Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp

by Jr. Horatio Alger

  CHAPTER XXIX. MR. MORTON'S STORY

  The planting-season was over. For a month Frank had workedindustriously, in conjunction with Jacob Carter. His father had senthim directions so full and minute, that he was not often obliged to callupon Farmer Maynard for advice. The old farmer proved to be very kindand obliging. Jacob, too, was capable and faithful, so that the farm workwent on as well probably as if Mr. Frost had been at home.

  One evening toward the middle of June, Frank walked out into the fieldswith Mr. Morton. The corn and potatoes were looking finely. The gardenvegetables were up, and to all appearance doing well. Frank surveyed thescene with a feeling of natural pride.

  "Don't you think I would make a successful farmer, Mr. Morton?" heasked.

  "Yes, Frank; and more than this, I think you will be likely to succeedin any other vocation you may select."

  "I am afraid you're flattering me, Mr. Morton."

  "Such is not my intention, Frank, but I like to award praise where Ithink it due. I have noticed in you a disposition to be faithful towhatever responsibility is imposed upon you, and wherever I see that Ifeel no hesitation in predicting a successful career."

  "Thank you," said Frank, looking very much pleased with the compliment."I try to be faithful. I feel that father has trusted me more than it isusual to trust boys of my age, and I want to show myself worthy of hisconfidence."

  "You are fortunate in having a father, Frank," said the young man, witha shade of sadness in his voice. "My father died before I was of yourage."

  "Do you remember him?" inquired Frank, with interest.

  "I remember him well. He was always kind to me. I never remember tohave received a harsh word from him. It is because he was so kind andindulgent to me that I feel the more incensed against a man who tookadvantage of his confidence to defraud him, or, rather, me, throughhim."

  "You have never mentioned this before, Mr. Morton."

  "No. I have left you all in ignorance of much of my history. Thismorning, if it will interest you, I propose to take you into myconfidence."

  The eagerness with which Frank greeted this proposal showed that for himthe story would have no lack of interest.

  "Let us sit down under this tree," said Henry Morton, pointing to ahorse-chestnut, whose dense foliage promised a pleasant shelter from thesun's rays.

  They threw themselves upon the grass, and he forthwith commenced hisstory.

  "My father was born in Boston, and, growing up, engaged in mercantilepursuits. He was moderately successful, and finally accumulated fiftythousand dollars. He would not have stopped there, for he was at thetime making money rapidly, but his health became precarious, and hisphysician required him absolutely to give up business. The seeds ofconsumption, which probably had been lurking for years in his system,had begun to show themselves unmistakably, and required immediateattention.

  "By the advice of his physician he sailed for the West India Islands,hoping that the climate might have a beneficial effect upon him. At thattime I was twelve years old, and an only child. My mother had died someyears before, so that I was left quite alone in the world. I was sentfor a time to Virginia, to my mother's brother, who possessed a largeplantation and numerous slaves. Here I remained for six months. You willremember that Aunt Chloe recognized me at first sight. You will not besurprised at this when I tell you that she was my uncle's slave, andthat as a boy I was indebted to her for many a little favor which she,being employed in the kitchen, was able to render me. As I told you atthe time, my real name is not Morton. It will not be long before youunderstand the reason of my concealment.

  "My father had a legal adviser, in whom he reposed a large measure ofconfidence, though events showed him to be quite unworthy of it. Onleaving Boston he divided his property, which had been converted intomoney, into two equal portions. One part he took with him. The otherhe committed to the lawyer's charge. So much confidence had he in thisman's honor, that he did not even require a receipt. One additionalsafeguard he had, however. This was the evidence of the lawyer's clerk,who was present on the occasion of the deposit.

  "My father went to the West Indies, but the change seemed only toaccelerate the progress of his malady. He lingered for a few months andthen died. Before his death he wrote two letters, one to my uncle andone to myself. In these he communicated the fact of his having depositedtwenty-five thousand dollars with his lawyer. He mentioned incidentallythe presence of the lawyer's clerk at the time. I am a little surprisedthat he should have done it, as not the faintest suspicion of thelawyer's good faith had entered his thoughts.

  "On receiving this letter my uncle, on my behalf, took measures to claimthis sum, and for this purpose came to Boston. Imagine his surprise andindignation when the lawyer positively denied having received any suchdeposit and called upon him, to prove it. With great effrontery hedeclared that it was absurd to suppose that my father would haveentrusted him with any such sum without a receipt for it. This certainlylooked plausible, and I acknowledge that few except my father, who nevertrusted without trusting entirely, would have acted so imprudently.

  "'Where is the clerk who was in your office at the time?" inquired myuncle.

  The lawyer looked somewhat discomposed at this question.

  "'Why do you ask?'he inquired abruptly.

  "'Because,' was the reply, 'his evidence is very important to us. Mybrother states that he was present when the deposit was made.'

