"Yes, sir. He is very much disturbed because you have raised my salary,
and have not raised his. I get twenty dollars a week, and he only ten."

"He thinks it unjust, does he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you ask him to step into the office, and come back here
yourself?"

The two clerks were speedily in the presence of their employer.

"So you think you ought to have a higher salary, Walton?" began Mr.
Ferguson.

"I don't think Grey earns twice as much as I do, sir."

"Perhaps you think he does not earn any more."

"I don't see why he does."

"Then I will tell you. You have both been with me about the same length
of time, you a little longer, I think, but length of service does not
always enhance the value of service. Grey has devoted his evenings to
study. He has acquired such a knowledge of German in particular that he
can wait upon German customers. He has mastered all the details of the
business, which you have not done. You are often late, often
inattentive, and are no better clerk now than you were a year ago. That
is the reason I am willing to give Gilbert higher pay than you. If you
wish to fare as well as he has done, pursue the same course."

"I don't feel like studying in the evening; I am too tired," said
Maurice, sullenly.

"Do as you please about that; but there is still another way in which,
without any more time, you can make yourself more valuable, and merit
increase of pay."

"How is that, sir?"

"Always be on the alert while you are here in the store. Then, in place
of an indifferent salesman, you may become a good one--such as I should
be very sorry to lose. At present, I confess I should not feel it to be
a great loss if you withdrew to another establishment."

Maurice listened sullenly. It chafed his pride to be thus addressed by
his employer, in presence of Gilbert.

As they went back to their duty, our hero said:

"I did the best I could for you, Maurice. You can't blame me."

"No, but I blame him. He has no business to be so partial to you. All
the difference between us is, that you can jabber Dutch a little. That
isn't worth ten dollars a week extra. He's down on me for something or
other; I don't know why."

"I don't make any comparison between us, Maurice," said Gilbert. "I am
perfectly willing you should get as high pay as I do."

"You are very kind," said Maurice, sarcastically.

"Now, don't get mad with a fellow," said Gilbert, good humoredly. "I
can't help it."

But Maurice was sullen all day, and for some days subsequently. He
insisted on regarding Gilbert as a successful rival, and would have
injured him if he could.

It was about this time that our hero had his thoughts suddenly recalled
to the uncle who had defrauded him of his birthright. Walking in Vine
street one morning, he suddenly came face to face with the man whose
boots he had brushed, more than three years before, on the steps of the
Astor House. He knew him at once by the _peculiar scar upon his right
cheek_, of which he had taken particular notice when they first met.

CHAPTER XVIII.

UNCLE AND NEPHEW.

Our hero stopped short, and, being directly in the path of his uncle,
the latter was compelled to stop, too.

"Mr. Grey," said Gilbert.

"That's my name," said the other, who had not yet taken particular
notice of the youth who addressed him. But, as he spoke, he looked at
him, and instantly recognized him. Gilbert could see that he did by his
sudden start, and expression of surprise and annoyance. He couldn't
understand how the New York bootblack had been metamorphosed into the
well-dressed and gentlemanly-looking young clerk. He regretted so soon
acknowledging his name, and marveled how Gilbert could have learned it.

"What business have you with me, young man?" he continued, formally.

"I have wanted to meet you for a long time," said Gilbert.

"Indeed!" said his uncle, with a sneer. "I am rather surprised to hear
this, not having, to my knowledge, ever had the honor of seeing you
before."

"I am your nephew," said Gilbert, bluntly.

"Then he knows," said Mr. Grey to himself, rather disturbed.

"I confess," he said, in the same sarcastic tone, "I am slightly
disturbed at being claimed as a near relative by a stranger whom I
happen to encounter in the street. May I ask how you happen to be my
nephew?"

"I am the son of your older brother, John," said Gilbert.

"That can hardly be, young man. My brother had but one son, and he
died."

"Disappeared, you mean," said Gilbert, significantly.

"There is no doubt that he died," said Mr. Grey, positively.

"Then he has come to life again, for I am he."

"You are an impudent impostor," said Mr. Grey, hotly; "but you have
missed your mark. I am not so easily humbugged. I denounce you and your
pretensions as alike false. Let me pass."

As he said this he attempted to pass Gilbert, but our hero had no
intention of losing sight of his uncle.

"Of course you can pass," he said; "but I shall follow you."

"You will?" demanded his uncle, shaking his cane angrily. "Then I will
put you in the hands of the police."

"I don't think you will," said Gilbert, with perfect composure.

"Why not? What is to hinder me, I should like to know?"

"It wouldn't be good policy for you to do it."

"Why not, you impudent young rascal?"

"Because I should let the relationship be known."

"Well?"

"And why is it that you deny it?"

"Well," said Mr. Grey, his attention caught, "why do I deny it?"

"Because you are in possession of my father's property, which, of
right, belongs to me!" said Gilbert, firmly, looking his uncle in the
eyes. "It is your interest to deny the relationship."

James Grey saw that his long injustice had come home to him at last.
How could this stripling have learned what he had taken such pains to
conceal? What was he to do? Was he to admit the boy's claims, and
surrender the estate? He could not make up his mind to do it. He must
stave off the attack, if he could.

"This is a ridiculous story," he said. "Somebody has been making a fool
of you."

"Didn't you have an older brother, named John?"

"Yes," Mr. Grey admitted, unwillingly.

"Did he not have a son?"

"Yes; but, as I told you, he died."

"He only disappeared. He was carried away, for what object, you can
tell."

"You are dealing in mysteries. I don't know what you are talking
about." Mr. Grey said this, but his troubled look showed that he did
not feel as unconcerned as he pretended.

Gilbert continued:

"The man who carried me off was a clerk in your employ. His name was
Jacob Morton."

"So he took you to Australia, did he? That's a likely story."

"Yes. He was supplied with money by you for the purpose. But he did not
like Australia. After awhile he returned to New York, and there I was
brought up in the streets, suffering every privation, while you were
enjoying the property my father left."

"Well, have you got anything more to say? The tale does great credit to
your invention."

"Three years ago--a little more, perhaps--I saw you in New York. I
brushed your boots on the steps of the Astor House."

"Better and better. I am expected to recognize a New York bootblack as
my nephew!"

"It was your fault that I was reduced to be a bootblack."

"How happens it that you are not in the same line of business now?
Perhaps you are."

"Jacob died and left me a few dollars, with which I came out West.
Before he died he gave me a written paper, in which he revealed all the
plot into which he entered with you."

"He gave you a paper, did he?"

"Yes. From it I learned that I was born in Cincinnati, and I expected
to find you here. But I looked in vain. After awhile I found my
father's place of business. I introduced myself to Mr. Ferguson, and he
gave me a place in his employ."

"On the strength of your ridiculous story, I suppose?"

"Because he believed me to be the son of his old employer, John Grey."

"I thought Ferguson had more sense than to be duped by such a designing
young rascal."

"He tells me that I bear a strong resemblance to my father. Look in my
face, Uncle James, and tell me whether it is not true."

Almost involuntarily James Grey fixed his eyes on the frank, handsome
face of his nephew, as he stood intrepidly before him, and he was
forced, however reluctantly, to admit to himself that the resemblance
was indeed very striking.

The case was getting more serious than he had expected. Gilbert had
already been recognized as the missing son of John Grey, and that by a
man whose testimony would carry great weight. Old Jacob had testified
not only to his identity, but to the wrongful compact by which Gilbert
had been spirited away to suit his uncle's rapacity. Were this publicly
known, his reputation would be destroyed, and he would be deprived of
the wealth which he had labored so dishonestly to acquire. Evidently
the claim was not to be disposed of so easily as he had at first
supposed.

"What do you call yourself?" he asked.

"Gilbert Grey."

"Of course you would take the name of the boy you pretend to be."

"Then you don't believe I am Gilbert Grey?"

"No, I do not. I believe that Gilbert Grey is dead."

"Are you willing to come with me to Mr. Ferguson's, and speak to him
about it?"

"No, I am not. I have not time. I must leave Cincinnati at once."

"Then will you tell me where you live?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I see that you intend to follow me up and persecute me about
this preposterous claim. I don't choose to be troubled."

"If I am an impostor, you can prove me to be so."

"I don't choose to waste my time in doing it."

"Mr. Grey," said Gilbert, "I might as well tell you that I am
determined in this matter. I know that you have an object in keeping me
out of my rights; but I am bound to have them. I shall place the matter
in the hands of a lawyer, and he can soon find out, by advertising,
where you live, even if you try to keep it secret from me."

James Grey realized the truth of this, and he changed his tack.

"You say that you have a paper, signed by Jacob Morton, attesting your
identity."

"Not only signed, but written by him."

"I should like to see that paper. Have you got it with you?"

"No, but I can lay my hands upon it immediately."

"Then bring it to me at the Burnet House this afternoon, at three
o'clock. I will be in the reading-room of the hotel."

"I will bring it."

The two then separated.

Gilbert went immediately, returned to his place of business, resolved
to inform Mr. Ferguson, whom he looked upon as a good friend, that his
uncle was found.

CHAPTER XIX.

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

"Your uncle in the city?" said Mr. Ferguson, in surprise.

"Yes, sir. I met him, only a short time since, on Vine street."

"How did you know him?"

"By the scar on his cheek. But I think I would have known him at any
rate. I have a good memory for faces."

"How did he receive you?" asked Mr. Ferguson, with curiosity.

"He didn't seem very glad to see me," answered Gilbert, smiling. "He
insisted that his nephew is dead, and called me an impostor."

"He must have seen the resemblance between you and his brother. You
will make just such a looking man as your father."

"I hope I sha'n't look like my uncle."

"Your father and your uncle did not resemble each other. There might
have been a slight family likeness, but it was very slight."

"So much the better."

"You don't think you shall like your uncle?"

"I am sure I shall not. First, he cheated me out of my property, and
now, because I claim it, he calls me an impostor."

"So that was the way the interview terminated, was it?"

"Not exactly. When I told him I had old Jacob's confession, and
threatened to put it into the hands of a lawyer, he said he would like
to see it, and asked me to call with it at the Burnet House this
afternoon."

"Humph!" said Mr. Ferguson, thoughtfully. "Did you promise to do it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I will give you a piece of advice."

"What is it, sir?"

"_Don't carry the original paper with you._"

"Why not, sir?"

"It is best to be on the safe side. Your uncle is an unscrupulous man.
This paper is of the utmost importance to you, since it proves your
identity, and lays bare the conspiracy against you. Just in proportion
as it is valuable to you, it is also valuable to your uncle."

"I understand," said Gilbert, nodding. "You think he has laid a trap
for me, in order to get hold of the paper."

"It looks very much like it. At any rate, it is best to be on your
guard."

"I don't think he would find it easy to get it away from me," said
Gilbert, with the confidence of youth.

"You are too confident, Gilbert. You are but a boy, and he is a strong
man. Besides, he will want to take it in his hands."

"Would you not advise me to carry it then, sir?"

"Not the original. Can you not make a copy of the paper?"

"But I am to call at three."

"You will have time enough. It is not long."

"Then I shall be obliged to neglect my duties here."

"Oh! as to that, in a matter of such importance, I will readily excuse
you. You can go home at once, and get to work."

"Thank you, sir."

Gilbert lost no time in availing himself of the permission accorded to
him. Reaching his boarding-house--the same one to which the reader has
already been introduced--he took the important paper from its secure
resting-place in his trunk, and, seating himself at the table, began to
copy it rapidly. When he first entered Mr. Ferguson's establishment, he
could scarcely write at all; but he knew how important a good
handwriting was, to one who aspired to be a business man, and he
therefore soon commenced taking lessons. Now he was master of a
handsome hand. Jacob, too, was a good writer, with a handwriting quite
similar to his, so that, without any great effort, he succeeded in
producing a document very nearly resembling the original.

