Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy

CHAPTER XXXVI. PROFESSOR PUFFER BECOMES AN ALLY

Professor Puffer let his eye glide slowly over Bernard’s figure. He noted not only his increase in size, but his neat dress, and bright and handsome face.

“How long have you been in America?” he asked abruptly.

“I arrived yesterday by the Etruria.”

“You seem well and prosperous,” went on Puffer, with an envious sigh.

“Yes; I have been fortunate.”

“It is wonderful. You are elegantly dressed. Yet I left you destitute, or rather you left me, without a penny to fall back upon.”

“That is true, Professor Puffer.”

“It was a reckless step to take.”

“It may have been, but you must admit that I had good reasons for taking the step,” said Bernard significantly.

“What are you doing? Are you employed?” asked the professor, without comment.

“I am, and I am not. I am nominally private secretary to my kind friend, Mr. Walter Cunningham,” said Bernard, with a look at that gentleman.

“The gentleman who advertised in London for a traveling companion?”

“The same.”

“I sought the position. I should have been much better qualified than you,” said the professor peevishly.

“You don’t appear to have prospered,” rejoined Bernard.

“No. Is it not disgraceful that a man of my attainments should fill this ignoble position?” said Professor Puffer bitterly.

“Couldn’t you get anything better to do?”

“If I could you would not have found me traveling through the streets as a sandwich man. Up and down I walk through the livelong day, and how much do you think I receive for my degrading labors?”

“I suppose it is not much.”

“Fifty cents a day,” answered the professor bitterly.

“And you live on that?”

“Don’t live on it I starve.”

“But I don’t see how you became so reduced. Was not Cornelius McCracken, my old guardian, a friend of yours?”

“McCracken! The selfish beast! Don’t name him to me. I can’t bear to hear his name spoken.”

“Has he treated you badly?” asked Bernard.

“Has he not? I was his confidential agent. He selected me to do his dirty work. He placed you under my care, having certain interests of his own to serve.”

“I have always wondered what his object could have been?”

As Bernard spoke he fixed his eyes eagerly upon the face of his old companion. He felt persuaded that Professor Puffer could tell him what he was very anxious to know. He meant before the interview was over to obtain from him light as to his relations with Mr. McCracken.

“Have you see him lately? Won’t he do anything for you?” he continued.

“Listen! When I returned from Europe, two months since, I called upon him. I had previously communicated with him by letter. He asked after you. I told him that you were dead.”

“Why did you tell him that?”

“Because it was what he wished to know.”

“Did he wish me to die?” asked Bernard, startled, but not wholly surprised.

“He did. In sending you to Europe with me, he wished to get rid of you, and I had instructions to that effect.”

“That accounts for your trying to throw me overboard that night on the Vesta.”

“Yes. I was endeavoring to carry out my instructions.”

“Were the instructions oral or written?”

“Written. I had a letter in McCracken’s own handwriting.”

“Don’t that give you a hold upon him?”

“It would if I had kept it, but unfortunately I lost it on the steamer, I think.”

Bernard had the letter in his trunk at the hotel. He had always preserved it, thinking that some time he might find a use for it. Of course the professor didn’t know this.

“I reported your death,” continued Puffer. “I said you had been run over and fatally injured in Marseilles. I could see how much satisfaction this news afforded Mr. McCracken. He ascertained by cunning questions that I didn’t have his letter in my possession, and then he became cool and indifferent. ‘I am sorry for the boy’s death,’ he said. ‘He was young to die. I think you must have been careless.’ ‘I was only carrying out your instructions,’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’ he retorted. ‘I committed him to your charge. If I gave you any instructions, produce them.’

“This I couldn’t do, and he knew it.

“I represented to him that I was very poor, and needed help.

“‘Really,’ he said, ‘that is nothing to me.’

“‘Can’t you give me employment?’ I asked.

“‘I have no places vacant,’ he answered coldly.

“‘What am I to do?’ I asked. ‘I have no money.’

“‘Surely you don’t expect me to support you,’ he said impatiently. ‘You have no claim upon me.’

“Then I bethought myself of a clever scheme.

“‘Surely,’ I said, ‘you will repay me the sum I paid out for the boy’s funeral.’

“He reflected a moment, and then answered in the affirmative.

“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘if you will give me a receipt in due form.’

“I went out of the office with one hundred dollars in my pocket.”

