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Luke Walton, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 32. Harold And Felicie Make An Arrangement |
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_ CHAPTER XXXII. HAROLD AND FELICIE MAKE AN ARRANGEMENT "You have found out who took the money?" stammered Harold. "Yes." "I didn't think it would be found out so soon," said Harold, trying to recover his equanimity. "Of course it was taken by Luke Walton." "You are quite mistaken," said Felicie. "Luke Walton did not take it." Harold's heart gave another thump. He scented danger, but remained silent. "You don't ask me who took the money?" said Felicie, after a pause. "Because I don't believe you know," returned Harold, "You've probably got some suspicion?" "I have more than that. The person who took the money was seen at his work." Harold turned pale. "There is no use in mincing matters," continued Felicie. "You took the money." "What do you mean by such impertinence?" gasped Harold. "It is no impertinence. If you doubt my knowledge, I'll tell you the particulars. You opened the drawer with one of a bunch of keys which you took from your pocket, took out a morocco pocketbook, opened it and counted the roll of bills which it contained, then put the pocketbook into your pocket, locked the drawer and left the room." "That's a fine story," said Harold, forcing himself to speak. "I dare say all this happened, only you were the one who opened the drawer." "I saw it all through a crack in the half-open door," continued Felicie, not taking the trouble to answer his accusation. "If you want further proof, suppose you feel in your pocket. I presume the pocketbook is there at this moment." Instinctively Harold put his hand into his pocket, then suddenly withdrew it, as if his fingers were burned, for the pocketbook was there as Felicie had said. "There is one thing more," said Felicie, as she drew from her pocket a bunch of keys. "I found this bunch of keys in your room this morning." "They are not mine," answered Harold, hastily. "I don't know anything about that. They are the ones you had in your hand when you opened the drawer. I think this is the key you used." "The keys belong to you!" asserted Harold, desperately. "Thank you for giving them to me, but I shall have no use for them," said Felicie, coolly. "And now, Master Harold, do you want to know why I have told you this little story?" "Yes," answered Harold, feebly. "Because I think it will be for our mutual advantage to come to an understanding. I don't want to inform your aunt of what I have seen unless you compel me to do so." "How should I compel you to do so?" stammered Harold, uneasily. "Step into the parlor, where we can talk comfortably. Your aunt is upstairs, and your mother is out, so that no one will hear us." Harold felt that he was in the power of the cunning Felicie, and he followed her unresistingly. "Sit down on the sofa, and we will talk at our ease. I will keep silent about this matter, and no one else knows a word about it, if----" "Well?" "If you will give me half the money." "But," said Harold, who now gave up the pretense of denial, "I have spent part of it." "You have more than half of it left?" "Yes." "Give me thirty dollars and I will be content. I saw you count it. There were sixty-five dollars." "I don't see what claim you have to it," said Harold, angrily. "I have as much as you," answered Felicie, coolly. "Still, if you prefer to go to your aunt, own up that you took it, and take the consequences, I will agree not to interfere. But if I am to keep the secret, I want to be paid for it." Harold thought it over; he hated to give up so large a part of his plunder, for he had appropriated it in his own mind to certain articles which he wished to purchase. "I'll give you twenty dollars," he said. "No, I will take thirty dollars, or go to your aunt and tell her all I know." There was no help for it. Poor Harold took out three ten-dollar bills, reluctantly enough, and gave them to Felicie. "All right, Master Harold! You've done wisely. I thought you would see matters in the right light. Think how shocked your mother and Aunt Eliza would be if they had discovered that you were the thief." "Don't use such language, Felicie!" said Harold, wincing. "There is no need to refer to it again." "As you say, Master Harold. I won't detain you any longer from your walk," and Felicie, with a smile, rose from the sofa and left the room, Harold following. "Don't disturb yourself any more," she said, as she opened the door for Harold. "It will never be known. Besides, your aunt can well afford to lose this little sum. She is actually rolling in wealth. She ought to be more liberal to you." "So she ought, Felicie. If she had, this would not have happened." "Very true. At the same time, I don't suppose a jury would accept this as an excuse." "Why do you say such things, Felicie? What has a jury got to do with me?" "Nothing, I hope. Still, if it were a poor boy that had taken the money, Luke Walton, for instance, he might have been arrested. Excuse me, I see this annoys you. Let me give you one piece of advice, Master Harold." "What is it?" "Get rid of that morocco pocketbook as soon as you can. If it were found on you, or you should be careless, and leave it anywhere, you would give yourself away, my friend." "You are right, Felicie," said Harold, hurriedly. "Good-morning!" "Good-morning, and a pleasant walk, my friend," said Felicie, mockingly. When Harold was fairly out in the street, he groaned in spirit. He had lost half the fruits of his theft, and his secret had become known. Felicie had proved too much for him, and he felt that he hated her. "I wish I could get mother to discharge her, with out her knowing that it was I who had brought it about. I shall not feel safe as long as she is in the house. Why didn't I have the sense to shut and lock the door? Then she wouldn't have seen me." Then the thought of the morocco pocketbook occurred to him. He felt that Felicie was right--that it was imprudent to carry it around. He must get rid of it in some way. He took the money out and put it in another pocket. The pocketbook he replaced till he should have an opportunity of disposing of it. Hardly had he made these preparations when he met Luke Walton, who had started unusually early, and was walking towards the house. An idea came to Harold. "Good-morning, Luke!" he said, in an unusually friendly tone. "Good-morning, Harold!" answered Luke, agreeably surprised by the other's cordiality. "Are you going out with Aunt Eliza this morning?" "I am not sure whether she will want to go out. I shall call and inquire." "You seem to be quite a favorite of hers." "I hope I am. She always treats me kindly." "I really believe she thinks more of you than she does of me." "You mustn't think that," said Luke, modestly. "You are a relation, and I am only in her employ." "Oh, it doesn't trouble me. I am bound for the city. I think I shall take the next car, good-day!" "Good-day, Harold!" Luke walked on, quite unconscious that Harold, as he passed by his side, had managed to slip the morocco wallet into the pocket of his sack coat. _ |
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