"Now, Uncle James, I am ready to meet you," he said to himself, with
satisfaction, as he compared the two papers, and then carefully laid
away the first in its old place of concealment. "You are welcome to
destroy this, if you think it will do you any good."

It was still early, for the paper was not long, and Gilbert decided to
go back to the store, and resume his duties until it should be time to
start for the Burnet House.

"Where have you been, Gilbert?" asked Maurice Walton, crossly.

"I have been home--to my boarding-house."

"I shouldn't think Mr. Ferguson would like your leaving his business to
run home in the middle of the fore-noon."

"He advised me to go."

"I suppose you pretended to have a headache, or something of that
kind," said Maurice, with a sneer.

"No, I didn't. I was never better in my life."

"What did you go for, then?"

"It seems to me you are very curious, Maurice," said Gilbert,
good-naturedly. "If you must know, I went home on a little private
business of my own."

"Very important, I suppose."

"Yes, it was important."

"Mr. Ferguson is very partial to you, that's all I can say. He wouldn't
let me be away for a couple of hours, in the morning, even if I did
have _important_ business."

"I have no doubt he would. I hope you won't be disturbed if I tell you
that I am going out again this afternoon."

"And you get twice as much pay as I," said Maurice, with
dissatisfaction. "I say it's a shame."

"You must remember, Maurice, that I don't fix the salaries. If I could
fix it so, your salary should be raised at once, so as to equal mine."

"It's easy to say that," said Maurice Walton, discontentedly.

Gilbert, in spite of the discontent of his fellow-clerk, took his hat
at half-past two, and left the store. He reached the Burnet House about
ten minutes of three, and went at once to the reading-room, where he
was to meet his uncle.

Mr. Grey was already in waiting. He was seated in an arm-chair, looking
over a file of the New York _Herald_.

"I have come, Mr. Grey," said Gilbert, "as you proposed."

"Humph! Have you the paper?"

"Yes, sir."

Here Mr. Grey showed signs of satisfaction, as Gilbert was
quick-sighted enough to perceive.

"We will go up stairs to my room," said his uncle, rising, and laying
down the paper. "We shall be more private there."

"Perhaps he thinks he can get hold of the paper better," thought our
hero, though, of course, he kept his thought to himself.

"Follow me," said Mr. Grey. "Give me the key to No. 157," he said, to
the hotel clerk.

Gilbert followed him up several flights of stairs till he reached his
room.

"Enter," he said, unlocking the door.

Gilbert did so, feeling, at the same time, a queer sensation, as he
thought of the attempt that might be made at violence. However, he was
not wanting in courage, and did not deign to give audience to fear.

"Sit down," said Mr. Grey, abruptly.

Gilbert seated himself near the door. His uncle drew up a chair for
himself, but, as our hero noted, placed it between him and the door.

"He wants to cut me off from escape," he thought. "Never mind; he'll
let me go when he finds he can't make anything by keeping me."

"Well," said his uncle, when they were seated, "let me know all about
this precious plot you have been hatching."

"I am engaged in no plot, Mr. Grey," said Gilbert, steadily.

"Of course not. Conspirators are the last to admit the real character
of their designs. But that don't alter the fact. You have laid a plot
for getting possession of my property, and, to this end, have forged a
paper, which you think will help you."

"You are quite mistaken, Mr. Grey. I have Jacob Morton's written
confession of his agency in carrying me away from Cincinnati. I knew
nothing of it till he spoke to me on this subject, and placed the paper
in my hands."

"Have you the paper with you?"

Gilbert didn't answer this question, since he could not have said truly
that he had Jacob's confession with him. It was merely his own copy.
But he drew the paper from his breast-pocket, and handed it to his
uncle.

Mr. Grey took the paper, and ran his eye rapidly over it. His
countenance changed, for he saw that it would have great weight in a
court of justice, completely substantiating Gilbert's claims to the
estate which he wrongfully held.

"Well," he said, looking up, after he had finished reading the paper,
"I have read this document, and I have no hesitation in pronouncing it
a vile forgery. It shall meet the fate it merits."

So saying, he hastily tore it across the middle, and proceeded to tear
it into still smaller pieces.

"Now, young man," he said, sarcastically, "as I have no further
business with you, I will bid you a very good-day," and he bowed,
mockingly.

"I think you are mistaken about our business being settled," said
Gilbert, quietly.

"Your forged document will help you little," said Mr. Grey,
triumphantly. "I have torn it into a hundred pieces."

[Illustration: "Your forged document will help you little," said Mr.
Grey, triumphantly. "I have torn it into a hundred pieces."--Page 138.]

"It is of no consequence," said our hero, calmly. "_It is only a copy
of the original paper._"

CHAPTER XX.

BAFFLED, BUT NOT DISCOURAGED.

The triumphant look on the face of James Grey faded, and was replaced
by one of baffled rage and disappointment.

"It's a lie!" he exclaimed, speaking rather what he wished than what he
believed.

"You are mistaken," said Gilbert, in the same calm tone. "The paper you
have just torn up was in my own handwriting."

"I have no doubt of that. I thought, all the time, that it was an
imposture which you had got up."

"I made a copy of it from the original this morning," said our hero.

"Why did you not bring the original, if there is one?"

"Because I was afraid you might be tempted to destroy it. It seems I
was right," added Gilbert, with a glance at the torn pieces of paper
which littered the carpet at his feet.

James Grey was terribly provoked. He had "shown his hand," so to speak,
and gained nothing by it. If his nephew's story was true, the dreaded
paper was still in existence, and likely to be guarded more carefully
than ever. Gilbert's calmness was a strong indication of the
correctness of his story. Were the real paper destroyed, he could not
help showing agitation.

"Do you mean to say that you have another paper than this?" he
demanded.

"I do," said our hero.

"You must show me that, or I shall not believe you have it."

"I am not quite a fool, Uncle James," said Gilbert. "I know as well as
you how valuable that paper is, and I am not going to risk it."

"You seem to be a remarkably prudent young man," said Mr. Grey, with a
sneer--"quite an old head upon young shoulders."

"I ought to be," said Gilbert. "I was educated to the streets of New
York. There I had to knock about for myself and earn my own living, at
an age when most boys are carefully looked after by their parents. I
learned to look out for my own interests there. I am indebted to you
for that kind of training. You must not complain now if I use it
against you."

Mr. Grey sat a moment in deep and troubled thought. This nephew of his
turned out to be a decidedly formidable opponent. How could he cope
with him?

"Have you told any one in this city about these false claims of yours?"
he asked, after awhile.

"I have not spoken to any one about _false_ claims," said Gilbert,
coldly.

"Call them what you will. Have you spoken of having any claims to my
brother's property to any one here?"

"I have."

"To whom?"

"To Mr. Ferguson."

James Grey frowned. Mr. Ferguson was one of the last men to whom he
would have wished the communication known.

"He must have laughed at your ridiculous story."

"On the contrary, he fully believes it."

"I did not think him so gullible. Have you spoken to him about my being
in the city?"

"I have."

"Did he know you were to call upon me this afternoon?"

"I told him before I came."

Things were evidently getting more serious than Mr. Grey had supposed.
Not only was Gilbert a young man who meant business, but he was backed
by a merchant of standing, whose former connection with the Grey family
made his co-operation and favor of no slight importance. James Grey saw
that he must temporize. Had he followed out his inclination, he would
have sprung upon his obdurate nephew and pounded him to a jelly. But
unfortunately he was in a civilized city, where laws are supposed to
afford some protection from personal assault, and this course,
therefore, was not to be thought of. Since violence, then, was not
practicable, he must have recourse to stratagem, and, to put Gilbert
temporarily off his guard, he must play a part.

"Well, young man," he said, at length, "I am not prepared at present to
pronounce a definite opinion upon your claim. Of course, if really
convinced that you were my nephew, I would acknowledge you to be such."

"I have some doubts as to that," thought Gilbert.

"But it does not seem to me very probable that such is the case. Of
course, I objected to being duped by an impostor. You cannot blame me
for that."

"No."

"At first, your claim appeared to me preposterous, and I pronounced it
to be so. Upon reflection, though I strongly doubt its genuineness, I
am willing to take time to consider it."

"That is fair," said Gilbert.

"I shall consult with a lawyer on the subject, and institute some
inquiries of my own. Then, besides, my time will be partly occupied
with other business, on which I have come hither. You may come again,
say in a week, and I shall perhaps be able to give you a definite
answer."

"Very well," said Gilbert. "Good-morning."

"Good-morning," responded his uncle, following him to the door. "I'd
like to kick you down stairs, you young villain," he added, _sotto
voce_.

James Grey shut the door of his chamber, and sat down to think. It was
certainly an emergency that called for serious thought. Gilbert's claim
would strip him of four-fifths of his fortune, and reduce him from a
rich man to a comparatively poor one.

"I am not safe as long as that paper exists," he concluded. "It must be
stolen from the boy, in some way." But how? He felt that he wanted an
unscrupulous tool through whose agency he might get possession of old
Jacob's confession. That destroyed, he could snap his fingers at
Gilbert, and live undisturbed in the possession of the fortune he
wrongfully withheld from him.

Sometimes the devil sends to evil men precisely what they most want,
and so it turned out in this particular instance.

That evening Mr. Grey was walking thoughtfully in the street,
reflecting upon his difficult situation, when his sharp ears caught the
sound of his nephew's name, pronounced by two boys, or young men, in
front of him. Not to keep the reader in suspense, they were Maurice
Walton and a friend of his, named Isaac Baker.

"I tell you, Baker," said Maurice, warmly, "it's the greatest piece of
injustice my being paid only half the salary of that sneak, Gilbert
Grey."

"I suppose he's a favorite with Ferguson, isn't he?"

"That's just it. I'm as good a clerk as he is, any day, yet he gets
twenty dollars a week, while I only get ten. It's enough to make a
fellow swear."

"Did you ever speak to Ferguson about it?"

"Yes, but that was all the good it did. He seems to think there's
nobody like Grey."

"How did Grey get in with him?"

"I believe he's a nephew of the man Ferguson used to work for. Besides
he's got a way of getting round people. He's a humbug and a hypocrite."

Maurice spoke with bitterness, and evidently felt strongly on the
subject. He had another grievance, which he did not choose to speak of,
of which our readers have already had a glimpse. His cousin, Bessie
Benton, persisted in the bad taste of preferring Gilbert to him. Of
course they were too young for anything serious; but, in the social
gatherings to which all three were invited, Bessie was, of course, the
recipient of attentions from both, and she had, on more than one
occasion, shown unmistakably her preference for Gilbert Grey. Only two
evenings previous, she had danced with Gilbert, but, when Maurice
applied, had told him her card was full. It was not an intentional
slight, and, had he come up earlier, he would have been successful in
securing her. But he chose to regard it as a slight, and this naturally
embittered him still more, partly against his cousin, but most of all
against Gilbert, who, both in business and with the fair sex, seemed to
have eclipsed him.

"I suppose, under the circumstances, you don't like Grey much?" said
his companion.

"Like him!" returned Maurice, with bitter emphasis. "I should think
not. He's a mean grasping fellow, and I hate him. He's got the inside
track now, but my turn may come some time."

James Grey listened to this conversation with increasing interest. It
seemed to open a way for him to success.

"Come," thought he, "here is just the fellow I want. He hates my
dangerous nephew, and can easily be molded to my purposes. I will
follow him, and, as soon as I can speak to him alone, I will see if I
cannot win him to my side."

CHAPTER XXI.

A CONSPIRACY.

James Grey continued to follow Maurice Walton and his companion until
his patience was nearly exhausted. At length, just as the city clocks
were striking ten, Baker said:

"Well, Walton, I must bid you good-night."