“It was certainly a lucky thought,” said Bernard, smiling; “considering that my funeral expenses are paid, I feel unusually full of life. However, I am glad you got the money.”

“It is all gone now!” went on Puffer mournfully. “I lived perhaps too freely while it lasted. When it was gone I called once more at Mr. McCracken’s office, and was literally kicked out. What do you think of that?”

Hitherto Walter Cunningham had stood by in silence, listening to the conversation between Bernard and his quondam guardian. Now he came forward with a question.

“Can you tell me, Professor Puffer,” he asked, “why Mr. McCracken wishes to get rid of Bernard?”

“The answer is an easy one. He has in his possession ten thousand dollars intrusted to him by Bernard’s father. It must amount to a good deal more now from the interest that has accrued.”

“What proof can you give of this? Did he ever write to you to that effect?”

“No; but he admitted it to me in conversation.”

“I am disposed to get this back from him. Are you willing to help me?”

“I wish I could,” said Puffer earnestly. “I owe him a grudge. That would be a welcome revenge. But I am afraid there is no chance. If only I had that letter of instructions I could prove at any rate that he wanted me to get rid of him.”

“That would give us a hold on him, and with the help of it I think we could bring him to terms.”

“But unfortunately I have lost the letter,” continued the professor regretfully.

“Professor Puffer,” said Bernard, “that letter is still in existence.”

“Is it?” asked Puffer eagerly. “Where is it?”

“I have it in my trunk. I found it on the floor of your stateroom on the Vesta. It is not quite complete, but there is enough in it with your help to fasten a very serious charge upon Mr. McCracken.”

“Good! good! I am thankful,” said the professor. “I will go with you, and beard him in his den. He shall repent the way in which he has treated me. But you will have to wait till evening. I shall not be through with my work till six o’clock.”

“You can leave it now,” said Cunningham. “I am not at all sure that you are entitled to the title of professor, but at all events you are fit for something better than a sandwich man. I will see that you are no longer reduced to such humble work.”

“I shall be thankful,” said Ezra Puffer, “deeply thankful if you will find me a better position. Sometimes I meet a man whom I knew in better days, and then I am inexpressibly mortified to be seen in such a position.”

“I think I can promise you some more congenial employment. Do you know where the Brevoort House is?”

“Yes.”

“Come round there at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, and call for me. You remember my name?”

“Yes; you are Mr. Cunningham.”

“Do you think,” asked Puffer, “that you could spare me half a dollar now? I feel quite hungry, and I should like to make a good meal.”

“Certainly. Here are five dollars. Now, be sure to call at the Brevoort House to-morrow morning.”

“Most certainly I will,” said the professor, eying the bank note he had just received with a joyful glance. “I should be a fool if I didn’t. Through you and Bernard, I hope to have another chance of living respectably. Now I must go and surrender this badge of my servitude,” and he glanced disdainfully at the two placards which he had already removed from their position behind and in front. “I hope, Bernard, you will never be subjected to such humiliation.”

“I hardly think it likely,” said Walter Cunningham, “especially if through you he obtains possession of his father’s money.”

“I will do my best, sir. I think, Cornelius McCracken,” he continued, snapping his fingers at an imaginary form, “that we shall be too much for you at last. You will be sorry that you did not treat me better.”

Professor Puffer disappeared rapidly round the corner of Houston Street, and Bernard and Walter Cunningham walked up town to their hotel.

“Things seem to be turning in your favor, Bernard,” said his companion. “The money left by your father will not be of so much consequence to you now, but it will be a satisfaction to wrest it from the hands of your faithless guardian. Professor Puffer will prove to be a good friend to you after all.”

CHAPTER XXXVII. A BAD DAY FOR MR. MCCRACKEN

Cornelius McCracken sat in his office in a complacent mood. He had just closed a successful speculation in Wall Street, by which he had cleared a few hundred dollars. He was not a rich man for the city, and this was of some consequence to him.

Then his mind could not help reverting to Bernard and the accident which had removed him from his path and averted all danger of restitution of the boy’s fortune. Truly all seemed favorable.

He heard a slight noise at the door, and lifting his eyes recognized with a scowl his old ally and confederate, Professor Puffer.

“What do you want here?” he demanded roughly. “I have no time for such as you.”

Professor Puffer entered the room, nevertheless, and sank into a chair.

