Driven From Home

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  “I will try to be, sir.”

  On Monday morning Carl left Milford, reached New York in two hours and a half and, in accordance with the directions of Mr. Jennings, engaged passage and a stateroom on one of the palatial night lines of Hudson River steamers to Albany. The boat was well filled with passengers, and a few persons were unable to procure staterooms.

  Carl, however, applied in time, and obtained an excellent room. He deposited his gripsack therein, and then took a seat on deck, meaning to enjoy as long as possible the delightful scenery for which the Hudson is celebrated. It was his first long journey, and for this reason Carl enjoyed it all the more. He could not but contrast his present position and prospects with those of a year ago, when, helpless and penniless, he left an unhappy home to make his own way.

  “What a delightful evening!” said a voice at his side.

  Turning, Carl saw sitting by him a young man of about thirty, dressed in somewhat pretentious style and wearing eyeglasses. He was tall and thin, and had sandy side whiskers.

  “Yes, it is a beautiful evening,” replied Carl, politely.

  “And the scenery is quite charming. Have you ever been all the way up the river?”

  “No, but I hope some day to take a day trip.”

  “Just so. I am not sure but I prefer the Rhine, with its romantic castles and vineclad hills.”

  “Have you visited Europe, then?” asked Carl.

  “Oh, yes, several times. I have a passion for traveling. Our family is wealthy, and I have been able to go where I pleased.”

  “That must be very pleasant.”

  “It is. My name is Stuyvesant--one of the old Dutch families.”

  Carl was not so much impressed, perhaps, as he should have been by this announcement, for he knew very little of fashionable life in New York.

  “You don't look like a Dutchman,” he said, smiling.

  “I suppose you expected a figure like a beer keg,” rejoined Stuyvesant, laughing. “Some of my forefathers may have answered that description, but I am not built that way. Are you traveling far?”

  “I may go as far as Chicago.”

  “Is anyone with you?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you have friends in Chicago?”

  “Not that I am aware of. I am traveling on business.”

  “Indeed; you are rather young for a business man.”

  “I am sixteen.”

  “Well, that cannot exactly be called venerable.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “By the way, did you succeed in getting a stateroom?”

  “Yes, I have a very good one.”

  “You're in luck, on my word. I was just too late. The man ahead of me took the last room.”

  “You can get a berth, I suppose.”

  “But that is so common. Really, I should not know how to travel without a stateroom. Have you anyone with you?”

  “No.”

  “If you will take me in I will pay the entire expense.”

  Carl hesitated. He preferred to be alone, but he was of an obliging disposition, and he knew that there were two berths in the stateroom.

  “If it will be an accommodation,” he said, “I will let you occupy the room with me, Mr. Stuyvesant.”

  “Will you, indeed! I shall esteem it a very great favor. Where is your room?”

  “I will show you.”

  Carl led the way to No. 17, followed by his new acquaintance. Mr. Stuyvesant seemed very much pleased, and insisted on paying for the room at once. Carl accepted half the regular charges, and so the bargain was made.

  At ten o'clock the two travelers retired to bed. Carl was tired and went to sleep at once. He slept through the night. When he awoke in the morning the boat was in dock. He heard voices in the cabin, and the noise of the transfer of baggage and freight to the wharf.

  “I have overslept myself,” he said, and jumped up, hurriedly. He looked into the upper berth, but his roommate was gone. Something else was gone, too--his valise, and a wallet which he had carried in the pocket of his trousers.

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  THE LOST BANK BOOK.

  CARL was not long in concluding that he had been robbed by his roommate. It was hard to believe that a Stuyvesant--a representative of one of the old Dutch families of New Amsterdam--should have stooped to such a discreditable act. Carl was sharp enough, however, to doubt the genuineness of Mr. Stuyvesent's claims to aristocratic lineage. Meanwhile he blamed himself for being so easily duped by an artful adventurer.

  To be sure, it was not as bad as it might be. His pocketbook only contained ten dollars in small bills. The balance of his money he had deposited for safe keeping in the inside pocket of his vest. This he had placed under his pillow, and so it had escaped the notice of the thief.

  The satchel contained a supply of shirts, underclothing, etc., and he was sorry to lose it. The articles were not expensive, but it would cost him from a dozen to fifteen dollars to replace them.

  Carl stepped to the door of his stateroom and called a servant who was standing near.

  “How long have we been at the pier?” he asked.

  “About twenty minutes, sir.”

  “Did you see my roommate go out?”

  “A tall young man in a light overcoat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, sir. I saw him.”

  “Did you notice whether he carried a valise in his hand?”

  “A gripsack? Yes, sir.”

  “A small one?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It was mine.”

  “You don't say so, sir! And such a respectable- lookin' gemman, sir.”

  “He may have looked respectable, but he was a thief all the same.”

  “You don't say? Did he take anything else, sir?”

  “He took my pocketbook.”

  “Well, well! He was a rascal, sure! But maybe it dropped on the floor.”

