Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience, Jr. Horatio Alger [websites to read books for free .txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“Is this true?” asked the Englishman, in amazement.
“Quite true. He is wearing one of my neckties at this moment.”
“The confounded cad!” ejaculated the Englishman, angrily. “I suppose he intended to rob me.”
“I have no doubt of it. That is why I ventured to put you on your guard.”
“I am a thousand times obliged to you. Why, the fellow told me he belonged to one of the best families in New York.”
“If he does, he doesn’t do much credit to the family.”
“Quite true! Why, he was praising everything English. He evidently wanted to gain my confidence.”
“May I ask where you met him?” asked Carl.
“On the train. He offered me a light. Before I knew it, he was chatting familiarly with me. But his game is spoiled. I will let him know that I see through him and his designs.” “Then my object is accomplished,” said Carl. “Please excuse my want of ceremony.” He turned to leave, but Bedford called him back.
“If you are going to the falls, remain with me,” he said. “We shall enjoy it better in company.”
“With pleasure. Let me introduce myself as Carl Crawford. I am traveling on business and don’t belong to one of the first families.”
“I see you will suit me,” said the Englishman, smiling.
Just then up came Stuyvesant, panting and breathless. “My lord,” he said, “I lost sight of you. If you will allow me I will join you.
“Sir!” said the Englishman, in a freezing voice, “I have not the honor of knowing you.”
Stuyvesant was overwhelmed.
“I—I hope I have not offended you, my lord,” he said.
“Sir, I have learned your character from this young man.”
This called the attention of Stuyvesant to Carl. He flushed as he recognized him.
“Mr. Stuyvesant,” said Carl, “I must trouble you to return the valise you took from my stateroom, and the pocketbook which you borrowed. My name is Carl Crawford, and my room is 71.”
Stuyvesant turned away abruptly. He left the valise at the desk, but Carl never recovered his money.
CHAPTER XXXV. WHAT CARL LEARNED IN CHICAGO.
As Carl walked back from the falls he met Mr. Atwood, who was surprised to find his young acquaintance on such intimate terms with Lord Bedford. He was about to pass with a bow, when Carl, who was good-natured, said: “Won’t you join us, Mr. Atwood? If Lord Bedford will permit, I should like to introduce you.”
“Glad to know any friend of yours, Mr. Crawford,” said the Englishman, affably.
“I feel honored by the introduction,” said Atwood, bowing profoundly.
“I hope you are not a friend of Mr.—ah, Mr. Stuyvesant,” said the nobleman, “the person I was talking with this morning. Mr. Crawford tells me he is a—what do you call it?—a confidence man.”
“I have no acquaintance with him, my lord. I saw him just now leaving the hotel.”
“I am afraid he has gone away with my valise and money,” said Carl.
“If you should be inconvenienced, Mr. Crawford,” said the nobleman, “my purse is at your disposal.”
“Thank you very much, Lord Bedford,” said Carl, gratefully. “I am glad to say I am still fairly well provided with money.”
“I was about to make you the same offer, Mr. Crawford,” said Atwood.
“Thank you! I appreciate your kindness, even if I’m not obliged to avail myself of it.”
Returning to the hotel, Lord Bedford ordered a carriage, and invited Atwood and Carl to accompany him on a drive. Mr. Atwood was in an ecstasy, and anticipated with proud satisfaction telling his family of his intimate friend, Lord Bedford, of England. The peer, though rather an ordinary-looking man, seemed to him a model of aristocratic beauty. It was a weakness on the part of Mr. Atwood, but an amiable one, and is shared by many who live under republican institutions.
After dinner Carl felt obliged to resume his journey. He had found his visit to Niagara very agreeable, but his was a business and not a pleasure trip, and loyalty to his employer required him to cut it short. Lord Bedford shook his hand heartily at parting.
“I hope we shall meet again, Mr. Crawford,” he said. “I expect, myself, to reach Chicago on Saturday, and shall be glad to have you call on me at the Palmer House.”
“Thank you, my lord; I will certainly inquire for you there.”
“He is a very good fellow, even if he is a lord,” thought Carl.
Our young hero was a thorough American, and was disposed to think with Robert Burns, that
“The rank is but the guinea, stamp; The man’s the gold for a’ that!”No incident worth recording befell Carl on his trip to Chicago. As a salesman he met with excellent success, and surprised Mr. Jennings by the size of his orders. He was led, on reaching Chicago, to register at the Sherman House, on Clark Street, one of the most reliable among the many houses for travelers offered by the great Western metropolis.
On the second day he made it a point to find out the store of John French, hoping to acquire the information desired by Miss Norris.
It was a store of good size, and apparently well stocked. Feeling the need of new footgear, Carl entered and asked to be shown some shoes. He was waited upon by a young clerk named Gray, with whom he struck up a pleasant acquaintance.
“Do you live in Chicago?” asked Gray? sociably.
“No; I am from New York State. I am here on business.”
“Staying at a hotel?”
“Yes, at the Sherman. If you are at leisure this evening I shall be glad to have you call on me. I am a stranger here, and likely to find the time hang heavy on my hands.”
“I shall be free at six o’clock.”
“Then come to supper with me.”
“Thank you, I shall be glad to do so,” answered Gray, with alacrity. Living as he did at a cheap boarding
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