Driven from Home: Carl Crawford's Experience

An unwelcome guest.

When Julius Gibbon saw the door open and Philip Stark enter the room where he was smoking his noon cigar, his heart quickened its pulsations and he turned pale.

“How are you, old friend?” said Stark, boisterously.  “Funny, isn’t it, that I should run across your nephew?”

“Very strange!” ejaculated Gibbon, looking the reverse of joyous.

“It’s a happy meeting, isn’t it?  We used to see a good deal of each other,” and he laughed in a way that Gibbon was far from enjoying.  “Now, I’ve come over to have a good, long chat with you.  Leonard, I think we won’t keep you, as you wouldn’t be interested in our talk about old times.”

“Yes, Leonard, you may leave us,” added his uncle.

Leonard’s curiosity was excited, and he would have been glad to remain, but as there was no help for it, he went out.

When they were alone, Stark drew up his chair close, and laid his hand familiarly on the bookkeeper’s knee.

“I say, Gibbon, do you remember where we last met?”

Gibbon shuddered slightly.

“Yes,” he answered, feebly.

“It was at Joliet—­Joliet Penitentiary.  Your time expired before mine.  I envied you the six months’ advantage you had of me.  When I came out I searched for you everywhere, but heard nothing.”

“How did you know I was here?” asked the bookkeeper.

“I didn’t know.  I had no suspicion of it.  Nor did I dream that Leonard, who was able to do me a little service, was your nephew.  I say, he’s a chip of the old block, Gibbon,” and Stark laughed as if he enjoyed it.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was lying in a field, overcome by liquor, an old weakness of mine, you know, and my wallet had slipped out of my pocket.  I chanced to open my eyes, when I saw it in the hands of your promising nephew, ha! ha!”

“He told me that.”

“But he didn’t tell you that he was on the point of appropriating a part of the contents?  I warrant you he didn’t tell you that.”

“Did he acknowledge it?  Perhaps you misjudged him.”

“He didn’t acknowledge it in so many words, but I knew it by his change of color and confusion.  Oh, I didn’t lay it up against him.  We are very good friends.  He comes honestly by it.”

Gibbon looked very much annoyed, but there were reasons why he did not care to express his chagrin.

“On my honor, it was an immense surprise to me,” proceeded Stark, “when I learned that my old friend Gibbon was a resident of Milford.”

“I wish you had never found it out,” thought Gibbon, biting his lip.

“No sooner did I hear it than I posted off at once to call on you.”

“So I see.”

Stark elevated his eyebrows, and looked amused.  He saw that he was not a welcome visitor, but for that he cared little.

“Haven’t you got on, though?  Here I find you the trusted bookkeeper of an important business firm.  Did you bring recommendations from your last place?” and he burst into a loud guffaw.

“I wish you wouldn’t make such references,” snapped Gibbon.  “They can do no good, and might do harm.”

“Don’t be angry, my dear boy.  I rejoice at your good fortune.  Wish I was equally well fixed.  You don’t ask how I am getting on.”

“I hope you are prosperous,” said Gibbon, coldly.

“I might be more so.  Is there a place vacant in your office?”

“No.”

“And if there were, you might not recommend me, eh?”

“There is no need to speak of that.  There is no vacancy.”

“Upon my word, I wish there were, as I am getting to the end of my tether.  I may have money enough to last me four weeks longer, but no more.”

“I don’t see how I can help you,” said Gibbon.

“How much salary does Mr. Jennings pay you?”

“A hundred dollars a month,” answered the bookkeeper, reluctantly.

“Not bad, in a cheap place like this.”

“It takes all I make to pay expenses.”

“I remember—­you have a wife.  I have no such incumbrance.”

“There is one question I would like to ask you,” said the bookkeeper.

“Fire away, dear boy.  Have you an extra cigar?”

“Here is one.”

“Thanks.  Now I shall be comfortable.  Go ahead with your question.”

“What brought you to Milford?  You didn’t know of my being here, you say.”

“Neither did I. I came on my old business.”

“What?”

“I heard there was a rich manufacturer here—­I allude to your respected employer.  I thought I might manage to open his safe some dark night.”

“No, no,” protested Gibbon in alarm.  “Don’t think of it.”

“Why not?” asked Stark, coolly.

“Because,” answered Gibbon, in some agitation, “I might be suspected.”

“Well, perhaps you might; but I have got to look out for number one.  How do you expect me to live?”

“Go somewhere else.  There are plenty of other men as rich, and richer, where you would not be compromising an old friend.”

“It’s because I have an old friend in the office that I have thought this would be my best opening.”

“Surely, man, you don’t expect me to betray my employer, and join with you in robbing him?”

“That’s just what I do expect.  Don’t tell me you have grown virtuous, Gibbon.  The tiger doesn’t lose his spots or the leopard his stripes.  I tell you there’s a fine chance for us both.  I’ll divide with you, if you’ll help me.”

“But I’ve gone out of the business,” protested Gibbon.

“I haven’t.  Come, old boy, I can’t let any sentimental scruples interfere with so good a stroke of business.”

“I won’t help you!” said Gibbon, angrily.  “You only want to get me into trouble.”

“You won’t help me?” said Stark, with slow deliberation.

“No, I can’t honorably.  Can’t you let me alone?”

“Sorry to say, I can’t.  If I was rich, I might; but as it is, it is quite necessary for me to raise some money somewhere.  By all accounts, Jennings is rich, and can spare a small part of his accumulations for a good fellow that’s out of luck.”

“You’d better give up the idea.  It’s quite impossible.”

“Is it?” asked Stark, with a wicked look.  “Then do you know what I will do?”

“What will you do?” asked Gibbon, nervously.

“I will call on your employer, and tell him what I know of you.”

“You wouldn’t do that?” said the bookkeeper, much agitated.

“Why not?  You turn your back upon an old friend.  You bask in prosperity, and turn from him in his poverty.  It’s the way of the world, no doubt; but Phil Stark generally gets even with those who don’t treat him well.”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” said Gibbon, desperately.

“Tell me first whether your safe contains much of value.”

“We keep a line of deposit with the Milford Bank.”

“Do you mean to say that nothing of value is left in the safe overnight?” asked Stark, disappointed.

“There is a box of government bonds usually kept there,” the bookkeeper admitted, reluctantly.

“Ah, that’s good!” returned Stark, rubbing his hands.  “Do you know how much they amount to?”

“I think there are about four thousand dollars.”

“Good!  We must have those bonds, Gibbon.”