CHAPTER XI.
IMPRISONED AT THE FENCE.
"This is a fine beginning to a city career--short but brilliant," saidyoung Randolph to himself, bitterly, as he mused upon his deplorablesituation.
"Fool that I was! It's all plain enough to me now," he continued, aftera half hour's deep thought, in which he traced back, step by step, hisexperiences since landing in the big city. "I ought to have recognizedhim at once--the villain! He is the very fellow I saw across the streetwith his pal, as I left the bank. I thought he looked familiar, butI've seen so many people in this great town that I'm not surprised at mymiss. Mighty bad miss, though; one that has placed me in a box trap, andunder ground at that."
Herbert was right in his conclusions. The fellow who had so cleverlyplayed the confidence game upon him was the same one who awaited hisappearance in Wall Street, and afterwards shadowed him up Broadway.
"This must all be the work of that young villain Mortimer," continuedHerbert, still reasoning on the subject. "I ought to have been sharper;Bob told me to look out for him. If I had had any sense, I could haveseen that he meant to be revenged upon me. I knew it, and yet I didn'twant to admit, even to myself, that I was at all uneasy. He must havebeen the same one that pointed me out to this confidence fellow on WallStreet. He was probably made up with false side whiskers and mustache,so that I wouldn't recognize him.
"Well," said he, starting up suddenly from his reverie, "how is all thisreasoning about how I came to get into this trap going to help me to getout of it? That is what I want to know;" and he commenced exploring hisdark, damp cell, in search of some clew that would aid him in solvingthe problem.
He was not alarmed about his personal safety. Up to this time, happily,no such thought had entered his mind. He sanguinely looked upon hisimprisonment as merely temporary.
In this opinion, however, he erred greatly. The same rural credulitythat made him the victim of Peter Smartweed, now led him to supposethat the unscrupulous rascals who held him a prisoner would soon releasehim. He looked upon the matter as simply one of revenge on the part ofMortimer. He little realized his true situation, and did not even dreamof the actual significance of his imprisonment. He therefore felt asense of genuine consolation when he thought of the well deserved blowhe had delivered upon his enemy's jaw; and several times, as he prowledaround the cell, he laughed heartily, thinking of Mortimer's ridiculousappearance as he lay stretched upon the floor.
Herbert Randolph was full of human nature, and human nature of the bestsort--warm blooded, natural, sensible. There was nothing pale andattenuated about him. He was full of spirits, was manly, kind andgenerous, and yet he could appreciate heartily a point honorably gainedon the enemy. Thus instead of giving himself up to despair and grief, hetried to derive all the comfort possible out of his situation.
His cell was dark as night. He could not see his own hands, and thedampness and musty odor, often noticeable in old cellars, added much tohis discomfort. He found that the cell was made of strong three inchslats, securely bolted to thick timbers. These strips, or slats, wereabout three inches apart. The door was made in the same manner, and wasfastened with a padlock. Altogether his cell was more like a cage thananything else; however, it seemed designed to hold him securely againstall efforts to escape from his captors.
The door, as previously stated, was fastened by a padlock. Herbertlearned this by putting his hands through the slats, and carefully goingover every part of the fastening arrangement.
This discovery gave him slight hopes. The lock he judged to be one ofthe ordinary cheap ones such as his father always used on his cornhouseand barn doors. Now he had on several occasions opened these locks bymeans of a stiff wire, properly bent. Therefore, should this lock proveto be one of the same kind, and should fortune place within his reach asuitable piece of wire, or even a nail of the right sort, he felt thathe could make good his escape from this cell.
"But should I succeed in this," he very prudently reasoned, "would I beany better off? That heavy trap door is undoubtedly fastened down, and,so far as I know, that is the only means of exit; but---- What is that?"he suddenly said to himself, as he felt the cold shivers creep over him.
The sound continues. It seems like rasping or grating. Louder and moredistinct it grows, as Herbert's imagination becomes more active.
Every sound to one in his situation, in that dark, lonesome cellar,could easily be interpreted to mean many forms of danger to him. But atlength he reasons, from the irregular rasping, and from other slightevidences, that this noise is the gnawing of hungry rats.