  "'I don't know where he is,' said the lawyer. 'He was too dissipated toremain in my office, and I accordingly discharged him.'

  "My uncle suspected that the clerk had been bribed to keep silence, andfor additional security sent off to some distant place.

  "Nothing could be done. Strong as our suspicions, and absolute as wasour conviction of the lawyer's guilt, we had no recourse. But from thattime I devoted my life to the exposure of this man. Fortunately I wasnot without means. The other half of my father's property came to me;and the interest being considerably more than I required for my support,I have devoted the remainder to, prosecuting inquiries respecting themissing clerk. Just before I came to Rossville, I obtained a clue whichI have since industriously followed up.

  "Last night I received a letter from my agent, stating that he had foundthe man--that he was in a sad state of destitution, and that he wasready to give his evidence."

  "Is the lawyer still living?" inquired Frank.

  "He is."

  "What a villain he must be."

  "I am afraid he is, Frank."

  "Does he still live in Boston?"

  "No. After he made sure of his ill-gotten gains, he removed into thecountry, where he built him a fine house. He has been able to live alife of leisure; but I doubt if he has been as happy as he would havebeen had he never deviated from the path of rectitude."

  "Have you seen him lately?" asked Frank.

  "I have seen him many times within the last few months," said the youngman, in a significant tone.

  Frank jumped to his feet in surprise. "You don't mean----" he said, as asudden suspicion of the truth dawned upon his mind.

  "Yes," said Mr. Morton deliberately, "I do mean that the lawyer whodefrauded my father lives in this village. You know him well as SquireHaynes."

  "I can hardly believe it," said Frank, unable to conceal hisastonishment. "Do you think he knows who you are?"

  "I think he has noticed my resemblance to my father. If I had notassumed a different name he would have been sure to detect me. Thiswould have interfered with my plans, as he undoubtedly knew thewhereabouts of his old clerk, and would have arranged to remove him, soas to delay his discovery, perhaps indefinitely. Here is the letter Ireceived last night. I will read it to you."

  The letter ran as follows:

  "I have at length discovered the man of whom I have so long been insearch. I found him in Detroit. He had recently removed thither from St.Louis. He is very poor, and, when I found him, was laid up with typhoidfever in a mean lodging-house. I removed him to more comfortable
quarters, supplied him with relishing food and good medical assistance.Otherwise I think he would have died. The result is, that he feelsdeeply grateful to me for having probably saved his life. When I firstbroached the idea of his giving evidence against his old employer, Ifound him reluctant to do so--not from any attachment he bore him, butfrom a fear that he would be held on a criminal charge for concealing afelony. I have undertaken to assure him, on your behalf, that heshall not be punished if he will come forward and give his evidenceunhesitatingly. I have finally obtained his promise to, do so.

  "We shall leave Detroit day after to-morrow, and proceed to New Englandby way of New York. Can you meet me in New York on the 18th inst.? Youcan, in that case, have an interview with this man Travers; and it Willbe well to obtain his confession, legally certified, to guard againstany vacillation of purpose on his part. I have no apprehension of it,but it is as well to be certain."

  This letter was signed by Mr. Morton's agent.

  "I was very glad to get that letter, Frank," said his companion. "Idon't think I care so much for the money, though that is not to bedespised, since it will enable me to do more good than at present I haveit in my power to do. But there is one thing I care for still more, andthat is, to redeem my father's memory from reproach. In the last letterhe ever wrote he made a specific statement, which this lawyer declaresto be false. The evidence of his clerk will hurl back the falsehood uponhimself."

  "How strange it is, Mr. Morton," exclaimed Frank, "that you should havesaved the life of a son of the man who has done so much to injure you!"

  "Yes, that gives me great satisfaction. I do not wish Squire Haynes anyharm, but I am determined that justice shall be done. Otherwise thanthat, if I can be of any service to him, I shall not refuse."

  "I remember now," said Frank, after a moment's pause, "that, on thefirst Sunday you appeared at church, Squire Haynes stopped me to inquirewho you were."

  "I am thought to look much as my father did. He undoubtedly saw theresemblance. I have often caught his eyes fixed upon me in perplexitywhen he did not know that I noticed him. It is fourteen years since myfather died. Retribution has been slow, but it has come at last."

  "When do you go on to New York?" asked Frank, recalling the agent'srequest.

  "I shall start to-morrow morning. For the present I will ask you to keepwhat I have said a secret even from your good mother. It is as well notto disturb Squire Haynes in his fancied security until we are ready tooverwhelm him with our evidence."

  "How long shall you be absent, Mr. Morton?"

  "Probably less than a week. I shall merely say that I have gone onbusiness. I trust to your discretion to say nothing more."

  "I certainly will not," said Frank. "I am very much obliged to you forhaving told me first."

  The two rose from their grassy seats, and walked slowly back to thefarmhouse.