Chapter XXIX. Mr. Morton's Story

by Horatio Alger

　　The planting-season was over. For a month Frank had workedindustriously, in conjunction with Jacob Carter. His father hadsent him directions so full and minute, that he was not oftenobliged to call upon Farmer Maynard for advice. The old farmerproved to be very kind and obliging. Jacob, too, was capable andfaithful, so that the farmwork went on as well probably as if Mr.Frost had been at home.One evening toward the middle of June, Frank walked out into thefields with Mr. Morton. The corn and potatoes were lookingfinely. The garden vegetables were up, and to all appearancedoing well. Frank surveyed the scene with a feeling of naturalpride."Don't you think I would make a successful farmer, Mr. Morton?"he asked."Yes, Frank; and more than this, I think you will be likely tosucceed in 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 praisewhere I think it due. I have noticed in you a disposition to befaithful to whatever responsibility is imposed upon you, andwherever I see that I feel no hesitation in predicting asuccessful career.""Thank you," said Frank, looking very much pleased with thecompliment. "I try to be faithful. I feel that father has trustedme more than it is usual to trust boys of my age, and I want toshow myself worthy of his confidence.""You are fortunate in having a father, Frank," said the youngman, with a shade of sadness in his voice. "My father died beforeI was of your age.""Do you remember him?" inquired Frank, with interest."I remember him well. He was always kind to me. I never rememberto have received a harsh word from him. It is because he was sokind and indulgent to me that I feel the more incensed against aman who took advantage of his confidence to defraud him, or,rather, me, through him.""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 thatfor him the story would have no lack of interest."Let us sit down under this tree," said Henry Morton, pointing toa horse-chestnut, whose dense foliage promised a pleasant shelterfrom the sun's rays.They threw themselves upon the grass, and he forthwith commencedhis story."My father was born in Boston, and, growing up, engaged inmercantile pursuits. He was moderately successful, and finallyaccumulated fifty thousand dollars. He would not have stoppedthere, for he was at the time making money rapidly, but hishealth became precarious, and his physician required himabsolutely to give up business. The seeds of consumption, whichprobably had been lurking for years in his system, had begun toshow themselves unmistakably, and required immediate attention."By the advice of his physician he sailed for the West IndiaIslands, hoping that the climate might have a beneficial effectupon him. At that time I was twelve years old, and an only child.My mother had died some years before, so that I was left quitealone in the world. I was sent for a time to Virginia, to mymother's brother, who possessed a large plantation and numerousslaves. Here I remained for six months. You will remember thatAunt Chloe recognized me at first sight. You will not besurprised at this when I tell you that she was my uncle's slave,and that as a boy I was indebted to her for many a little favorwhich she, being employed in the kitchen, was able to render me.As I told you at the time, my real name is not Morton. It willnot be long before you understand the reason of my concealment."My father had a legal adviser, in whom he reposed a largemeasure of confidence, though events showed him to be quiteunworthy of it. On leaving Boston he divided his property, whichhad been converted into money, into two equal portions. One parthe took with him. The other he committed to the lawyer's charge.So much confidence had he in this man's honor, that he did noteven require a receipt. One additional safeguard he had, however.This was the evidence of the lawyer's clerk, who was present onthe 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 fewmonths and then died. Before his death he wrote two letters, oneto my uncle and one to myself. In these he communicated the factof his having deposited twenty-five thousand dollars with hislawyer. He mentioned incidentally the presence of the lawyer'sclerk at the time. I am a little surprised that he should havedone it, as not the faintest suspicion of the lawyer's good faithhad entered his thoughts."On receiving this letter my uncle, on my behalf, took measuresto claim this sum, and for this purpose came to Boston. Imaginehis surprise and indignation when the lawyer positively deniedhaving received any such deposit and called upon him, to proveit. With great effrontery he declared that it was absurd tosuppose that my father would have entrusted him with any such sumwithout a receipt for it. This certainly looked plausible, and Iacknowledge that few except my father, who never trusted withouttrusting entirely, would have acted so imprudently." 'Where is the clerk who was in your office at the time?"inquired my uncle.The lawyer looked somewhat discomposed at this question." 'Why do you ask?'he inquired abruptly." 