botherin’ with. Is that little mite of a cup all you want?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so. I never think about it. It is my habit to take a small cup after luncheon. Some day, Terence, if you’re ambitious, you must brush up on these minor matters of correct custom. However, here’s your large cup, now. Drink it and enjoy it. Cream and sugar, I suppose?”

“Yes sir,” said Fibsy, and he watched the elegance of Judge Hoyt’s movements, as he poured cream and dropped a lump of sugar in the good-sized cup of steaming coffee. “Another?” the judge asked, poising the second lump just above the brim.

“Yes, sir, please, sir. You’re awful good to me, Judge Hoyt, sir.”

“Well, to be honest, Terence, I want to give you a few hints as to your table manners, for you have the instincts of a gentleman, and I’m going to help you to become one, if I can.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Fibsy looked earnestly at the kindly face that smiled at him, and then said, in a burst of determination to do the right thing, “Say, Judge Hoyt, I want to learn to be a gentleman as soon as I can. An’ I’m goin’ to begin right now, by drinkin’ this here little cup o’ coffee, – an’ I’m goin’ to drink it like you did yours, without no sugar or cream!”

Pushing to one side the larger cup, Fibsy took the demi-tasse, which had been left on the table, and with a visible effort swallowed its contents.

“Whew! some bitter!” he exclaimed, making a wry face.

“Good for you, old chap!” and the Judge laughed outright at this act of real heroism. “Now that you’ve proved you can do it, follow it up with the other cup, that you’ll enjoy.”

“No sir – ee! I’ve begun to do the c’rect thing, an’ I’m goin to stick to it!”

“Oh, pshaw, don’t deprive yourself of a little pleasure. That good cup of coffee, fixed just to your taste, will be wasted if you don’t drink it.”

“No, sir, I’m in fer the manners today. Maybe I won’t keep it up, but this is me day fer bein’ a gentleman, let it rain ebber so hard!” With a merry smile in his blue eyes, Fibsy stood his ground, and then in another moment, looked crestfallen and sheepish, as finger bowls were brought.

“That gets my goat!” he confided to his host. “Say, Judge, put me wise.”

“Very well, Terence, simply do as I do.”

Fibsy watched carefully, though unostentatiously, and when the judge had finished, the boy gave a perfect imitation of the man’s correct and graceful motions.

Before the finger-bowls came, the waiter had taken up Fibsy’s large cup of coffee to remove it. But with a longing glance, the boy had said, “Say, can’t I keep that after all, Judge?”

“Certainly,” Judge Hoyt had replied. But now, after the new glory of cleansed finger-tips, again Fibsy renounced the temptation, and said, “Nope, if I’m goin’ to learn to be a swell, I gotter learn to say no.” And without even a backward glance at the coffee, he followed the judge from the dining room.