What a frightful and alarming discovery this is to him! It strikesterror to his brave young heart, and makes cold beads of perspirationstand out upon his brow. And as these silent drops--the evidence ofsuffering--trickle down his face one by one, chilly and dispiriting, hegrows sick to the very core.
Alone in a dark, damp cellar, with no means of defense--not even astick, a knife, or any sort of implement to protect himself from thehordes of rats that now surround him.
This indeed is a night of terror to our young hero. He does not dare tothrow himself upon the bench, lest he should sleep, and, sleeping, beattacked by these dreadful rats.
Accordingly, he commenced walking back and forth in his cell, as a cagedtiger walks hour after hour from one end to the other of his narrowconfines.
"This will keep me awake," said he to himself, with an attempt to rousehis spirits; "and it will also keep the rats away."
After he had paced thus for a time, he heard steps above him, andinstantly he called out for aid. He called again and again, but theinhuman ear of old Gunwagner was deaf to his imploring cries.
The sound of footsteps was soon lost, and all was still save the gnawingof the rats. Herbert listened quietly for a time, to study theirmovements. Soon he heard them scampering about in all parts of thecellar. From the noise they made he judged them to be very large;and they were certainly bold, for now they were running about incontemptuous disregard of young Randolph's presence. Occasionally hewould yell at them, and kick vigorously upon the framework of his cell.By this means he kept them at a somewhat respectful distance.
And now his mind reverted again to the cause of his imprisonment. As thelong, weary hours dragged by, he studied the matter with the utmostcare, giving painstaking thought to the slightest details and the mosttrivial acts. His points were, consequently, well made. They werereasonable, logical, probable. The scheme broadened as he progressed.What he had supposed to be a mere matter of revenge now loomed upclearly and distinctly before him as a bold plot against himself--apiece of outrageous villainy that fairly appalled him.
He saw Felix Mortimer in his place in the bank; saw himself looked uponby Mr. Goldwin with suspicion and disgust. And this feeling, he knew,would extend to his daughter--bright, winsome Ray.
It was odd that Herbert should think of her in this connection, whilein such mental agony. He had seen her but once, and then only for aminute. True, she was wonderfully pretty, and her manner was irresistiblyattractive, but young Randolph was of a serious turn of mind. No, he wasnot one to become infatuated with any girl, however charming; he neverhad been, and, to use his own language, he did not propose to become so.But he could not help thinking of Ray in connection with this matter. Herecalled how her sunny presence lighted up the bank that very afternoon,and in imagination he saw her bright, mischievous blue eyes, brimful offun and merriment, as he handed her into her carriage.
"She did look sweet, confounded if she didn't," said Herbert to himself,forgetting for the time his sorrow; "sweet and pretty as a peach, andher cheeks had the same rich, delicate tint. Her hair---- Great Scott!"ejaculated young Randolph, suddenly awaking to what he had been saying."Another evidence of my being a fool. I'd better have stayed on thefarm," he continued, more or less severely.
YOUNG RANDOLPH AT LAST FALLS ASLEEP EXHAUSTED.]
"Well, I'm a prisoner," he said, sadly, after a thoughtful pause. "Itdoesn't matter much what I think o
r say. But, somehow or other, I wish Ihad never seen her," he continued, meditatively. "Now she will think ofme only with contempt, just as her father will. Of course she will; itwould be only natural."
Exhausted, weary, and even overburdened with oppressive thought, hesat down on the wooden bench in his cell. The rats still gnawed andfrolicked, and prowled at will. Herbert listened to them for a moment;then he thought of his dear mother and father, of his home, his owncomfortable bed.
A stray tear now stole down his cheeks, and then another. The poor boywas overcome, and he gave way to a sudden outburst of grief. Then herested his head in his hand, and tried to think again. But his mind waswearied to exhaustion.
"My mother, my mother and father! Oh, how I wish I could see them! Whatwould they do if they only knew where I am?"
He paused after this utterance; and now his thoughts suddenly ceasedtheir weary wanderings. All was quiet, and the long measured breathinggave evidence that our young hero slept.
Boy Broker; Or, Among the Kings of Wall Street Page 14