"Won't you walk home with me? It isn't far out of your way."

"Can't do it to-night. The fact is, I want to see the governor before
he retires. I'm hard up, and shall try to get a ten-dollar bill out of
him."

"I wish you success. As to being 'hard up,' I can sympathize with you.
Couldn't you ask him for an extra ten for me?"

"I would if there was any chance of getting it, but I'm afraid my own
chance is slim enough."

"If I only got Grey's salary, I wouldn't ask favors of anybody; but how
is a fellow to get along on ten dollars a week?"

"Just so. Well, good-night."

"Good-night."

Baker walked off, and Maurice Walton walked on by himself. He had taken
but a few steps when Mr. Grey, quickening his pace, laid his hand upon
his shoulder.

"Mr. Walton," said he.

Maurice turned quickly.

"You must excuse the liberty I have taken in addressing you, being a
stranger; but I heard you, when in conversation with the young man who
has just left you, mention the name of Gilbert Grey."

"Yes, sir, I mentioned his name," said Maurice. "Do you know him?"

"I have spoken with him, but I know very little about him. I judge that
you do."

"We are in the same store," said Maurice; "but we are not intimate
friends."

"I infer that you do not like him?"

"No, I don't."

"Nor do I."

Probably Mr. Grey could not have said anything more likely to win young
Walton's confidence than this frank expression of dislike.

"The fact is," continued Mr. Grey, "I suppose I may speak to you in
confidence?"

"Oh! certainly, sir," said Maurice, eagerly, for he anticipated hearing
something to Gilbert's disadvantage.

"Then," said Mr. Grey, in a low tone, "I look upon him as an impostor."

"You do?" repeated young Walton. "What makes you think so?"

"I don't like to speak openly in the street. Can you give me an hour,
or even half an hour of your time, or is it necessary for you to go
home at once?"

"Where are you stopping, sir?"

"At the Burnet House."

"I think I can spare half an hour. It is near by."

"Thank you. I will endeavor to make the interview a profitable one for
you. I am going to ask a service of you, and I am willing to pay
handsomely for it."

Upon a young man "hard up," as Maurice was, this suggestion was not
thrown away.

"I shall be glad to help you, sir," he said, quickly.

"Come with me, then. I will defer saying more till we are seated in my
room at the hotel."

In less than five minutes they were so seated. By the gaslight Maurice
got a fair view of his companion, and was led to wonder who he was.

"Mr. Walton," said the older man, "it is only fair that I should give
you an equal advantage with myself. I know your name. You do not know
mine. Let me introduce myself as James Grey."

"Formerly in business in this city?"

"The same."

"The uncle of Gilbert Grey?"

"So he says."

It was impossible to mistake the tone in which these words were spoken.

"Is he not really your nephew?" asked Maurice, in surprise.

James Grey shrugged his shoulders.

"He _pretends_ to be; but I believe him to be an impostor."

"What makes you think so? Why should he pretend to be related to you?"
asked Maurice, excited and eager.

"Because I am rich, and he has entered into a plot to extort money from
me. I can make clear his design very briefly. He pretends that he is
the son of my elder brother. If this be true, then the property which I
possess, or a large part of it, properly belongs to him."

"But, if it isn't true, how can he make such a claim?"

"My brother's only son disappeared when a mere boy, and, though his
body was not found, there is reason to believe that he fell into the
Ohio river and was drowned. At about the same time, a clerk in my
employ purloined a sum of money and fled. This boy has heard of these
two incidents, and, cunningly putting them together, comes forward with
a trumped-up story to the effect that this clerk, Jacob Morton, was
hired to carry off my nephew, in order that, the true heir being out of
the way, I might succeed to my brother's money. It is ridiculous, and
yet it is cunningly devised."

"I always thought he was artful," said Maurice.

"You are quite right there. He has an astonishing amount of artfulness
and unblushing impudence. But I have not told you all. He produces a
paper professing to be written by this Jacob Morton, who, he says, is
dead, asserting all that he claims."

"Do you think he wrote it himself?"

"Either that, or he has met this clerk somewhere, and they have devised
a plan for jointly enriching themselves at my expense. If this is the
case, and the paper was really written by Jacob Morton, the man is
probably still alive, but keeping himself somewhere in concealment."

"What a bold attempt at fraud!" exclaimed Maurice, who was completely
duped by his companion's plausible statements.

"Is it not? Now I want to ask you, who know him well, what your opinion
of him is. Do you look upon him as honest and straightforward?"

"No, I don't. He's just artful enough to be up to some such game. He's
deceived Mr. Ferguson, and made him think there is no one like him, so
that there is no chance for me. He gets twice the salary that I do,
although I have been in the business as long as he."

"And yet you look as if you had a good business turn," said Mr. Grey,
with skillful flattery.

"I know as much of business as he does. I am sure of that."

"Mr. Ferguson must be a weak man to be so easily duped. If it were my
case, he wouldn't find it so easy to impose upon me."

"I don't know how he does it, but he has cut me out entirely. Mr.
Ferguson won't hear a word against his favorite."

"You are unfortunate, but we are in the same position there. He has
conspired to keep you down, and he is now plotting to extort money from
me by his preposterous claims."

"Do you think he stands any chance?"

"No. But if he produces this paper of his, he might bring a suit
against me which would be annoying. You know there are some people who
are always ready to believe the worst, and I dare say he would convince
some that his claims were just, and that I had acted fraudulently. Now
that would be unpleasant to me, though I should be certain to win at
law."

"Of course. What are you going to do about it, Mr. Grey?"

"To ask your assistance, for which I shall be ready to pay."

"But what can I do?" asked Maurice, in some astonishment.

"I will tell you," said James Grey, hitching his chair nearer that of
his young visitor; "but, of course, you will keep my confidence?"

"Certainly."

"The whole strength of his case lies in this forged paper. Let me get
possession of that, and he can do nothing."

"I see."

"Now you know where he boards, probably?"

"Yes."

"Can't you contrive to get access to his room, search for the
paper--very likely it is in his trunk--and, when obtained, bring it to
me? I am ready to give a hundred dollars for it."

"I don't know," said Maurice, slowly. "I am afraid it would be
difficult."

"But by no means impossible. I will give you ten dollars now, and that
you may keep, whether you succeed or not. If you succeed, you shall
have a hundred dollars besides. Do you agree?"

As he spoke he held a ten-dollar bill out temptingly. It was a
temptation that Maurice Walton, with but fifty cents in his pocket,
could not resist. He wanted money sorely. Besides, he had a chance to
win a hundred dollars additional, and this would enable him to gratify
several wishes which had hitherto seemed unattainable.

"I will do my best," he said, holding out his hand for the money.

There was a quiet flash of triumph in the cold, gray eye of his older
companion, as he placed the bill in Maurice's hands.

"I need not caution you to be secret," he said.

"I shall not say a word to any one," answered young Walton.

James Grey rubbed his hands gleefully, as Walton left the room.

"The scheme promises well," he soliloquized. "My worthy nephew, I may
checkmate you yet."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE THEFT OF THE PAPER.

Had Maurice Walton been a youth of strict honor, he could not have been
induced to undertake the theft of the paper, however large the sum
offered him. But his principles were not strict enough to interfere,
and the hope of injuring Gilbert, whom he envied, and therefore hated,
made him the more willing to engage in the enterprise.

"A hundred dollars will be very acceptable," he said to himself,
complacently. "They couldn't be more easily earned. Now, how shall I
set about it?"

Maurice came to the conclusion that Gilbert kept the paper in his
trunk. This seemed to be the most natural depository to be selected. Of
course, then, he must contrive some means of opening the trunk. He
thought of pretending that he had lost the key of his own trunk, and
asking Gilbert for the loan of his. But that would draw suspicion upon
him when the paper was missed. Another plan, which he finally adopted,
was to go to a locksmith, and ask for a variety of trunk keys, on the
same pretext, in order to try, with the liberty of returning those that
didn't suit. This, and other points necessary to success in his scheme,
were determined upon by Maurice, and will be made known to the reader
as he proceeds.

A little before ten the next morning, Maurice left his place in the
store, and, going to Mr. Ferguson, asked permission to go home.

"For what reason?" asked his employer.

"I have a terrible headache," said Maurice, looking as miserable as
possible.

"Certainly you may go," said Mr. Ferguson, who was a kind-hearted man,
and who didn't doubt the statement.

"If I feel better I will come back in the afternoon," said Maurice.

"Don't come unless you feel able. I know what the headache is, and I
don't want you to come, unless you feel quite able to attend to
business."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now for business," said Maurice, as he found himself in the street.
"I'll rest my poor head by a ride on the horse-cars."

First, however, he entered a small shop near by, over which was a sign,
M. FRINK, Locksmith.

The locksmith, wearing a dirty apron, looked up from his work.

"I have lost the key to my trunk," said Maurice.

"I can make you another," said the locksmith.

"I want to open it now. Haven't you got some already made?"

"Plenty. But how will you know the size?"

"Give me half a dozen to try, and I will bring back those that don't
suit."

"All right. Is your lock a large one?"

"Not very. About medium," said Maurice, hazarding a guess.

The locksmith picked out eight keys, of various sizes, and handed them
to Maurice.

"I will bring them back safe," said he.

"All right. I don't think you'll run off with them."

"Now for it," said Maurice. "I think one of these keys must fit."

He took the cars to a point only two squares distant from Gilbert's
boarding-house, and walked toward it. But, in order to change his
appearance, he applied to his upper lip a false black mustache, which
he had bought for the purpose, and, a little discomposed by his
dishonest intentions, walked up the steps and rang the bell. It was
opened directly by a servant.

"I am a friend of Mr. Grey's," said Maurice, putting on a bold face.
"He told me I might get his opera-glass."

This he said in an easy, confident manner, which imposed upon the girl.

"Do you know his room?" she asked.

"Yes, I know it," said Maurice. "Never mind about going up."

The servant went back to her work, and Maurice, his heart beating fast,
went up stairs on his dishonest errand. He had no difficulty in getting
into the room, for the door was not locked. The trunks were kept in the
bed-chamber, and he therefore went thither at once. One of the trunks
was a handsome one, made of sole-leather. This belonged to Mordaunt.
The other was plainer and smaller, and no doubt belonged to Gilbert.

Maurice got down on his knees and began to try his keys. The first did
not fit, neither did the second, nor the third. Indeed, it was only the
last that proved to be the right one. Maurice had feared the failure of
his plans, when success came.

"So far, so good," he said, and began eagerly to explore the contents.

First in order came a pile of shirts and underclothing. These he
hastily removed, and peered about for papers. In one corner was a book
of deposits on a city savings-bank. Led by curiosity, Maurice opened
it. He saw a long line of deposits, covering several pages, for Gilbert
had been in the habit of making a weekly deposit, even the first year,
for, though his income was small, he had nothing to pay for board, and
this was, of course, a great help.

"How much has the fellow got?" thought Maurice.

He made a hurried calculation, and, to his astonishment and envy,
learned that our hero had seven hundred and sixty dollars deposited to
his credit.

"Almost eight hundred dollars, and I haven't a cent," he muttered,
discontentedly. Then there came the thought that if he found the paper,
he might count upon a hundred dollars, and his good spirits returned.
Underneath the bank-book were two letters, written to him by Mordaunt
while absent on a pleasure-trip not long before, and under these was a
sheet of quarto paper, which appeared to be written upon.

"That may be the paper," thought Maurice, and he took it in his hands
with eager anticipations. Turning to the end he read the signature,
"Jacob Morton." A slight examination of the contents satisfied him that
it was the paper he wanted.

"Success! success!" he ejaculated, exultingly. "My hundred dollars are
safe. Now, Gilbert Grey, your hopes are dashed to the earth, and you
won't know who has done it for you."