  Carl turned his attention to the carpet, but saw nothing of the lost pocketbook. He did find, however, a small book in a brown cover, which Stuyvesant had probably dropped. Picking it up, he discovered that it was a bank book on the Sixpenny Savings Bank of Albany, standing in the name of Rachel Norris, and numbered 17,310.

  “This is stolen property, too,” thought Carl. “I wonder if there is much in it.”

  Opening the book he saw that there were three entries, as follows: 1883. Jan. 23. Five hundred dollars. “ June 10. Two hundred dollars. `` Oct. 21. One hundred dollars.

  There was besides this interest credited to the amount of seventy-five dollars. The deposits, therefore, made a grand total of $875.

  No doubt Mr. Stuyvesant had stolen this book, but had not as yet found an opportunity of utilizing it.

  ``What's dat?” asked the colored servant.

  “A savings bank book. My roommate must have dropped it. It appears to belong to a lady named Rachel Norris. I wish I could get it to her.”

  “Is she an Albany lady, sir?”

  “I don't know.”

  “You might look in the directory.”

  “So I will. It is a good idea.”

  “I hope the gemman didn't take all your money, sir.”

  “No; he didn't even take half of it. I only wish I had been awake when the boat got to the dock.”

  “I would have called you, sir, if you had asked me.”

  “I am not much used to traveling. I shall know better next time what to do.”

  The finding of the bank book partially consoled Carl for the loss of his pocketbook and gripsack. He was glad to be able to defeat Stuyvesant in one of his nefarious schemes, and to be the instrument of returning Miss Norris her savings bank book.

  When he left the boat he walked along till he reached a modest-looking hotel, where he thought the charges would be reasonable. He entered, and, going to the desk, asked if he could have a room.

  “Large or small?” inquired the clerk.

  “Small.”

  “No. 67. Wil
l you go up now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any baggage?”

  “No; I had it stolen on the boat.”

  The clerk looked a little suspicious.

  “We must require pay in advance, then,” he said.

  “Certainly,” answered Carl, pulling out a roll of bills. I suppose you make special terms to commercial travelers?''

  “Are you a drummer?”

  “Yes. I represent Henry Jennings, of Milford, New York.”

  “All right, sir. Our usual rates are two dollars a day. To you they will be a dollar and a quarter.”

  “Very well; I will pay you for two days. Is breakfast ready?”

  “It is on the table, sir.”

  “Then I will go in at once. I will go to my room afterwards.”

  In spite of his loss, Carl had a hearty appetite, and did justice to the comfortable breakfast provided. He bought a morning paper, and ran his eye over the advertising columns. He had never before read an Albany paper, and wished to get an idea of the city in its business aspect. It occurred to him that there might be an advertisement of the lost bank book. But no such notice met his eyes.

  He went up to his room, which was small and plainly furnished, but looked comfortable. Going down again to the office, he looked into the Albany directory to see if he could find the name of Rachel Norris.

  There was a Rebecca Norris, who was put down as a dressmaker, but that was as near as he came to Rachel Norris.

  Then he set himself to looking over the other members of the Norris family. Finally he picked out Norris & Wade, furnishing goods, and decided to call at the store and inquire if they knew any lady named Rachel Norris. The prospect of gaining information in this way did not seem very promising, but no other course presented itself, and Carl determined to follow up the clew, slight as it was.

  Though unacquainted with Albany streets, he had little difficulty in finding the store of Norris & Wade. It was an establishment of good size, well supplied with attractive goods. A clerk came forward to wait upon Carl.

  “What can I show you?” he asked.

  “You may show me Mr. Norris, if you please,” responded Carl, with a smile.

  “He is in the office,” said the clerk, with an answering smile.

  Carl entered the office and saw Mr. Norris, a man of middle age, partially bald, with a genial, business-like manner.

  “Well, young man?” he said, looking at Carl inquiringly.

  “You must excuse me for troubling you, sir,” said Carl, who was afraid Mr. Norris would laugh at him, “but I thought you might direct me to Rachel Norris.”

  Mr. Norris looked surprised.

  “What do you want of Rachel Norris?” he asked, abruptly.

  “I have a little business with her,” answered Carl.

  “Of what nature?”

  “Excuse me, but I don't care to mention it at present.”

  “Humph! you are very cautious for a young man, or rather boy.”

  “Isn't that a good trait, sir?”

  “Good, but unusual. Are you a schoolboy?”

  “No, sir; I am a drummer.”

  Mr. Norris put on a pair of glasses and scrutinized Carl more closely.

  “I should like to see--just out of curiosity --the man that you travel for,” he said.

  “I will ask him to call whenever he visits Albany. There is his card.”

  Mr. Norris took it.

  “Why, bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “It is Henry Jennings, an old schoolmate of mine.”

  “And a good business man, even if he has sent out such a young drummer.”

  “I should say so. There must be something in you, or he wouldn't have trusted you. How is Jennings?”

  “He is well, sir--well and prosperous.”

  “That is good news. Are you in his employ?”

  “Yes, sir. This is the first time I have traveled for him.”

  “How far are you going?”

  “As far as Chicago.”

