“Come along, then,” said the officer, taking him by the arm.
“Stop a minute,” said he, hurriedly, finding that matters had come to a crisis. “If I give up what I have, will you let me go?”
“Well, that depends on how much you have.”
“I’ve got twenty dollars.”
Herbert was about to say that this would do, but the policeman shook his head.
“Won’t do,” said he. “Come along.”
After a little haggling, Greenleaf produced forty dollars, which Herbert pocketed, with much satisfaction.
“Now go along, and mind you don’t try any more such games.”
Greenleaf needed no second permission to be gone. He feared that the officer might change his mind, and he might, after all, be consigned to the station house.
“Thank you,” said Herbert, gratefully. “I needed the money badly. I shouldn’t have recovered it but for you.”
“Take better care of it next time,” said the officer, not unkindly. “Take care not to trust a stranger too easily. Better take my advice, and put it in a savings bank.” “I shall be obliged to use most of it,” said Herbert. “What I don’t need, I will put in the bank.”
The recovery of so much of his lost money seemed to Herbert quite a lucky windfall. He went at once to a trunk store, and, for five dollars, purchased a good, durable trunk, which he ordered sent home to his lodgings. Fifteen dollars more he invested in necessary underclothing, and this left him one-half of the money for future use. Besides this he had six dollars, which, in three weeks, he had saved from his wages. With this sum, and the articles he had purchased, he felt quite rich, and returned to the counting-room—this happened during the hour given him for dinner—in unusually good spirits. He had other reasons for encouragement. He was getting accustomed to his duties at the counting-room. Mr. Godfrey always treated him kindly, and had called upon him again that very morning to assist him in translating a French letter, complimenting him, at the same time, upon his scholarship.
“I’ll do my best,” thought Herbert. “‘Try and Trust,’ that’s my motto. I think it will bring me success.”
But even while he spoke, an unforeseen danger menaced him.
After the concert, Tom Stanton took even a greater dislike to his cousin than before. To say that he was in love with Julia Godfrey would be rather ridiculous, considering his youth. Even if he had been older, Tom cared too much about himself to fall in love with another. But Julia had been a belle among the children of her own age at the dancing school, and there was considerable rivalry among the boys—or, I should, perhaps, say young gentlemen—for the honor of her notice. Tom desired it, because it would give him a kind of distinction among his fellows. So, though he was not in love with Julia, he was jealous when she showed favor to anyone else. But this feeling was mild compared with that he experienced when Julia bestowed her notice upon his penniless cousin. That Herbert should be preferred to himself, he thought, not only showed great lack of taste on the part of the young heiress, but was a grievous wrong to himself.