Brave Tom Or The Battle That Won Part 29

"It distressed me," added the lady; "for I felt he must think we were ungrateful. We advertised in the papers, but it was useless. I do not suppose we shall ever know who he was."

"He may have been some poor boy in need of help," added Mr. Warmore; "but so brave a lad as that is sure to get along."

"I presume _you_ remember the incident?" remarked Tom, turning toward the daughter.

"How can I ever forget it?" she asked in reply, with a shiver. "I can feel that icy water even now, as it closed round me that wintry night. It was too dark to see my rescuer's face plainly, but I would know him if I met him fifty years from now. He was remarkably handsome."

"A boy of that age changes very much in a few years."

"He could never change so as to grow out of my recollection," said Jennie with a positiveness that made Tom Gordon smile.

"And of all the strange things that were ever done by a child," said Mrs.

Warmore, "none ever equalled what Jennie did while floating in the water."

"Indeed, what could that be?"

"Tell him yourself, daughter."

The young lady blushed and laughed.

"I don't know what possessed me to do it. I hardly think I was conscious of matters or responsible for all I did. When the lad was fighting his way through the icy waters, I remember s.n.a.t.c.hing a chain and locket containing my likeness from my neck, and twisting the chain about a b.u.t.ton on his coat. I had a feeling of wishing to do something that should help him to remember me. After that I became wholly unconscious."

"It seems to me the little fellow was rewarded by securing the chain and locket," remarked Tom with a significant smile.

"That was but a trifle compared to what he ought to have received,"

replied Jennie.

"You forget that it contained _your_ picture."

The compliment was so neatly put that all laughed, and the face of the young lady became rosier than ever.

"Pardon me," Tom hastened to say; "of course the little fellow has preserved those mementoes, and I should not he surprised if he turns up some day when least expected."

"I hope so," was the fervent response of Jennie, in which sentiment her parents joined.

It is not necessary to dwell upon the evening, which was a red letter one in Tom Gordon's life. No more delightful hours were ever spent by him; and when, without tarrying too late, he left, he could make no mistake as to the sentiments of the three, and especially the youngest, toward him. He had made an impression there, and it would be his own fault if it failed to ripen into something serious.

But, as he walked homeward in the silvery moonlight, he felt a respect for himself which, it is safe to say, would have come to few placed as he was.

He had not given the first hint that he was the boy who, at the risk of his own life, had leaped into the wintry waters and rescued little Jennie Warmore from death.

Who would have held back the secret in his situation? Would you or I?

Doubtful, if when smitten with love for a fair, sweet girl, we had felt that its telling would have riveted the bonds which, at the most, were only partly formed, and might dissolve into nothingness if not thus strengthened.

It was the youth's fine-grained sense of honor that restrained him.

"She holds a good opinion of me now. If it should ever happen that that feeling grows into love (and Heaven grant it may!), it must be for me alone, and not for any accident in the past. Suppose I had not done her a good turn to-day,--she might have discarded Catherwood for his baseness, but what would have caused her to transfer her regard to me? No, she shall never know the whole truth until--until"--

He dared not finish the thrilling sentence, the blissful hope, the wild dream, that set his nerves dancing. Unto us all can come that radiant, soulful, all-absorbing emotion but once in our life, and it is too sacred to be trifled with; for once destroyed, once crushed, once dead, and the holy thing vanishes forever.

Two noticeable truths became manifest to Tom Gordon on the morrow. G.

Field Catherwood's dislike of him was intensified. The young man had felt from the first that the head clerk was not only more attractive than he in looks, but was far brighter intellectually. Added now to this was the feeling of jealousy. He had received from Jennie Warmore a too pointed expression of her contempt for him to have any possible room for misunderstanding it. When he ventured to hint at their engagement, which had been discussed, but never formally made, she shook her head decisively, and his heart collapsed.

He had strolled by the house early in the evening, having fully recovered from the injuries resulting from the runaway, and was on the point of pa.s.sing through the gate, when he observed a figure ahead of him. One quick glance disclosed that it was young Gordon, on his way to pa.s.s the evening there. That knowledge caused the dude to wheel about and go to the hotel, where he made his home. And as he strode along the highway, his heart overflowed with the bitterness of gall and wormwood.

He made no attempt to conceal his feelings on the following day, when he and Gordon came in contact at the store. Tom avoided him as much as possible; but, of necessity, they occasionally came together, and the repulsion was mutual. This unpleasantness was fully offset not only by the consciousness of the regard of Miss Warmore, but by the cordial manner of her father. Those signs of distrust which he had shown during the past week were gone, and his kindness and consideration for the young man were so marked as to attract the attention of all. It was clear that the mists between them had vanished.

Chapter XXIII.

That night, after the establishment of Mr. Warmore was closed and the employees had gone home, two persons remained behind to engage in earnest consultation. They were the proprietor and G. Field Catherwood, the young man who expected, at the end of the year, to become an equal partner with him. The doors were fastened, and the two sat alone in the private office, the expression on the faces of both showing that some grave matter weighed upon them.

"How long has this been going on?" asked Mr. Warmore.

"For two weeks or more; that is to say, I discovered it about a fortnight ago. No doubt it has been kept up in a small way for a long time previous to that."

"How much do you suppose has been taken altogether?"

"Several hundred dollars; perhaps a thousand."

"And your suspicions point to Mr. Gordon?"

"I am sorry to say they do. Of course he was the last one to suspect; but, when I began quietly investigating, the trail led unmistakably to him."

"What caused you first to suspect him, Mr. Catherwood?"

"Well, when a merchant finds some, one of his employees is robbing him, the most natural thing to do is to look into the habits of them all. If he discovers that one is living beyond his means, he naturally probes a little farther; and, if his habits prove to be extravagant, the suspicion increases."

"What did you find out about Mr. Gordon?"

"I accidentally learned that he has a considerable sum in the savings-bank."

"He deserves credit for that."

"True, if that which was deposited was his own. Besides, he spends a good deal of money."

"In what way?"

"In the first place, on his clothes."

"He certainly is well dressed, but no more so than his salary will permit."

"Last week he paid off a mortgage on the farm of Mr. Pitcairn, and then made a present of it to the old gentleman."

"What was the amount?"