  “I don't see what you can have to do with Rachel Norris. However, I don't mind telling you that she is my aunt, and--well, upon my soul! Here she is now.”

  And he ran hastily to greet a tall, thin lady, wearing a black shawl, who at that moment entered the office.

  CHAPTER XXX.

  AN ECCENTRIC WOMAN.

  MISS NORRIS dropped into a chair as if she were fatigued.

  “Well, Aunt Rachel, how are you feeling this morning?” asked her nephew.

  “Out of sorts,” was the laconic reply.

  “I am very sorry for that. I suppose there is reason for it.”

  “Yes; I've been robbed.”

  “Indeed!” said Mr. Norris. “Lost your purse? I wonder more ladies are not robbed, carrying their money as carelessly as they do.”

  “That isn't it. I am always careful, as careful as any man.”

  “Still you got robbed.”

  “Yes, but of a bank book.”

  Here Carl became attentive. It was clear that he would not have to look any farther for the owner of the book he had found in his stateroom.

  “What kind of a bank book?” inquired Mr Norris.

  “I had nearly a thousand dollars deposited in the Sixpenny Savings Bank. I called at the bank to make some inquiries about interest, and when I came out I presume some rascal followed me and stole the book----”

  “Have you any idea who took it?”

  “I got into the horse cars, near the bank; next to me sat a young man in a light overcoat. There was no one on the other side of me. I think he must have taken it.”

  “That was Stuyvesant,” said Carl to himself.

  “When did this happen, Aunt Rachel?”

  “Three days since.”

  “Why didn't you do something about it before?”

  “I did. I advertised a reward of twenty- five dollars to anyone who would restore it to me.”

  “There was no occasion for that. By giving notice at the bank, they would give you a new book after a time.”

  “I preferred to recover the old one. Besides, I thought I would like to know what became of it.”

  “I can tell you, Miss Norris,” said Carl, who thought it time to speak.

  Hitherto Miss Norris had not seemed aware of Carl's presence. She turned abruptly and surveyed him through her glasses.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  This might seem rude, but it was only Miss Rachel's way.

  “My name is Carl Crawford.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No, Miss Norris, but I hope you will.”

  “Humph! that depends. You say you know what became of my bank book?”

  “Yes, Miss Norris.”

  “Well?”

  “It was taken by the young man who sat next to you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He robbed me last night on the way from New York in a Hudson River steamboat.”

  “That doesn't prove that he robbed me. I was robbed here in this city.”

  “What do you say to this?” asked Carl, displaying the bank book.

  “Bless me! That is my book. Where did you get it?”

  Carl told his story briefly, how, on discovering that he had been robbed, he explored the stateroom and found the bank book.

  “Well, well, I am astonished! And how did you know Mr. Norris was my nephew?”

  “I didn't know. I didn't know anything about him or you, but finding his name in the directory, I came here to ask if he knew any such person.”

  “You are a smart boy, and a good, honest one,” said Miss Norris. “You have earned the reward, and shall have it.”

  “I don't want any reward, Miss Norris,” rejoined Carl. “I have had very little trouble in finding you.”

  “That is of no consequence. I offered the reward, and Rachel Norris is a woman of her word.”

  She thrust her hand into her pocket, and drew out a wallet, more suitable to a man's use. Openings this, she took out thre
e bills, two tens and a five, and extended them toward Carl.

  “I don't think I ought to take this money, Miss Norris,” said Carl, reluctantly.

  “Did that rascal rob you, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of how much?”

  “Ten dollars in money and some underclothing.”

  “Very well! This money will go toward making up your loss. You are not rich, I take it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I am, and can afford to give you this money. There, take it.”

  “Thank you, Miss Norris.”

  “I want to ask one favor of you. If you ever come across that young man in the light overcoat, have him arrested, and let me know.”

  “I will, Miss Norris.”

  “Do you live in Albany?”

  Carl explained that he was traveling on business, and should leave the next day if he could get through.

  “How far are you going?”

  “To Chicago.”

  “Can you attend to some business for me there?”

  “Yes, if it won't take too long a time.”

  “Good! Come round to my house to supper at six o'clock, and I will tell you about it. Henry, write my address on a piece of paper, and give it to this young man.”

  Henry Norris smiled, and did as his aunt requested.

  “You have considerable confidence in this young man?” he said.

  “I have.”

  “You may be mistaken.”

  “Rachel Norris is not often mistaken.”

  “I will accept your invitation with pleasure, Miss Norris,” said Carl, bowing politely. “Now, as I have some business to attend to, I will bid you both good-morning.”

  As Carl went out, Miss Norris said: “Henry, that is a remarkable boy.”

  “I think favorably of him myself. He is in the employ of an old schoolmate of mine, Henry Jennings, of Milford. By the way, what business are you going to put into his hands?”

  “A young man who has a shoe store on State Street has asked me for a loan of two thousand dollars to extend his business. His name is John French, and his mother was an old schoolmate of mine, though some years younger. Now I know nothing of him. If he is a sober, steady, industrious young man, I may comply with his request. This boy will investigate and report to me.”