There was no need of waiting longer. He put back the contents of the
trunk hastily, with the exception of the paper, which he folded, and
put carefully in his breast-pocket. Then locking the trunk, he went
down stairs, and let himself out by the front door, without meeting any
one.

"I didn't think I'd succeed so easily," he thought. "Now I'll go round
to the Burnet House and get my hundred dollars. It pays to have a
headache, sometimes."

Arrived at the Burnet House he found that Mr. Grey was out, and decided
to wait for him. He remained in the reading-room, reading the papers,
impatient for the return of his employer. As he sat there, Mr. Grey,
who had been told at the desk that some one was waiting to see him,
entered.

"Ah! my young friend," he said, affably, "well, have you any news for
me?"

"Yes," said Maurice.

"What is it?"

"Hadn't we better go up stairs?"

"It may be better. But, in one word, is it success or failure?"

"Success," said Maurice.

"Good!" exclaimed James Grey, his eyes lighting up with joy. "Come up."

Again they found themselves in the same room in which Gilbert and his
uncle had formerly had their interview.

"The paper," said Mr. Grey, impatiently.

"You'll pay me the money?" said Maurice, cautiously.

"If the paper is correct, you may be assured of that."

Upon this assurance Maurice withdrew the paper from his pocket, and
passed it over to his companion. The latter opened it, and glanced over
it triumphantly.

"Is it right?"

"Yes, it is right. It is the forged paper. We have put a spoke in the
wheel of that impudent young impostor. He can do nothing now. But you
want your money, and you shall have it."

Mr. Grey took out his pocket-book and counted out five twenty-dollar
bills, which he put in the hands of his agent.

"Now confess," he said, "you never earned money more easily."

"No," said Maurice; "but I wouldn't like to go through it again.
Suppose Grey had come in while I was at his trunk?"

"Tell me how you managed it--I am curious to know."

So Maurice told the story, which amused his auditor not a little,
especially when he tried on the mustache in his presence.

"You are a regular conspirator," he said, smiling. "You absolutely have
a genius for intrigue."

Maurice felt complimented by this remark, and the fact that he was the
possessor of over a hundred dollars, put him in very good spirits.

"When do you think Gilbert will find out his loss?" he asked.

"Very likely not till he calls on me. He will wonder how he met with
the loss."

"I must be going, Mr. Grey," said Maurice. "It is about time for
lunch."

"I would invite you to lunch with me, but it might lead to suspicions."

"Thank you all the same."

"Now the boy may do his worst," said James Grey, exultingly. "He has
lost his proof, and has nothing but his own assertion to fall back
upon. _I am out of danger._"

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE TABLES TURNED.

As Maurice Walton left the Burnet House, he fell in with the one whom
he most wished to avoid. Gilbert was returning to the store, after his
usual midday lunch. He was surprised to see Maurice, supposing him at
home, suffering from the headache.

"How do you happen to be here, Maurice?" he asked. "I thought you were
at home."

"My head felt so bad that I thought I would come out into the fresh
air," answered Maurice, a little confused.

"Do you feel better?"

"A little. I think I'll go home and go to bed."

"I hope you'll be all right to-morrow."

"I guess so."

So they separated, Gilbert, who was not inclined to be suspicious, not
doubting his fellow-clerk's statements.

That evening, when he returned to his boarding-house, the servant said:

"Did your friend find the opera-glass?"

"What?" said Gilbert.

"Shure a friend of yours called, and said you had sent him to borrow
your opera-glass."

"I sent nobody. Who was it? What did he look like?"

"He was about your size, shure, and had a black _mustash_."

"I don't know who it can be. Did he go up into my room?"

"Yes, he did. He said he knew the way."

"I can't think who it was."

Gilbert went up stairs, and, to increase the mystery, there was his
opera-glass on the bureau, where he usually kept it. It was directly in
sight, so that the visitor must have seen it.

"I can't understand it," he said, perplexed. "Mordaunt, do you know of
any friend of mine who has a black mustache?"

"Frank Oswald."

"He is considerably larger than I am. The servant said it was some one
of my size."

"I can't think of anybody else."

"I don't see why he didn't take the opera-glass, if he wanted it,
though it would have been rather bold, as I didn't authorize anybody to
take it."

As there seemed no clew to the mystery, and as, moreover, Gilbert had
no suspicion that the visitor was on an unlawful errand, he dismissed
it from his mind.

Two days afterward, Gilbert met his uncle in the street. As the week
was not up, he was about to pass him with a bow, when Mr. Grey paused,
and appeared inclined to speak.

"Young man," he said, "can you call on me this evening?"

"Yes, sir."

"I shall leave the city to-morrow, and, though it is of no consequence
to me, I suppose you would like to know my decision in regard to the
matter you broached the other day."

"I will call," said Gilbert, bowing.

"He looks as if he were going to defy me," thought our hero. "Well, I
am ready for him."

In the evening he called, and was shown up to his uncle's room.

"Good-evening, Mr. Grey," he said, politely.

"Good-evening, young sir," said the other. "You did me the honor, the
other day, of claiming relationship with me?"

"I did."

"Knowing that your claim had no foundation, but was only an impudent
fabrication, instigated by cupidity----"

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Gilbert, quietly, "but that statement I
deny most positively. I have not the slightest doubt that that
relationship exists; neither has Mr. Ferguson."

"You have succeeded in duping Mr. Ferguson. You will find it a harder
task to dupe me. If you knew me better, you would have hesitated before
you attempted to humbug me in that barefaced way."

"If you knew me better, Uncle James----"

"I am not your Uncle James."

"Mr. Grey, then. If you knew me better, Mr. Grey, you would know that I
am not capable of making a false claim."

"Oh! no doubt you are very honest--the soul of integrity," sneered
James Grey; "but every one has his price, and, as the success of your
imposture would make you rich for life, you concluded to leave honesty
out of the question."

James Grey might at once have referred to his possession of the paper,
but he could not forbear playing with Gilbert, as a cat with a mouse,
enjoying meanwhile the power which he possessed of crushing his claims
by a single statement.

"Your charge is entirely unjust," said Gilbert, quietly. "I shall
appreciate the money to which I am rightfully entitled, to be sure; but
I want to settle my claim, also, to my father's name, of which I was so
long ignorant."

"If you choose to call yourself Grey, or Green, or Brown, there is no
law to prevent you, I suppose," said Mr. Grey, sarcastically; "but when
you, a street bootblack, try to force your way into a respectable
family, there is considerable to be said."

"I am not ashamed of having been a bootblack," said our hero, calmly.
"I was earning an honest living, though an humble one; and I was not
living upon what belonged to another."

"Do you mean me?" interrupted his uncle, angrily.

"You must decide whether you are meant, Mr. Grey."

"Suppose now I decline to consider seriously this very impudent claim
of yours, what are you going to do about it?"

"I shall take legal advice."

"How do you expect to pay a lawyer?"

"I shall try to manage it."

"No lawyer will undertake such a discreditable case."

"I happen to be acquainted with one lawyer that will. In fact, I have
mentioned the matter to him, and I am acting by his advice now."

"Does he tell you that you have a good case?"

"He does."

"What does he say is the strongest part of it?"

"The statement of Jacob Morton."

"Do you happen to have it with you?"

"No, sir. After the experience of my last call, I prefer not to bring
it."

"You can't produce it," said James Grey, triumphantly.

"Why not?"

"Because you have no such document."

"You are mistaken there."

"I have the strongest reason for saying that this forged document, on
which you so much rely, is no longer in your possession."

"I should like to know your reason," said Gilbert, struck by his
uncle's significant manner.

"Then I will tell you. It is not in your possession, because _it is
in mine_!"

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Gilbert, somewhat startled.

"Just what I say. I have obtained possession of the paper which you so
artfully concocted, and pretended to be the dying statement of Jacob
Morton."

"What, did Mr. Ferguson give it to you?" asked Gilbert, amazed.

"Mr. Ferguson? What had he to do with it?"

"It is in his safe. I deposited it there, the morning after my
interview with you."

"That is a lie!" exclaimed Mr. Grey, in excitement. "You placed it in
your trunk."

"Oh!" said Gilbert, as light dawned upon him, "I understand you, now.
Before carrying it to Mr. Ferguson, I made a copy for reference,
thinking, also, that you might want to look at it again. _That copy_ I
left in my trunk; but the original is in Mr. Ferguson's safe."

"I don't believe you," said James Grey, furiously.

"It is perfectly true. I suppose that the young man who I hear called
at my room one day in my absence, was your agent, and that he stole the
paper."

"Out of my room, you scoundrel!" roared James Grey, whose
disappointment was in proportion to his former exultation. "I defy
you!"

Gilbert saw that it would be of no use to prolong the discussion. He
bowed quietly, and left the room.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A SUDDEN DEPARTURE.

After James Grey's triumphant feeling that he had spiked the guns of
his young adversary, the revulsion and disappointment of defeat were
all the more disheartening. He would like to have believed his tale a
false one, but that was not easy. On a closer inspection of the paper
which Maurice Walton had brought to him, he discovered a water-mark in
the paper showing that it had only been manufactured the year previous.
As Gilbert had been in Cincinnati three years, this, of course, was
sufficient to show that the document could not be genuine.

"Who would have imagined the fellow so shrewd?" ejaculated his uncle,
pacing the room with hurried steps. "He lost no time in locking up the
paper. I'm afraid he's going to be a dangerous enemy."

Then, contemptuously:

"What a fool I am--a full-grown man, with fifty years' experience of
the world, to be afraid of what a boy can do! No, he shall not gain his
point. Possession is nine points of the law, and possession is mine. If
he undertakes to oust me, he must be careful, for I have not lived in
luxury, and grown accustomed to it for years, to resign it quietly now.
If it is going to be a fight, it shall be a desperate one."

One of the smaller mortifications which Mr. Grey experienced was that
of paying Maurice Walton a hundred and ten dollars, without receiving
any benefit from the outlay.

"I'd get the money back, if I could," he thought, but reflection
convinced him that this would be impossible. Besides, the best way to
secure Maurice's continued silence, was to leave him in undisturbed
possession of the money.

"After all, there's one good thing about him," considered Mr. Grey, "he
hates my rascally nephew. For that alone I make him welcome to the
money, though he has done me no good."

How should he carry on the campaign? That was the first thing to be
considered. Evidently his policy was to be passive. He must remain on
the defensive, leaving the aggressive part of the conflict to his
nephew. First in the programme, he determined to leave Cincinnati at
once, so that no legal process might be served upon him.

"Fortunately, the boy does not know where I live, nor can his employer
give him any clew, as he, too, is ignorant of it. If he takes the
trouble to call upon me again, he will find the bird flown."

James Grey was a man of quick action. He no sooner came to this
determination than he proceeded to carry it out. Proceeding to the
clerk's desk, he announced his immediate departure. Then, taking care
not to order a hotel carriage, lest this should afford a clew to his
destination, he left the hotel with his carpet-bag in his hand, and
took a cab from the next street. He was driven direct to the depot,
and, in a few minutes, was on his way westward.

"How lucky it was that I took the paper from my trunk," thought
Gilbert, as he left the hotel. "Probably it would, by this time, have
been destroyed, had it come into my uncle's possession. I think I'm a
little ahead of him, this time."

Gilbert was not intimidated, nor were his resolutions shaken by the
defiant tone in which his uncle had spoken to him. He was a spirited
boy, and he meant to stick to his rights, as he understood them. He was
not one to be browbeaten or cheated, and he resolved to fight out the
battle.

"I will call on my uncle to-morrow evening," he resolved. "He will then
have had twenty-four hours to think over the situation, and, if he is a
man of sense, he will see that he can't get over my proofs."