“Mr. McCracken,” he said, “I am very unfortunate. I am reduced to the position of a sandwich man. I who have occupied the position of a gentleman.”

“What is that to me? It is an honest way of earning your living. You are lucky to find work at all.”

“I have given it up. I can’t stand it. Besides, I met yesterday afternoon a person whom I had known in happier and more prosperous days. I felt as if I should sink through the sidewalk.”

“I see – you are poor and proud,” sneered McCracken. “It is out of place in a man like you.”

“Mr. McCracken, can’t you help me? I have served you faithfully in a matter you know of.”

“And you have been paid.”

“But think how you have benefited. By the boy’s death you have fallen heir to his fortune, and – ”

“Who told you he had a fortune?”

“You admitted it yourself in a conversation.”

“Well, it was very small – a few hundred dollars.”

“On that point I will not speak. Even admitting it to be only that, can’t you spare me a few dollars?”

“No, I can’t. Get out of my office!”

“Mr. McCracken,” said Puffer, changing his tone, “you have thrown me over because you think you don’t need me any more. Suppose now – only suppose – that a mistake had been made – that Bernard was not dead after all.”

“What do you mean?” demanded the merchant nervously. “You told me he was dead.”

“Suppose I was mistaken.”

“Then you deceived me basely. But you are only trying to play a trick on me. You have mistaken your man. Again I order you to leave my office.”

“I will do so, but I shall return.”

“If you do, you will be kicked out.”

Professor Puffer did not seem alarmed. He went out, closing the door behind him, and immediately afterwards Bernard opened it and went in.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back?” exclaimed McCracken angrily.

“No,” answered a young, fresh voice.

Mr. McCracken turned quickly and there stood Bernard Brooks. He had grown considerably; he was much improved in dress; but Mr. McCracken recognized him.

“I see you know me,” said Bernard.

“No, I don’t.”

“I think you do. I am Bernard Brooks.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“It was a mistake.”

“I am not prepared to admit your identity. You don’t look like Bernard Brooks.”

“I shall have no difficulty in proving myself to be your former ward.”.

“Well, what do you want? Do you wish to put yourself under my charge? In that case I will send you to Professor Snowdon.”

“No, thank you. I can take care of myself.”

“I am willing. In that case I will bid you good morning. I am busy,” and Mr. McCracken made a motion to return to his writing.

“You asked me if I had any business with you. I have,” continued Bernard. “I wish you to give up the fortune my father left in your charge for me.”

“You lie! There was no such fortune. Some one has been deceiving you. Perhaps it is that arrant liar, Ezra Puffer.”

“Whom you hired to put me out of the way.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. McCracken hoarsely,

“I have in my possession a letter which you wrote to him, from which it will be easy to prove your attempted crime and the motive.”

“There is no such letter. I never wrote one of that tenor.”

“It is in your handwriting.”

“Show it to me, then.”

“I can’t. It is in the hands of my lawyer.”

“You have dared to put it into the hands of a lawyer?”

“I felt that it was my best course.”

Cornelius McCracken’s countenance worked convulsively. He was beginning to be afraid of his ward.

“There was a matter of five hundred dollars,” he admitted reluctantly, “left over after my disbursements for you. I will at my leisure look over my accounts, and if there is any money due you, you shall have it.”

“I have made the acquaintance of Mr. Oliver Franklin, an old friend of my father. He tells a very different story. He says my father left at least ten thousand dollars.”

“Stuff and nonsense! You must be crazy.”

“I won’t discuss the question with you, Mr. McCracken. I have put the matter into the hands of a lawyer, who will see you about the matter. I only wished to give you notice what I intended doing. Good morning.”

Bernard left the office, leaving his guardian in no enviable state of mind. Without dwelling on the legal steps taken, it is enough to say that Mr. McCracken was ultimately compelled to disgorge twelve thousand dollars to his former ward.

Bernard and his English friend succeeded in obtaining for Professor Puffer a position as doorkeeper, in an art museum, which, on the whole, he preferred to being a sandwich man.

Before this law matter was terminated Bernard made up his mind to visit Doncaster and see his old friend and teacher, Professor Ezekiel Snowdon.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION

When Bernard left the cars and stepped on the platform of the Doncaster station, he saw Freedom Wentworth preparing to drive away on a store wagon. “Give me a ride, Freed?” said Bernard.

