A Cool Million (3 page)

Lawyer
Slemp
was a deacon in the church and a very stern man. Still, one would think that as
a male he would have less against the poor orphan than his women folks. But,
unfortunately, it did not work out this way. Mr.
Slemp
beat Betty regularly and enthusiastically. He had started these beatings when
she first came from the asylum as a little girl, and did not stop them when she
became a splendid woman. He beat her twice a week on her bare behind with his
bare hand.

It is a hard thing to say about a
deacon, but Lawyer
Slemp
got little exercise and he
seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in these bi-weekly workouts. As for
Betty, she soon became inured to his blows and did not mind them as much as the
subtler tortures inflicted on her by Mrs.
Slemp
and
her daughters. Besides, Lawyer
Slemp
, although he was
exceedingly penurious, always gave her a quarter when he had finished beating
her.

It was with this weekly fifty cents
that Betty hoped to
effect
her escape from Ottsville.
She had already obtained part of an outfit, and was on her way home from town
with the first store hat she had ever owned when she met Tom Baxter and his
dog.

The result of this unfortunate
encounter we already know.

When our hero regained
consciousness, he found himself in a ditch alongside the path on which he had
his set-to with Tom Baxter. It had grown quite dark, and he failed to notice
Betty in some bushes on the other side of the path. He thought that she must
have got safely away.

As he walked home his head cleared
and he soon recovered his naturally high spirits. He forgot his unfortunate
encounter with the bully and thought only of his coming departure for New York
City.

He was greeted at the door of his
humble home by his fond parent, who had been waiting anxiously for his return.

“
Lem
,
Lem
,” said Mrs. Pitkin, “where have you been?”

Although our hero was
loth
to lie, he did not want to worry his mother unduly, so
he said, “Mr. Whipple kept me.”

The lad then told her what the
ex-President had said. She was quite happy for her son and willingly signed the
note for thirty dollars. Like all mothers, Mrs. Pitkin was certain that her
child must succeed.

Bright and early the next morning,
Lem
took the note to Mr. Whipple and received thirty
dollars minus twelve per cent interest in advance. He then bought a ticket for
New York at the local depot, and waited there for the arrival of the steam
cars.

Our hero was studying the fleeting
scenery of New England when he heard someone address him.

“Papers,
magazines, all the popular novels!
Something to read,
mister?”

It was the news butcher, a young boy
with an honest, open countenance.

Our hero was eager to talk, so he
spoke to the newsboy.

“I’m not a great one for reading
novels,” he said. “My Aunt Nancy gave my ma one once but I didn’t find much in
it. I like facts and I like to study, though.”

“I
ain’t
much on story reading either,” said the news butcher. “Where are you
goin
’?”

“To New York to make my fortune,”
said
Lem
candidly.

“Well, if you can’t make money in
New York, you can’t make money anywhere.” With this observation he began to
hawk his reading matter farther down the aisle.

Lem
again
took up his study of the fleeting scenery. This time he was interrupted by a
stylishly dressed young man who came forward and accosted him.

“Is this seat engaged?” the stranger
asked.

“Not as I know of?” replied
Lem
with a friendly smile. “Then with your kind permission
I will occupy it,” said the over-dressed stranger.

“Why, of course,” said our hero.

“You are from the country, I
presume,” he continued affably as he sank into the seat alongside our hero.

“Yes, I am. I live near Bennington
in the town of Ottsville. Were you ever there?”

“No. I suppose you are taking a
vacation trip to the big city?”

“Oh, no; I’m leaving home to make my
fortune.”

“That’s nice. I hope you are
successful. By the way, the Mayor of New York is my uncle.”

“My, is that so?” said
Lem
with awe.

“Yes indeed, my name is Wellington
Mape
.”

“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr.
Mape
. I’m
Lemuel
Pitkin.”

“Indeed! An aunt of mine married a
Pitkin. Perhaps we’re related.”

Lem
was
quite elated at the thought that he might be kin to the Mayor of New York without
knowing it. He decided that his new acquaintance must be rich because of his
clothing and his extreme politeness.

“Are you in business, Mr.
Mape
?” he asked.

“Well, ahem!” was that suave
individual’s rejoinder. “I’m afraid I’m rather an idler. My father left me a
cool million, so I don’t feel the need of working.”

“A cool million!” ejaculated
Lem
. “Why, that’s ten times a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Just so,” said Mr.
Mape
, smiling at the lad’s enthusiasm. “That’s an awful
pile of money! I’d be satisfied if I had five thousand right now.”

“I’m afraid that five thousand
wouldn’t last me very long,” said Mr.
Mape
with an
amused smile.

“Gee! Where would anybody get such a
pile of money unless they inherited it?”

“That’s easy,” said the stranger. “Why,
rye made as much in one day in Wall Street.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yes, I do say. You can take my word
for it.”

“I wish I could make some money,”
said
Lem
wistfully, as he thought of the mortgage on
his home.

“A man must have money to make
money. If now, you had some money…”

“I’ve got a little under thirty
dollars,” said
Lem
.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all. I had to give Mr.
Whipple a note to borrow it.”

“If that’s all the money you have,
you’d better take good care of it. I regret to say that despite the efforts of
the Mayor, my uncle, there are still many crooks in New York.” “I intend to be
careful.”