When Mr. Ferguson, therefore, asked him how the business progressed, he
answered that nothing definite had been settled upon, but that he was
to have another interview with his uncle in the evening.

"It will take some time to bring him round, I think," said his
employer. "A man doesn't resign a fine estate without some opposition.
If you should need any advice, at any time, you may apply to me
freely."

"Thank you, Mr. Ferguson, I certainly will. Perhaps I may need to do it
to-morrow."

In the evening our hero walked into the hotel, and, stepping up to the
desk, inquired if Mr. Grey was in.

"He has gone away," was the answer.

"Gone!" exclaimed Gilbert, in manifest dismay, for that possibility had
not occurred to him.

"Yes--he went away yesterday afternoon."

"Do you know where he went? From what depot?"

"I cannot tell you. He didn't take a carriage, but walked. Probably he
went home."

"Will you let me see his name on the register?"

The book was placed before him, and Gilbert, finding the entry of his
uncle's name, saw opposite it, "St. Louis, Mo."

"So he lives in St. Louis," thought our hero. "It won't be hard to find
him, then. His name is probably in the directory. I must go at once to
St. Louis. This business ought to be attended to at once."

Of course, it was necessary to speak to his employer about leave of
absence. Probably, also, Mr. Ferguson would be able to give him some
valuable advice, and he was likely to stand in need of it, for the
undertaking on which he had entered was of no light character.
Single-handed, he could hardly hope to overcome so experienced and
determined an opponent as James Grey. He sought Mr. Ferguson, and gave
him a full account of what had happened thus far. He concluded by
stating the departure of his uncle.

"Well, Gilbert," said Mr. Ferguson, after he had finished, "have you
thought of anything further, or will you let the matter rest?"

"Never!" exclaimed our hero, with energy. "I will not rest till I have
recovered the property of which my uncle has deprived me."

"That will be difficult."

"I know it, but I am not afraid of difficulty. It is not impossible. He
thrust me into the streets of New York to earn my living as a
bootblack; and I might have been there now, if Jacob had not revealed
to me the story of my birth."

"You don't express yourself much like a street-boy now, Gilbert."

"No, sir. I hope I have improved since then."

"I used to be amused, sometimes, by the expressions you used."

"I don't wonder, sir. I must have talked like a young barbarian; but I
am grateful to God for having raised me above my former ignorance."

"It is determined, then, that you will prosecute your claims. How do
you propose to do it?"

"I must first go to St. Louis and see my uncle again."

"Does he live in St. Louis?"

"Yes, sir."

"How do you know? Did he tell you so?"

"No, sir. But I read it on the hotel register, at the hotel."

"Did he register himself before he first met you?"

"No, sir."

"Where was he before?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Then what reason have you to think that he registered correctly? Why
did he change his hotel? I may be wrong, but it strikes me that it was
intended as a blind to deceive you. Your uncle is a shrewd man, and he
would understand the importance of keeping his real residence concealed
from one who had in his power to prosecute a claim against him
involving nearly his whole fortune."

"Then you don't think he lives in St. Louis, Mr. Ferguson?"

"I don't think he does."

Gilbert looked blank.

"That interferes with my plans," he said. "I meant to ask a month's
leave of absence from you, and go to St. Louis and see what I could
do."

"That would take money."

"I have saved up about eight hundred dollars," said Gilbert.

"Eight hundred dollars?" repeated his employer, surprised. "How was it
possible for you to save so much?"

"I have no board to pay. My roommate is rich, and I was the means of
doing him a service which he repays in that way."

"I congratulate you, Gilbert. It speaks well for your habits that you
have laid aside so much money. I was about to offer you a loan."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Ferguson," said Gilbert, gratefully; "but I
don't think I shall need it. I shall have money enough, but that is not
all. From what you say, I am afraid, if I went to St. Louis, it would
only be a wild-goose chase."

"Stay," said Mr. Ferguson, after a moment's thought; "an idea strikes
me. You may gain the knowledge you want with very little trouble. Mind,
I say _may_. It is not certain."

"How, sir?" said Gilbert, eagerly.

CHAPTER XXV.

MAURICE BETRAYS HIMSELF.

"In this way," answered Mr. Ferguson. "Your uncle did not register his
name at the Burnet House till after his encounter with you in the
street. Probably his reason for changing his hotel was to prevent your
examining the register of the one at which he was previously staying,
and so ascertaining his real residence. The same motive would lead him
to give the wrong address in the new hotel."

"Yes, sir; that seems likely, but how is that going to help me?"

"You must try to ascertain where he formerly stopped. Go to the
principal hotels, and examine their registers for a fortnight back.
Probably that will cover all the time in which your uncle is likely to
have arrived."

"Yes, I see," said Gilbert, brightening up. "It is a good plan, and I
think it will succeed."

"I hope so, for your sake."

Gilbert lost no time in following out his employer's suggestion. First,
he went to the Gibson House; but he examined the books to no purpose.
He looked back as far as twenty days, but could not find the name of
James Grey.

"He can't have stopped at this hotel," he said to himself.

Next he went to the Spencer House. It occurred to him that possibly his
uncle's name might be recognized, so he asked the clerk:

"Has a gentleman named James Grey stopped with you lately?"

"Grey? I believe so," said the clerk, after a moment's reflection. "He
left us about a week since."

"Yes, it is the same," said Gilbert, eagerly. "Was he here long?"

"Only two or three days."

This, of course, made the examination easy. In point of fact, ten days
back Gilbert found recorded on the books:

James Grey, Clayton, Illinois.

"Clayton, Illinois," repeated Gilbert; "that's a place I never heard
of. I wonder where it is? It can't be much of a place. Can you tell me
in what part of Illinois Clayton is?" he inquired of the clerk.

"Never heard of it," said that official, indifferently.

"Clayton, Illinois?" said a gentleman who had just come up to leave his
key. "I can tell you where it is."

"Where, sir?"

"It is a small town on the Mississippi river, north of Alton--I should
think about thirty or forty miles. I never was there, but I've passed
it while ascending the river on a steamboat."

"Thank you, sir," said our hero.

As may be supposed, he was not a little elated at his discovery. In
spite of James Grey's prudent precautions, his nephew felt that he had
not been shrewd enough. St. Louis had not answered the purpose. The
insignificant place where he had supposed himself safe from pursuit,
was now known, and Gilbert determined that there should be no cessation
of hostilities. He was resolved to follow up the attack, and force his
uncle to do him justice.

Meanwhile Maurice Walton could not but observe that something was going
on. He noticed Gilbert's absence from the store, and his frequent
interviews with Mr. Ferguson, and rightly inferred that they had
something to do with James Grey.

"I wonder if he has found out the loss of the paper?" he thought. "He
must have discovered it, and that's why he is in such a flutter. If
it's spoilt his chances, so much the better. I owe him a grudge, and,
if I've put a spoke in his wheel, I shall be glad."

One incident, having its effect upon the narrative, has not yet been
recorded.

When James Grey left the hotel, carpet-bag in hand, he chanced to meet
Maurice, just before he took a hack to the depot. An idea flashed upon
him that Maurice might be useful to him as a spy upon his nephew, and
might be engaged to watch and give him timely notice of his movements.
He therefore paused, and Maurice perceived that he wished to speak with
him.

"Good-day, sir," he said.

"Good-day. I am glad to meet you, for I have something to say to you.
That paper you brought me was not the right one."

"Not the right one?" repeated Maurice, in alarm, for he thought Mr.
Grey was about to demand back the hundred dollars, which he would have
been very sorry to surrender.

"No; the rascal had been cunning enough to put the original in Mr.
Ferguson's safe, and leave only a copy in his trunk. The paper you
brought me was the copy."

"Does Gilbert say so?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps he lies."

"So I thought; but the date on the paper confirms his story."

"It wasn't my fault. I think I earned the money."

"You can keep it. I have no intention of asking it back; but I shall
want to employ you further."

"To get the paper from the safe?"

"Can you do it?"

"I am afraid not. If I were caught doing it, I should be dismissed, and
perhaps arrested."

"If you succeed, I will give you another hundred dollars."

"I should like the money."

"Watch for a good chance. You may be able to do it unobserved."

"Are you going to leave the city?"

"Yes, I leave at once."

"Suppose I get the paper--what shall I do with it?"

"Send it by mail to my address."

"Where is that, sir?"

"Can I rely upon you not to communicate it to Gilbert Grey? It would do
him a great deal of good."

"Then I certainly won't tell him," said Maurice, decidedly.

Knowing the state of feeling between Maurice and his nephew, Mr. Grey
felt satisfied with this assurance.

"I don't want you even to put it on paper," he continued. "Gilbert
might get hold of it. You can remember it without."

"Very well, sir."

"It is Clayton, Illinois, to the north of Alton, on the river. Now, can
you remember Clayton?"

"I will think of Henry Clay."

"That will be a good reminder. As to the State, you are not very likely
to forget that. Now, if you find the paper, inclose it in an envelope,
and mail it to JAMES GREY, Clayton, Illinois. As soon as I receive it,
I will send you, or bring you, a hundred dollars."

"Very well, sir; I will try, but I am not sure whether I shall succeed.
It's harder than the other job."

"Are you suspected of that?"

"I don't think so."

"That is not all. I shall want to learn about the fellow's movements.
He may be planning some conspiracy, of which it is important that I
should be apprised. Now, you are in the same office, and likely to know
what is going on."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to watch carefully, and, whenever you learn anything worthy
my knowing, write me immediately, to the address I have given you. See
if you remember it."

"Clayton, Illinois."

"For every letter containing information of value, I will send you ten
dollars. I shall not write direct from Clayton, lest the letter be
seen, but I will manage to have my letters posted from St. Louis. That
is where Gilbert supposes I am living."

"Perhaps you had better direct to my boarding-place, and not to the
store."

"A good suggestion. Give me your address."

James Grey took it down in his memorandum book.

"I believe that is all," he said. "Remain faithful to my interests," he
added, "and I will take care you do not regret it."

"I shall not regret it, if it interferes with Gilbert Grey."

"If you are his enemy, you cannot harm him more than by devoting
yourself to my service."

"I will do it."

James Grey now hurried away, and Maurice went back to the store. He
thought himself unsuspected of the theft of the paper, but he did not
long remain so, and it was through his own imprudence that it happened.

The black mustache which he had used as a disguise he thrust carelessly
in his vest pocket. One day in the store, in drawing out his watch-key,
the mustache came too, and dropped on the floor.

Maurice stooped hastily to pick it up, but not till Gilbert had seen
it. The latter at once remembered the servant's description of the
young man who called for his opera-glass.

"How long have you had that mustache, Maurice?" he asked, pointedly.

"I bought it yesterday," muttered Maurice, in confusion.

"I thought you might have had it longer," said Gilbert, quietly.

Maurice did not answer.

"Now I know who stole the paper," thought our hero. "I must be on my
guard against him."

He said nothing further; but Maurice knew that he was suspected, and it
only incensed him the more against his fellow-clerk.

CHAPTER XXVI.

MAURICE AND BESSIE BENTON.

Gilbert could not help wondering how Maurice and Mr. James Grey were
brought together, and how it happened that the former became his
uncle's agent and accomplice. He knew, however, that Maurice never
liked him, and guessed that this had been an inducement.

"I wonder," he thought, "if there is any chance of his communicating my
plans to Mr. Grey? It will be best for me to keep him in ignorance of
my destination."

When, therefore, he was ready to start, he resolved only to tell him
that he was going to St. Louis. This was, in truth, his first
destination, but, as we know, he intended to go farther.

Maurice, who didn't before know of Gilbert's plans, was surprised when
the latter walked up to him and said:

"I must bid you good-by for a time, Maurice."

