Читать книгу Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy - Horatio Alger Jr., Alger Horatio Jr., Thomas Chandler Haliburton - Страница 9

William Penrose kept on his way to New York, but Bernard and Mr. Stackpole stopped at Albany.

“I have a little business to attend to here,” said Mr. Stackpole, “so if you don’t mind, we’ll stay over here a day.”

“All right, sir; I have no pressing business to hurry me on. I have never been in Albany, and shall be glad to go about and see the city.”

The next morning they took the day boat down the Hudson. The great steamer was a floating palace, and had every accommodation that could be desired.

Just before going aboard Bernard bought from a newsboy a copy of the Albany Argus. He glanced rapidly over the contents of the paper, and his attention was arrested by the account of the mysterious disappearance of a package of government bonds – five thousand dollars – from the banking house of Murdock & Co.

“The loss was not discovered till about the close of business,” said the account. “No one in the office could throw any light upon the matter. Whether it was an employee or an outside party is uncertain. Mr. Murdock remembers seeing the package on a desk, but assuming that the clerk was preparing to put it in the safe, gave no more thought to it till it was found to be missing. Detectives have the matter in charge, and it is hoped that the thief will be captured within twenty-four hours.”

Bernard read the account with languid interest. He knew none of the parties, and had no special reason to dwell on the paragraph.

“Will you allow me to look at your paper?” asked a young man of twenty-five, dressed in showy style, and carrying a small satchel in his hand.

“Certainly, sir,” answered Bernard politely.

“Anything interesting in it?” asked the young man languidly.

“There is an account of the theft of some government bonds from Murdock & Co.”

“Ah, that is a prominent house!”

“I don’t know anything about Albany firms,” said Bernard.

“Then you don’t live in Albany?”

“I never saw the city till yesterday.”

The young man read the paragraph.

“Rather a clever robbery,” he said, in a tone of indifference.

“I think any robbery is foolish,” responded Bernard.

“Yes, of course; that is the proper view to take of it. I suppose you attend Sunday school?”

There was a lurking sneer in the young man’s tone, as Bernard thought.

“I am not connected with a Sunday school at present,” he said.

“I don’t think Sunday school boys are better than any other.”

“They ought to be.”

“True, but we have to consider facts. Won’t you go down-stairs and drink a glass of beer?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, I forgot that you were a Sunday school boy. Well, ta, ta! I’ll see you again.”

There was something peculiar about the young man. Though it was a warm day he wore an ulster, which he never took off. Then he carried round his portmanteau with him all the time.

During the next two or three hours Bernard saw him several times.

There was something else also that drew his attention to the young man. He scanned his fellow passengers attentively, rather as if he was afraid of meeting some objectionable person. He seemed very restless also. He would seldom stay more than fifteen minutes in one spot.

Bernard had asked him his destination, but he evaded a straightforward reply.

“I am going wherever the boat does,” he said, with a smile. “How is it with you?”

“I suppose I shall land in New York.”

“Do you know any one there?”

“Yes, I know Mr. Cornelius McCracken.”

“Never heard of him. Is he an uncle of yours?”

“No, he is my guardian.”

“Your guardian?” repeated the young man, with interest. “Then you have property?”

“I don’t think so. Mr. McCracken says I have none.”

“Then what is the use of a guardian?”

“Not much. Probably he will throw me off.”

“Why?”

“Because I have run away from a school where he placed me.”

“Humph! Why did you do that?”

“I was not well treated. The teacher wanted to whip me.”

“And you objected?” said the young man, laughing.

“Yes.”

“I can’t blame you. I should have acted in the same way probably. Who is that man I have seen with you – he looks like a Yankee.”

“He is an acquaintance I made yesterday.”

“Are you traveling with him?”

“Yes.”

“He has a Western look.”

“I think he has been a miner in Colorado.”

“So. Has he much money, do you think?” Bernard began to think his companion too inquisitive, and he answered shortly, “I don’t know.”

“Hasn’t told you, I suppose. Well, I shouldn’t mind going out West myself and trying mining.”

“What business are you in?” asked Bernard, thinking he had a right to ask questions also.

“I am a traveling man,” answered the young man, after a slight hesitation.

They passed Newburg early in the afternoon. Shortly after reaching this place, as Bernard was sitting on a bench on the upper deck, his friend in the ulster came up to him hurriedly.

“Please take charge of my portmanteau a few minutes,” he said, “if it won’t be too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” replied Bernard politely.

The portmanteau was a small one, and it was hard to conjecture from its appearance what it might contain. Upon this point, however, Bernard was not curious.

“It can’t contain anything very valuable,” he reflected, “or the owner would hardly trust a stranger with it.”

They reached Newburg, and remained some time. Bernard thought of going down to the lower deck, but it occurred to him that the owner of the portmanteau might come back for it and be unable to find him. This was rather embarrassing and he felt sorry that he had been so obliging as to assume charge of property not his own.

As they left Newburg he went to the rear part of the boat, and took a look at the place. He knew from the history he studied in school that Washington had at one time had his headquarters here. If there had been time he would have liked to have gone on shore. But even then he could hardly have done so with the portmanteau in charge.

He fixed his eyes carelessly upon the historic town, not expecting to see anything of special interest.

He was destined to a great surprise. There on the pier stood the young man in the ulster. He could not mistake him. Not alone the ulster, but the scanty yellowish mustache and pallid complexion betrayed him.

“He must have been left behind!” thought Bernard, “and I have his portmanteau!”

He took another look at the young man in the ulster. Certainly be betrayed no signs of having been left against his will. He stood in a careless position with a quiet and composed face, looking at the great steamer as it steadily widened the distance between him and his late companion.

Bernard was very much puzzled.

“He doesn’t seem to care. Does he remember that I have his portmanteau?” he asked himself.

He tried to attract the young man’s attention, but in vain.

“What shall I do?” he asked himself. “I don’t know the name of the man who intrusted me with the valise. I wonder if there is any name on it.”

He examined it, but found nothing to indicate the identity of the owner.

“I must ask Mr. Stackpole what to do,” thought Bernard. “It is certainly a queer position to be in. I may find it necessary to open the portmanteau, and ascertain the contents.”

He looked around the boat in search of Mr. Stackpole; but the steamer was large and quite crowded. Then there were so many divisions to it that somehow he missed seeing his mining friend. There was nothing now to interfere with his going where he liked, as there was no chance of the young man in the ulster looking for him.