“Then you keep your money in a safe
place?”

“I haven’t hidden it because a
secret pocket is the first place a thief would look. I keep it loose in my
trousers where nobody would think I carried so much money.”

“You are right. I can see that you
are a man of the world.”

“Oh, I can take care of myself, I
guess,” said
Lem
with the confidence of youth.

“That comes of being a Pitkin. I’m
glad to know that we’re related. You must call on me in New York.” “Where do
you live?”

“At the Ritz.
Just ask for Mr. Wellington
Mape’s
suite of rooms.”

“Is it a good place to
liver

“Why, yes. I pay three dollars a day
for my board, and the incidentals carry my expenses up to as high as forty
dollars a week.”

“Gee,” ejaculated
Lem
. “I could never afford it—that is, at first.” And our
hero laughed with the incurable optimism of youth.

“You of course should find a
boarding house where they give you plain but solid fare for a reasonable sum…But
I must bid you good morning, a friend is waiting for me in the next car.”

After the affable Mr. Wellington
Mape
had taken his departure,
Lem
turned again to his vigil at the car window.

The news butcher had changed his
cap. “Apples, bananas, oranges!” he shouted as he came down the aisle with a
basket of fruit on his arm.

Lem
stopped his rapid progress to ask him the price of an orange. It was two cents,
and he decided to buy one to eat with the hard-boiled egg his mother had given
him. But when our hero thrust his hand into his pocket, a wild spasm contracted
his features. He explored further, with growing trepidation, and a sickly
pallor began to spread over his face.

“What’s the matter?” asked Steve,
for that was the train boy’s name.

“I’ve been robbed! My money’s gone!
All the money Mr. Whipple lent me has been stolen!”

“I wonder who did it?” asked Steve.

“I can’t imagine,” answered
Lem
brokenly.

“Did they get much?”

“All I had in the world…A little
less than thirty dollars.”

“Some smart leather must have gotten
it.”

“Leather?” queried our hero, not
understanding the argot of the underworld with which the train boy was
familiar. “Yes, leather—pickpocket. Did anybody talk to you on the train?”

“Only Mr. Wellington
Mape
, a rich young man. He is kin to the Mayor of New York.”

“Who told you that?”

“He did himself.”

“How was he dressed?” asked Steve,
whose suspicions were aroused. (He had been “wire”—scout—
to a
“
leather” when small and knew all about the dodge.) “Did he wear a pale
blue hat?”

“Yes.”

“And looked a great swell?”

“Yes.”

“He got off at the last station and
your dough-re-me went with him.”

“You mean he got my money? Well, I
never. He told me he was worth a cool million and boarded at the Ritz Hotel.”

“That’s the way they all talk—big.
Did you tell him where you kept your money?”

“Yes, I did. But can’t I get it
back?”

“I don’t see how. He got off the
train.”

“I’d like to catch hold of him,”
said
Lem
, who was very angry.

“Oh, he’d hit you with a piece of
lead pipe. But look through your
pockets,
maybe he
left you a dollar.”

Lem
put
his hand into the pocket in which he had carried his money and drew it out as
though he had been bitten. Between his fingers he held a diamond ring.

“What’s that?” asked Steve.

“I don’t know,” said
Lem
with surprise. “I don’t think I ever saw it before.
Yes, by gum, I did. It must have dropped off the crook’s finger when he picked
my pocket. I saw him wearing it.”

“Boy!” exclaimed the train boy. “You’re
sure in luck. Talk about falling in a privy and coming up with a gold watch.
You’re certainly it.
With a double t!”

“What is it worth?” asked
Lem
eagerly.

“Permit me to look at it, my young
friend, perhaps I can tell you,” said a gentleman in a gray derby hat, who was sitting
across the aisle. This stranger had been listening with great curiosity to the
dialogue between our hero and the train boy.

“I am a pawnbroker,” he said. “If
you let me examine the ring, I can surely give you some idea of its value.”

Lem
handed
the article in question to the stranger, who put a magnifying glass into his
eye and looked at it carefully.

“My young friend, that ring is worth
all of fifty dollars,” he announced.

“I’m certainly in luck,” said
Lem
. “The crook only stole twenty-eight dollars and sixty
cents from me. But I’d rather have my money back. I don’t want any of his.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said
the self-styled pawnbroker. “I’ll advance you twenty-eight dollars and sixty
cents against the ring, and agree to give it back for that sum and suitable
interest if the owner should ever call for it.”

“That’s fair enough,” said
Lem
gratefully, and he pocketed the money that the stranger
tendered him.

Our hero paid for the piece of fruit
that he had bought from the train boy and ate it with quiet contentment. In the
meantime, the “pawnbroker” prepared to get off the train. When he had gathered
together his meager luggage, he shook hands with
Lem
and gave him a receipt for the ring.

But no sooner had the stranger left
than a squad of policemen armed with sawed-off shotguns entered and started
down the aisle.
Lem
watched their progress with great
interest. His interest, however, changed to alarm when they stopped at his seat
and one of them caught him roughly by the throat. Handcuffs were then snapped
around his wrists. Weapons pointed at his head.