"Are you going away?" exclaimed his fellow-clerk, staring at him in
amazement.

"Yes, I am going away for a short time."

"Where?"

"To St. Louis."

"On business for Mr. Ferguson?"

"No, it is on my own business."

"I suppose it has something to do with his uncle," thought Maurice, but
he thought it most prudent not to say this.

"How long do you expect to be gone?" he asked.

"I don't know--it depends on how successful I am."

"Bessie Benton will miss you," said Maurice, sarcastically.

"So she said," answered Gilbert quietly, appreciating his motive.

"When did you see her?" asked Maurice, with a twinge of jealousy.

"Last evening."

This made Maurice feel very uncomfortable. Bessie had grown very
pretty, and he admired her more than ever, but with a strange
perversity, as he thought, she didn't appear to reciprocate the
feeling. On the other hand, she appeared to care a good deal more for
Gilbert's society than for that of Maurice. It came to him now, with a
feeling of joy, that when Gilbert was away Bessie would naturally turn
to him for companionship.

"I think I shall go up there this evening myself," he said. (It must be
explained that Maurice no longer boarded at his uncle's.) "If you have
any message to send, I can take it."

"Give Bessie my love," said Gilbert, a little mischievously, knowing
that Maurice would never carry such a message.

"I will _remember_ you to _Miss Benton_," said Maurice, with dignity.

"Oh! don't take the trouble," said Gilbert, carelessly; "it isn't at
all necessary."

"Then I won't."

"Just as you please."

"I never saw such an amount of _cheek_ in my life," said Maurice to
himself. "I've a great mind to drop a hint to Bessie. She notices him
altogether too much."

So Maurice, fulfilling his determination of calling that evening,
managed to introduce the subject.

"Gilbert Grey called on you last evening, didn't he?"

"Yes; he is going away. He came to say good-by."

"I sha'n't miss him much."

"Why not? Are you not a good deal together?"

"In the store we are together. Out of it, I don't care to keep his
company."

"Why not?"

"He isn't my style."

"If it means that he does not resemble you, Maurice, I think you are
right."

"He is very much stuck up."

"Really, Maurice--I hope you will excuse my saying it--I think that
charge could be brought against you more justly."

"Do you mean to say I am stuck up?" asked Maurice, indignantly.

"Perhaps it is only your manner."

"But do you think I seem so?"

"More than Gilbert."

"You seem very familiar with Grey, to call him Gilbert."

"Of course I am familiar with him. Why shouldn't I be?"

"It doesn't show very good taste on your part."

"I don't know about that. Gilbert is popular in society. You know that
at parties he never has any difficulty in filling up his card."

Maurice did know that at the parties when both were present, Gilbert
was received with much more favor than himself, and this was one of the
circumstances that made him angry with his fellow-clerk. Few can pardon
a wound to their self-love.

"It only shows that humbugs flourish best in the world," he said.

"Do you call Gilbert a humbug?" asked Bessie, her fair face flushed
with indignation.

"Yes, I do."

"Then," she said, spiritedly, "it only shows your jealousy and envy of
him, because he is better looking and more popular than you. Jealousy
is hateful, I think," said the little lady, tossing her head with
emphasis.

"I hope when I am jealous it will be of somebody better than Gilbert
Grey," said Maurice, angry and mortified because Bessie had referred to
Gilbert as better looking and more popular than himself.

"It seems to me you are making yourself very disagreeable to-night,
Maurice," said his cousin, pettishly.

"If you knew what an impudent message he sent to you, you might change
your mind about him."

"What impudent message did he send? I don't believe he sent any."

"Then you're mistaken. He said, with his own lips, 'Give my love to
Bessie.'"

A smile rippled over the face of Bessie Benton, and there was a little
blush, too. Evidently she was not at all displeased at the message.

"Was that the impudent message you spoke of?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then I don't see what impudence there is in it."

"What right had he to call you Bessie?"

"Don't you call me Bessie?"

"That's different--I am your cousin."

"Well, I call him Gilbert. So we're even."

"He had no right to send you his love. It isn't proper."

"Really, Maurice, I ought to be very much obliged to you for taking
such good care of me, and teaching me what's proper, and what isn't.
But, if you don't think the message a proper one, what made you give it
to me?" she asked, smiling.

"I wish I hadn't," thought Maurice, who began to see that he had been
hurried by his anger into making a mistake.

"I thought you would resent it," he said, aloud.

"You can give Gilbert my love, when you write to him," said his cousin,
provokingly.

"I sha'n't write to him; and, if I did, I wouldn't send him that
message."

"You are very obliging."

"If you knew as much of Gilbert Grey as I do, you wouldn't think so
much of him."

"Do you know anything very dreadful about him?" asked Bessie,
incredulously.

"I know why he has gone to St. Louis."

"Is it to commit murder, or robbery, or for any other dreadful reason?"

"It is to commit robbery!"

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Maurice Walton," said Bessie, sharply.

"I don't know what else you can call it," persisted Maurice. "He is
going to try to get possession of some property that don't belong to
him."

"I don't believe it."

"He knows of a rich gentleman of the same name, and he has forged a
paper, and is trying to make out that he is his nephew, though it is
well known that the nephew died years ago."

"Is that his reason for going to St. Louis?" asked Bessie, interested.

"Yes."

"How do you know?--did he tell you?"

"I have the best authority for my statements," said Maurice, who, for
reasons known to the reader, did not like to tell how he gained the
information; "but I am not at liberty to say more."

"You are very mysterious."

"What I have told you is the truth. If you don't call it robbery, I
do."

"All I have got to say is, that if Gilbert claims to be anybody's
nephew, I have no doubt he is. He wouldn't forge a paper for anything."

"That's where you and I don't agree."

"I think it's rather mean of you, Maurice Walton, to come here to
slander a friend."

"He isn't my friend. Perhaps he is yours."

"You are right there," said Bessie, firmly. "He is my friend."

"Perhaps, when he gets that fortune, you'll marry him?" said Maurice,
sarcastically.

"He hasn't asked me yet," said Bessie, blushing.

This was too much for Maurice. He began to see that Bessie liked
Gilbert more than he suspected, and that, by his blundering, he had
only helped matters along. He sulkily bade his cousin good-night, and,
returning home, bethought himself of his promise to Mr. Grey, and,
though it was late, sat down and wrote him a letter.

CHAPTER XXVII.

JAMES GREY'S RESIDENCE.

About a mile from the bank of the Mississippi River, in the small town
of Clayton, stood a handsome house. It was on a commanding site, and
could be seen by the travelers bound up the river, from the decks of
the large river-boats. It stood in lonely grandeur, with no other
houses very near, and those that were within a respectful distance from
it were far inferior. The occupant might be judged to be, in his
neighborhood, a person of some consideration.

This was the mansion of James Grey, already introduced to our readers.

What motives had led him to pitch his tent in such a spot, can only be
conjectured. He came thither directly from the city of Cincinnati,
having lived in a hotel near by while he hurried the erection of this
house. He came thither with his son, (his wife was dead), and had lived
there ever since, though, from time to time, he absented himself on a
trip to St. Louis, or, in rarer instances, Cincinnati. It is not
unlikely that, knowing himself to be guilty of a fraudulent
appropriation of his nephew's property, he had chosen to withdraw from
the busy world, and plant himself in this comparatively obscure place,
where he was not likely to be visited by any one cognizant of the
manner in which he obtained his money.

Indeed, until his visit to New York, three years before, he had not
supposed there was any one living so cognizant. He had seen a rumor
that the vessel in which Jacob and his young charge went out to
Australia was wrecked, and he imagined, or rather hoped, and so
persuaded himself, that his dangerous nephew and his guilty accomplice
were dead. But his recognition of the boy who blacked his boots on the
steps of the Astor House undeceived him as to this point. Still, it
seemed altogether unlikely that the boy would ever become aware of his
identity.

"If he does," thought James Grey, "he is not likely to find me here on
the banks of the Mississippi, fifteen hundred miles away."

According to the doctrine of probabilities, he was doubtless correct.
It was not likely, but then events often bid defiance to the
probabilities, and such was the case now.

At the time we introduce Mr. Grey at home, he was sitting at breakfast
in a handsome breakfast-room, from the windows of which the river was
visible. He held in his hand a copy of a St. Louis morning paper of the
morning previous, and was reading its columns, while sipping a cup of
coffee at his side.

A boy of seventeen entered the room.

"You are very late, Jasper," said his father, consulting his watch.
"Can't you get to breakfast earlier than ten o'clock, sir?"

Jasper was dark and effeminate in appearance, not strong and sturdy,
nor had he the look of self-reliance and calm power which characterized
our hero, who was his cousin. He was smooth, deceitful, and vain,
running to dissipation, as far as he had opportunity.

"I was tired, sir," he answered.

"What made you tired?"

"I didn't get home till late last evening."

"Where had you been?"

"I was at Alton."

"Without my permission," said his father, frowning.

"I am seventeen, sir. I am old enough to go off by myself."

"By heavens, you are not!" said his father, angrily. "It seems to me,
sir, you are getting mighty independent."

"There is nothing to do here in this hole," said Jasper, disdainfully.
"I get tired of moping here."

"I manage to content myself here," said Mr. Grey.

"I don't see how you do it," said Jasper, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, what did you do at Alton?"

"Not much. I just went up there in the morning, and came back at night.
I didn't have long to stay."

"I missed you at dinner, but thought you were out riding."

"I am going out to ride after breakfast. By the way, father, can you
give me a little money?"

"Money! I gave you twenty-five dollars three days since."

"I haven't got a dime left."

"What did you do with it, you young spendthrift? Gambled on the boat, I
dare say."

"Well, I had a little game," answered Jasper, coolly.

"And lost?"

"Yes, I lost."

"Of course. You are too green to cope with the sharpers that infest
those boats. Haven't I forbidden you to play?"

"There was nothing else to do."

"You appear to pay very slight regard to my commands. In return I shall
allow you to know what it is to be penniless for a time."

"Won't you give me any money, father?"

"No, I won't."

Jasper looked dark and sullen. He was an utterly spoiled boy, if one
can be called spoiled, who had so few good qualities which admitted of
being spoiled. He inherited his father's bad traits, his selfishness
and unscrupulousness, in addition to a spirit of deceitfulness and
hypocrisy from his mother's nature. He was not as censurable as he
would have been had he not possessed these bad tendencies.

He finished his breakfast and went out.

"That's a model son to have--a son to be proud of," soliloquized his
father. "He is already a gambler, a liar, and cares for me only as I
have it in my power to promote his selfish ends. I have let him grow up
like an evil weed, and I am afraid he will some day disgrace me."

Though himself unscrupulous and bad, Mr. Grey would have been glad to
have his son better than himself. In his secret heart he felt the
superiority of Gilbert to his cousin. Yet Jasper, with all his faults,
was his son, and the wily father schemed to secure to him the property
which belonged to his nephew.

He was interrupted by the entrance of a colored servant.

Pompey had originally been a slave, as he showed by his language at
times.

"Well, Pompey, have you been to the post-office?"

"Yes, sar."

"I suppose you found a paper for me, didn't you?"

"No, massa, didn't see nothing of no paper," said Pompey; "but I found
this letter," and he displayed a letter in a yellow envelope.

"Give it to me."

Mr. Grey took it in his hand, and saw that it was post-marked
"Cincinnati." The handwriting he did not recognize. His curiosity was
aroused.

"You can go, Pompey," he said, waving his hand.

"I'm gone, massa."

James Grey tore open the letter hastily, and turned at once to the
signature.

"Maurice Walton!" he repeated. "Why that's my young spy. It must be
about my nephew."