Freedom Wentworth turned quickly, and seemed at first in doubt. Then he said, as his face lighted up, “Why, it’s Bernard Brooks.”

“The same, Freed. Shall I have the ride?”

“Yes, jump up. Why, you’re looking fine. Where do you want to go?”

“To see my old friend, Professor Snowdon. How is he?”

“He isn’t flourishing. He has lost half his scholars, and looks awfully shabby. Are you going to enter his school again?”

“Not much!”

“What are you doing? Are you working?”

“I am living on my money.”

“So am I,” said Freedom, who thought it a good joke.

“But I am really. I have fifteen thousand dollars.”

“You don’t say! I won’t tell you how much I have, but it isn’t quite so much. Where did you get it?”

“I will tell you later. But who is that ahead of us? Isn’t it Nat Barclay?”

“Yes.”

“Nat!” called out Bernard.

Nat turned and eyed Bernard at first doubtfully. Then he looked overjoyed as he recognized his friend. He jumped into the wagon, and squeezing in between him and Freedom began to ply him with questions.

When they reached the Snowdon Institute Bernard jumped down.

“I’ll see you later, Nat,” he said.

“Come round to dinner, Bernard.”

“I will.”

Bernard plied the knocker at Professor Snowdon’s front door. Clad in a ragged dressing-gown the professor came to answer it. Being shortsighted he didn’t at once recognize Bernard.

“Have you business with me, young gentleman?” he said respectfully, noticing Bernard’s handsome attire.

“You don’t seem to recognize me, professor.”

“Have I seen you before?”,

“I am Bernard Brooks.”

“Is it possible! You – you seem to be prosperous.”

“Yes, Professor Snowdon, the world has used me fairly well of late.”

“I am so glad to hear it,” said the tutor gushingly. “I always thought that you’d get along in business. You are in business, aren’t you?”

“To a certain extent, yes,” replied Bernard. “I have fallen heir to some fifteen thousand dollars.”

“You don’t tell me! Dear me, how fortunate! Do you wish to return to the institute?”

“No, I think not. I shall live in New York for the present.”

“I will take you cheap – very cheap! I always liked you, Bernard Brooks,” and the professor squeezed Bernard’s hand between his bony fingers.

“I am glad to hear it, but I thought you didn’t. You used to call me a bad lot.”

“A little harmless joke. I didn’t mean it. Here, Septimus!”

Septimus came from the street, eying Bernard with curiosity.

“Septimus,” said his father, “this is our old and favorite pupil, Bernard Brooks.”

“How do you do, Bernard?” said Septimus, looking surprised.

“Very well, thank you!”

“Why, you’re rigged out in tip-top style!” went on Septimus, enviously.

“Septimus,” said his father, “you will be glad to hear that our dear young friend has come into a fortune.”

“Is that straight?” asked Septimus.

“A small fortune,” said Bernard, “but I think I shall get my father’s money besides soon. I am having negotiations with Mr. McCracken.”

“Won’t you come back here to live?” asked Septimus. “We’ll have awful good times together.”

“Yes,” said the professor, “Septimus always loved you like a brother.”

“Yes, I did,” affirmed Septimus.

“It is pleasant to find you so glad to see me,” said Bernard, smiling. “I am afraid I can’t stay, though. My friend, Mr. Cunningham of London, can’t spare me. We shall stay in New York for the present.”

“May I come to visit you?” asked Septimus.

“I am not sure that it would be convenient, but if you wish to make a trip to New York on your own account, this will help you to do it,” and Bernard produced a five-dollar bill, which Septimus seized with avidity.

Later in the day Bernard called on Nat Barclay, and insisted on taking him to New York for a few days.

“You were my friend when I needed one, Nat. Now I have more than I want. Septimus and his father seem devoted to me.”

“It is the way of the world,” said Mr. Barclay. “Great is the power of money!”

It is not necessary to follow Bernard further. He is at present connected with Princeton College, and I hear is the captain of the football team. When he has completed his education he will make a tour round the world with Mr. Cunningham. Even Professor Snowdon does not now call him a bad lot, but speaks of him with pride as “my distinguished and favorite pupil.”

“I wonder if the professor remembers when he chased me through the barn with a horsewhip,” Bernard says to himself, with a smile. “I wasn’t his favorite pupil then.”