'Because,' was the reply, 'his evidence is very important tous. My brother states that he was present when the deposit wasmade.'" 'I don't know where he is,' said the lawyer. 'He was toodissipated to remain in my office, and I accordingly dischargedhim.'"My uncle suspected that the clerk had been bribed to keepsilence, and for additional security sent off to some distantplace."Nothing could be done. Strong as our suspicions, and absolute aswas our conviction of the lawyer's guilt, we had no recourse. Butfrom that time I devoted my life to the exposure of this man.Fortunately I was not without means. The other half of myfather's property came to me; and the interest being considerablymore than I required for my support, I have devoted the remainderto, prosecuting inquiries respecting the missing clerk. Justbefore I came to Rossville, I obtained a clue which I have sinceindustriously followed up."Last night I received a letter from my agent, stating that hehad found the man--that he was in a sad state of destitution, andthat he was ready 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 intothe country, where he built him a fine house. He has been able tolive a life of leisure; but I doubt if he has been as happy as hewould have been had he never deviated from the path ofrectitude.""Have you seen him lately?" asked Frank."I have seen him many times within the last few months," said theyoung man, in a significant tone.Frank jumped to his feet in surprise. "You don't mean----" hesaid, as a sudden suspicion of the truth dawned upon his mind."Yes," said Mr. Morton deliberately, "I do mean that the lawyerwho defrauded my father lives in this village. You know him wellas Squire Haynes.""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.This would have interfered with my plans, as he undoubtedly knewthe whereabouts of his old clerk, and would have arranged toremove him, so as to delay his discovery, perhaps indefinitely.Here is the letter I received 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 beenin search. I found him in Detroit. He had recently removedthither from St. Louis. He is very poor, and, when I found him,was laid up with typhoid fever in a mean lodging-house. I removedhim to more comfortable quarters, supplied him with relishingfood and good medical assistance. Otherwise I think he would havedied. The result is, that he feels deeply grateful to me forhaving probably saved his life. When I first broached the idea ofhis giving evidence against his old employer, I found himreluctant to do so--not from any attachment he bore him, but froma fear that he would be held on a criminal charge for concealinga felony. I have undertaken to assure him, on your behalf, thathe shall not be punished if he will come forward and give hisevidence unhesitatingly. I have finally obtained his promise to,do so."We shall leave Detroit day after to-morrow, and proceed to NewEngland by way of New York. Can you meet me in New York on the18th inst.? You can, in that case, have an interview with thisman Travers; and it Will be well to obtain his confession,legally certified, to guard against any vacillation of purpose onhis part. I have no apprehension of it, but it is as well to becertain."This letter was signed by Mr. Morton's agent."I was very glad to get that letter, Frank," said his companion."I don't think I care so much for the money, though that is notto be dispised, since it will enable me to do more good than atpresent I have it in my power to do. But there is one thing Icare for still more, and that is, to redeem my father's memoryfrom reproach. In the last letter he ever wrote he made aspecific statement, which this lawyer declares to be false. Theevidence of his clerk will hurl back the falsehood upon himself.""How strange it is, Mr. Morton," exclaimed Frank, "that youshould have saved the life of a son of the man who has done somuch to injure you!""Yes, that gives me great satisfaction. I do not wish SquireHaynes any harm, but I am determined that justice shall be done.Otherwise than that, if I can be of any service to him, I shallnot refuse.""I remember now," said Frank, after a moment's pause, "that, onthe first Sunday you appeared at church, Squire Haynes stopped meto inquire who you were.""I am thought to look much as my father did. He undoubtedly sawthe resemblance. I have often caught his eyes fixed upon me inperplexity when he did not know that I noticed him. It isfourteen years since my father died. Retribution has been slow,but it has come at last.""When do you go on to New York?" asked Frank, recalling theagent's request."I shall start to-morrow morning. For the present I will ask youto keep what I have said a secret even from your good mother. Itis as well not to disturb Squire Haynes in his fancied securityuntil we are ready to overwhelm him with our evidence.""How long shall you be absent, Mr. Morton?""Probably less than a week. I shall merely say that I have goneon business. I trust to your discretion to say nothing more.""I certainly will not," said Frank. "I am very much obliged toyou for having told me first."The two rose from their grassy seats, and walked slowly back tothe farmhouse.