He read with eager interest:

    "DEAR SIR:--(so it commenced) You asked me to write you if anything
    happened. I think you will like to know that your nephew, Gilbert
    Grey, if he is your nephew, which I doubt, has just left here for
    St. Louis. I suppose, from what I can learn, that he is in search
    of you. I don't think he has any idea where you really live. He has
    not learned from me, for I hate him, and I won't tell him anything
    he wants to know. I didn't know but you might happen to be in St.
    Louis, so I write to put you on your guard. I hope you will write
    to me, so that I may know this letter went straight.

    "Yours, respectfully,

    "MAURICE WALTON."

"He wants me to write to him, inclosing ten dollars," thought James
Grey. "Well, he shall not be disappointed. His information is worth
that. So my young nephew is on the trail is he? He really thinks he is
a match for me. Well, well, we shall see. He mustn't push his inquiries
too far, or he may find me dangerous," and Mr. Grey's face assumed a
dark and threatening look. "However, he is not likely to find me in
this out-of-the-way place."

Mr. Grey went into his library, and penned a short letter to Maurice
Walton, commending him for his watchfulness, and inclosing a ten-dollar
greenback.

He had scarcely finished the letter when Pompey entered, and said:

"Scuse me, massa, but there's a young gemman below that axes to see
you."

"A young gentleman!" repeated Mr. Grey. "Can it be my nephew?" flashed
through his mind with sudden suspicion.

"Bring him up, Pompey," he said, aloud.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE GUEST OF HIS ENEMY.

While Pompey was gone to seek Gilbert and invite him to the library,
James Grey gave the time to rapid reflection. He saw that our hero was
a determined and dangerous opponent. He had not credited him with such
courage and perseverance. He thought that, being a mere boy, he would
be easily intimidated--that opposition and difficulty would daunt him.
But he had hardly reached home, and his nephew was already on his
track.

"How could he have found out my residence?" thought he. "Maurice Walton
wouldn't tell him. He must be sharper than I supposed."

When intimidation and force fail, a good general has recourse to
strategy. James Grey was a man of expedients, and he rapidly decided
upon a change of base. When, therefore, Gilbert entered the library,
expecting an angry reception, he was astonished by seeing his uncle
rise from his chair and advance to meet him with hand outstretched.

"Good-morning," he said, smiling. "How did you find your way here?"

"I accidentally learned where you lived, Mr. Grey."

"Precisely so. I was quite sure I had not mentioned my address to you."

"No, sir, you did not."

"It was an oversight on my part. Did you have a pleasant journey from
Cincinnati?"

"Quite pleasant, sir."

"Are you traveling on business?"

"On business with you, sir. That is all."

"So I supposed. Well, I am glad to see you. We are a small family, and
lonely. I hope you will stay with us a few days."

"As your guest?" inquired our hero, much surprised.

"Yes. That will enable us to transact this business at our leisure."

"I shouldn't think you would invite me to your house," said Gilbert, in
surprise.

"Why not?"

"You think I am an impostor."

"I don't feel sure of that."

"You said so in the city."

"I thought so in the city," said Mr. Grey, with apparent frankness.
"Since I returned home I have been turning the matter over in my mind,
and I don't feel so certain about it. You may be deceived."

"I know I am not," said Gilbert, firmly.

"Of course, you think so, my young friend. We won't dispute about it. I
only want to find out the truth, and if you can prove your claim beyond
any question I will do what is right. But there must be no doubt of
it."

"Of course, that is fair enough."

"It seemed to me incredible that a son of my brother John should be
living, and as he left some property, I thought that you might be
playing a sharp game. You mustn't be offended at my plain speaking," he
added, with a smile.

"No, sir; certainly not. I am in favor of plain speaking. But I hope
you will in time have a more favorable opinion of me."

"I have already, or I would not invite you to become my guest. Have you
your luggage with you?"

"Only a carpet-bag."

"Where is that?"

"At the village hotel."

"That is a poor place. You must stay here, and I will send for it."

"I don't know what to say," said Gilbert, not yet recovered from his
astonishment.

"Then I will say for you that you accept without hesitation."

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Grey rang the bell, and Pompey appeared.

"What's wanted, massa?"

"Send Dick to the hotel for this young gentleman's carpet-bag."

"Yes, sar. What name, sar?"

"Gilbert Grey," answered our hero.

"Any 'lation?" asked Pompey, with the freedom of a favorite servant.

"Mr. Grey thinks there is a relationship," said the uncle. "Now be off,
and tell Dick to make haste."

"By the way, though it is early to enter upon business, have you
brought old Jacob's confession?" asked James Grey, in an indifferent
tone; but he awaited the answer with a good deal of interest.

"No, sir; that is, not the genuine paper. I have with me a copy."

"That will do as well," said the other, but he could not wholly hide
the disappointment in his voice. "Let me see it, if you please."

Gilbert drew the paper from his pocket and handed it without hesitation
to his uncle.

"If you have no objection I will keep this for a while, and look over
it in private."

"Certainly, sir. You may keep it permanently. I have the other."

"Confound you, I know that only too well," thought the uncle, but he
only expressed his thanks quietly.

"You probably know nothing of my family," continued James Grey, "though
as a possible relation, you should do so. My wife is dead, and I have
but one child, a boy of about your own age. Jasper is seventeen."

"I am about eighteen."

"He does not look at all like you, or me either. He favors his mother's
family, being quite dark. I think also he is more like his mother in
disposition than like me. I hope you will like him."

"I hope so," said our hero, politely.

"I can't say he altogether pleases me," said James Grey. "He is not as
obedient and observant of my wishes as he should be. For example, he
went to Alton yesterday without permission, and lost all his money on
hand by gaming. I hope you never gamble, Gilbert."

"No, sir, I don't approve of it."

"You are quite right. I foresee you will have a good influence on
Jasper--I was about to say, on your cousin, Jasper--but I will wait
till that is proved."

"I will not call him cousin while there remains a doubt."

"Quite right. I will give my earliest attention to the matter."

"I hope you will, sir, as I wish to return to Cincinnati."

"If you prove yourself to be my brother's son, there will be no need of
that, for the greater part of my property will go to you. You will be
independent."

"I should be sorry to deprive you of property, sir, though I have no
objection to becoming rich."

"Of course not. We all want to be rich. I shall not blame you for being
my brother's son, if it appears that you are so. How long can you
remain with us?"

"I won't set a limit, sir. Do you think I can get away in a week?"

"That is a short time."

"I can stay longer if necessary."

"I may need to go to Alton, to consult my lawyer. After examining this
paper, which, I suppose, is an exact copy of the original?"

"Yes, sir, exact."

"He will give me his opinion, which I will at once communicate to you.
Probably it will not be in my power to go to Alton for several days."

"I don't wish to hurry you too much, Mr. Grey. That will be
satisfactory to me."

"Very well. Now there is one other thing I wish to speak of. Of course
I can't acknowledge you as my nephew immediately."

"I do not ask it, sir."

"It will be better that your claim to be my nephew should not be made
public. I will tell my son, Jasper, and ask him to treat you as a
cousin. He will, I think, be able to make you pass your time agreeably.
But to the servants you will be Mr. Grey, a distant relative."

"Very well, sir, I agree."

"Of course, just as soon as your claim is substantiated, there will be
no further need of concealment. By the way, do you ride?"

"Yes, sir, a little."

"I think you will enjoy exploring the country a little with Jasper. You
never were in this neighborhood before?"

"No, sir."

"It won't do you any harm to have a little vacation. By the way, how is
Mr. Ferguson, your employer?"

"He is well, sir."

"Is he aware of the object of your present journey?"

"Yes, sir. He was in favor of my undertaking it."

"For which I don't in the least thank him," said James Grey to himself.

There was a little more desultory conversation, which was interrupted
by the entrance of Pompey with our hero's carpet-bag, which his
fellow-servant had brought from the village hotel, if it deserved the
name.

"Pompey, you may conduct this young gentleman to his room. He may wish
to wash before dinner. Dinner is at one, Mr. Grey."

"Thank you, sir."

"Put him in the blue room, Pompey."

"Yes, sar."

Gilbert followed him up stairs, and into a room finished and furnished
throughout in blue. It was comfortable, and even elegant, and our hero
saw that he was likely to be well cared for.

"Was you a 'lation, sar?" asked Pompey, who possessed an inquiring
mind, as he put down the bag.

"Yes," said Gilbert.

"A near 'lation?" asked Pompey, continuing his catechism.

"I can't tell you how near," said our hero, in an equivocal manner.

"You must be 'bout Massa Jasper's age."

"That is what Mr. Grey says. I have not seen Jasper yet."

"He went out ridin'. He's fond of ridin'."

"Is he a good rider?"

"Pretty good, sar. He thinks he's first-rate," added Pompey, laughing.
"Do you ride, sar?"

"A little."

"Maybe you'll ride out with Massa Jasper?"

"Has my--Mr. Grey got many horses?"

"Four, sar. Two are carriage horses, and two are for ridin'. But I'm
'ruptin' you, sar. Dinner at one o'clock."

"I will be punctual."

"I like his looks," said Pompey. "He's better-lookin' than Massa
Jasper. Looks like he was better-tempered, too."

CHAPTER XXIX.

GILBERT AND JASPER.

Gilbert went to the window and looked out. He was glad to find that it
afforded him a prospect of the Mississippi, a mile distant. He could
not help speculating on the singular position in which he found himself
placed. He had come to this place expecting to receive abuse and
defiance from his uncle. On the other hand he had been politely
welcomed, and was now a guest. He didn't understand it, but he was glad
of it. He was prepared to contend, but he would much prefer to
compromise in a friendly manner. His uncle had wronged him, but he was
not vindictive.

Meanwhile Jasper, who had been out to the stables, returned to the
house and entered his father's presence. He only came in for something
he had left in the library, but his father detained him.

"Stop a minute, Jasper," he said. "I want to speak to you."

Jasper turned unwillingly, for he anticipated some remonstrance or
criticism upon his conduct.

"I wanted to go out," he said.

"I wish to speak to you on a matter of importance," said his father,
seriously.

"Now for a blowing up," thought Jasper. "I suppose I must grin and bear
it."

But this time he was mistaken.

"You are going to have company for a few days," said James Grey.

"Who is it?" asked Jasper, in surprise.

"A boy of about your own age. He is up stairs preparing for dinner at
this moment."

"Is it any one I know?"

"It is not."

"What is his name?"

"He calls himself Gilbert Grey."

"Is he any relation?"

"He calls himself your cousin."

"Why do you say 'calls himself?'" inquired Jasper, in some
mystification.

"Because I do not propose to admit his claim. While he is here, he will
pass as a distant relative."

"I don't understand, father. Is his claim a false one?"

"Listen, Jasper, for it is fitting that you should know all, since you
are quite as much interested as I am. Do you remember your Uncle John?"

"No. I was too young when he died to remember him."

"It was he that was wealthy, not I. I had a comparatively small
interest in the firm, but as he died childless I succeeded naturally to
his property. That made me rich, and ever since I have been possessed
of large means. But if he had left a son, all this would have been
changed. The son would have inherited the bulk of his property, and I
should have received an inconsiderable legacy. Do you follow me?"

"Yes, sir, but I don't see the force of it. My uncle left no son."

"Gilbert Grey, as he calls himself, contends that he did leave a son,
and he claims to be that son."

"But it is a lie," said Jasper, hastily.

"Of course, but you understand the motive."

"That he may deprive us of the property."

"Precisely."

"Why don't you kick him out of the house?" exclaimed Jasper,
indignantly. "Of course he is an impostor, and deserves no better
treatment."

"I will tell you why. He is very artful, and has forged a pretended
confession, and attached to it the signature of an old clerk of our
house, who disappeared about the time my nephew was lost, asserting his
identity with the lost boy, and charging that I employed him to kidnap
the boy, in order that I might succeed to the property."

Jasper fixed a fierce glance upon his father. He had never loved or
respected him particularly, and a suspicion entered his mind that the
charge might be a true one. But, if admitted, it would reduce him to
comparative poverty, and he had no intention of suffering his suspicion
to appear. In this matter, at least, he and his father were in entire
agreement.

"But, father," he said, after a pause, "can't you prove that it is a
forgery?"

"Possibly, but I don't want the matter to come to trial. There are
always people, who out of sentimental sympathy would be led to suspect
that the rich uncle was guilty of defrauding the poor boy."

"When did you first hear of his claim, father?"

"A short time since, during my recent visit to Cincinnati. I defied him
then, and left the city without letting him know my address. But he is
evidently shrewd and determined, and he has managed, in some way which
I cannot fathom, to discover it. He has followed me up, and here he
is."

"What do you mean to do?"

"I find force won't do. He is full of courage, pluck, and
determination, and so is an enemy to be dreaded. I am going to try an
opposite course."

"You are not going to give up?"

"No, certainly not. I am going to pretend friendship, and having put
him off his guard, to get rid of his claim as well as I can. The
property I will never surrender, as long as there is a possibility of
retaining it," he concluded, firmly.

"I agree with you there, father. So you have invited him to stop here?"

"Yes, and the better to carry out my designs, I want you to act in a
particularly friendly manner."

"I will if I can, but I know I shall hate him."

"If you dislike him, adopt the course most likely to injure him."

"You are right, father. I will follow your advice."

"Of course, anything that I communicate to you in this matter must be
kept secret for both our sakes. Have I your promise?"

"You have."

"Then come here."

Jasper drew near his father, and the latter spoke in a lower voice.

"You are a good rider," he said.

"Yes, I can ride as well as any one of my age in the country," said
Jasper, proudly.

"Good! Gilbert Grey says he can ride also."

"I am not afraid of his rivalry."

"I am going to send him out to ride with you. You will ride your own
horse; he shall ride--Bucephalus."

"Bucephalus, father! He is a vicious beast. I wouldn't dare to ride him
myself, and I have no doubt I can ride better than he."

"I would not trust you on him, Jasper. As for Gilbert, I have no
particular reason to feel concerned for his safety."

The eyes of the father and son met, and the glance was that of mutual
understanding.

"Indeed," added Mr. Grey, "if he should be thrown off, and break his
neck, I shouldn't particularly mind. It would rid us both of a
dangerous enemy."

"That's so," said Jasper. "It's a capital idea! When shall we ride?"

"To-morrow morning, if it is pleasant. This afternoon you may have the
carriage, and drive him round the neighborhood. Be as friendly as you
can. Don't let him suspect anything from your manner."

"I won't. You can trust me for that, father."

"Hush! I hear his steps descending the stairs. I will introduce you."

Gilbert, unsuspicious of the wicked plot that had been entered into
against him, entered the room at this moment.

"Gilbert," said his uncle, graciously, "let me introduce to you my son,
Jasper. He must be near your own age. He has promised to do what he can
to make your stay pleasant."

"I am glad to meet you, Mr. Grey," said Jasper, advancing with a smile,
and speaking in a soft voice. "I have scarcely any companions of my own
age, and I shall enjoy your society."

"Thank you," said Gilbert; "I am much obliged to you for your kind
reception. I don't think we shall be strangers long."

They talked on various subjects till the bell rang for dinner. No fault
could be found with Jasper's manner, which was extremely cordial; yet
Gilbert, he could not tell why, was not attracted to his cousin.

CHAPTER XXX.

DECEITFUL HOSPITALITY.

Jasper was now thoroughly enlisted in his father's plans. Almost any
boy of his age would have shuddered at the prospect of a violent death
which, through the united agency of his father and himself, impended
over his young guest. But Jasper was thoroughly selfish, and what his
father had communicated to him had inspired in him a feeling of alarm.
He could not endure the thought of surrendering his inheritance to
Gilbert, and was ready, young as he was, to go to any extremity rather
than to do it.

According to the suggestion his father had made, when dinner was over,
at which both Jasper and his father had exerted themselves to be
particularly agreeable, the former, turning to his cousin, said:

"If you like, I will take you out in the carriage. You might like to
see something of the country round here."

"I should like it very much," said Gilbert, "but I hope you won't put
yourself to too much trouble."

"It will be no trouble. I shall enjoy driving with some one who is new
to the country. It is dull work driving alone."

"I will go with pleasure, then, and thank you for the offer."

James Grey listened with complacent approval.

"Really," he thought, "I didn't imagine Jasper could be so polite and
agreeable. He doesn't often show these qualities in his intercourse
with me."

When Gilbert went up to prepare for the excursion, Jasper lingered
behind.

"If I am going to do the agreeable to your company, father," he said,
"I shall need some money. I am cleaned out."

Without a word of remonstrance his father drew thirty dollars from his
pocket-book, and placed the money in his son's hands.

"Do it up handsomely, Jasper," he said. "Don't be unnecessarily
extravagant, of course, but spend your money like a gentleman."

"Yes, father," answered Jasper, as his fingers closed with satisfaction
upon the bills.

The carriage drove up to the door, and the two young men entered.
During the drive that ensued, Jasper showed himself very social and
communicative. He was unwearied in pointing out objects of interest,
and, in fact, by his easy and genial manners almost conquered the
antipathy which Gilbert secretly felt.

"I wonder," he said, at length, leaning back in the carriage and
surveying Gilbert with curiosity, "I wonder you never visited us
before."

"I did not know where you lived."

"Yet we are relations--distant relations, are we not?"

"I have reason to think that we are related."

"I have very few relations--none that I know. I believe there is a
brother of my mother living somewhere in New Mexico, but with that
exception, I know of no relations except you. Where do you live?"

"In Cincinnati."

"I used to live there. Why did we not meet then?"

"I have only been there for the last three years--that is, lately. I
have been in Australia, and later in New York."

"In Australia!" echoed Jasper, in considerable surprise.

"Yes, I was there for a while."

"You have been quite a traveler. How nearly are you related to us?"

"That matter is not settled yet. I am not quite sure whether your
father would like me to tell."

Gilbert said this, understanding the embarrassment of intimating to a
son that his father had defrauded him of the property that was
rightfully his. He thought it best to let his uncle reveal the secret
himself.

They drove ten miles, reaching a considerable town, boasting a large
hotel.

"Let us go in and have a game of billiards," suggested Jasper.

"Very well, but you won't find me much of a player."

"I must get father to put a billiard table in the house. I like the
game, but I get no chance to practice."

They adjourned to the bar-room, in which there was a solitary table.
This happened to be unoccupied, and they accordingly played two games,
which lasted about an hour and a half. The reader will judge that
neither was very expert in the game.

"Now," said Jasper, who paid for both games, despite Gilbert's
remonstrances, "we will order a little lunch, and then start for home."

"I don't feel hungry."

"Nonsense! one can always eat. Besides, I want to patronize the hotel."

"Did you have a pleasant drive?" asked James Grey, meeting them on
their return.

"Very pleasant," responded Gilbert.

"I hope Jasper was attentive."

"He could not have been more so. I am much obliged to him."

"I am glad enough to have company," said Jasper, with an assumption of
frank cordiality. "I don't often enjoy a drive, but I did this
afternoon."

"I think I shall have to invite Gilbert to stay here as our permanent
guest," said Mr. Grey, pleasantly.

While he spoke Gilbert could not help wondering what had come over him
to make him so different from what he was in Cincinnati. There he was
rough, insulting, and abusive. Now he was the model of courtesy. It was
hard to believe him the same man. Gilbert was not very credulous, but
he was thoroughly deceived by his altered manner.

"I suppose he really believed me an impostor when we met in
Cincinnati," said he to himself. "Now he begins to think that he was
mistaken, and is trying to make it up to me."

Nevertheless, there were one or two things which interfered with this
view. Why should his uncle have schemed so eagerly to get dishonest
possession of the confession unless he believed it to be genuine, and
therefore dangerous? That did not seem honorable. What had happened
since to change him?

After reflection, this was the conclusion to which our hero came: His
uncle had made up his mind that he (Gilbert) had a strong case, and
meant to conciliate him in the hope of a favorable compromise.
Otherwise what object could he have in treating him with so much
politeness and attention?

Gilbert was a smart boy, or perhaps I should say, young man, but he was
not yet acquainted with the "ways that are dark, and the tricks that
are vain," to which human craft is often led to resort. Least of all
did he suspect any danger to himself from the uncle and cousin, who
seemed to vie with each other in ministering to his enjoyment.

"Well, Jasper," said his father, the next morning, as they were seated
at breakfast, "what plans have you for the enjoyment of our guest?"

"You ride on horseback, don't you, Gilbert?" inquired his cousin.

"Yes, I can ride a little."

"Wouldn't you like a gallop after breakfast?"

Gilbert responded readily in the affirmative. He had taken riding
lessons in the city, and was accustomed to ride, whenever he had a
chance, in the environs of the city. He was, in truth, an excellent
rider, having taken lessons of an accomplished teacher, who often
referred to him as one of the most proficient of his pupils. But when
Jasper questioned him he only answered that he rode a little, having a
strong disinclination to boast.

"I should think that would be an agreeable plan," said Mr. Grey. "What
horses shall you take?"

"I will ride on my own. I am used to her, and don't like to change."

"How will you mount Gilbert?"

"He might ride on Bucephalus."

"Isn't Bucephalus a little skittish?"

"That is what they say at the stable; but I am not so easily scared."

"Why not use Sidney?"

"Sidney is not very well; he has had a bad cold. Still, if Gilbert is
afraid of mounting Bucephalus"--there was an intentional covert sneer
in Jasper's tone--"he can try Sidney."

Now Gilbert was not timid, and did not like to be considered so. Had he
really known the character of the horse designed for him, his cousin's
words would still have decided him to take the risk.

"I am not in the least afraid," he said. "I'll ride Bucephalus."

"Don't you think you had better take the other horse?" urged James
Grey, hypocritically.

"No, sir," said Gilbert, with decision. "If Sidney is sick I would much
rather try Bucephalus, even if he is a trifle spirited."

"A trifle spirited," thought his uncle. "I wouldn't trust myself on the
brute for ten thousand dollars."

"If you're ready, Gilbert, we'll go out to the stable," said Jasper.

They left the house and proceeded in the direction of the stable.

"Ten to one he'll come back hurt," James Grey said to himself, "if he
comes back at all," he added, with an evil smile.

CHAPTER XXXI.

BUCEPHALUS.

The stable was a handsome building, very complete in its appointments,
for both Mr. Grey and Jasper were fond of horses. Opening the small
door at one side the boys saw John, the coachman, washing the carriage.

"John, we want the saddle-horses," said Jasper. "Gilbert and I are
going to ride."

"You will ride your own horse, Mr. Jasper?"

"Yes."

"And your friend will ride Sidney?"

"No; he will take Bucephalus."

John shook his head.

"Sidney's better for him," he said. "I wouldn't trust Bucephalus."

"John, you're a fool!" said Jasper, impatiently. "Gilbert isn't a
baby."

"I know he isn't, Mr. Jasper, but all the same I wouldn't advise him
riding Bucephalus."

"What are you afraid of?"

"He's a contrary brute, while Sidney's as good-natured as a kitten."

"Oh, well, we'd better have a kitten at once. Gilbert, we've got an old
cat in the house, warranted safe. If John thinks it more prudent, we'll
saddle her for you. A kitten might be too wild and skittish."

Gilbert laughed.

"I think I won't disturb the old cat," he said. "I'll try Bucephalus."

"Better not, sir," said the coachman.

"Of course, if you are afraid," said Jasper, with another covert sneer,
"you'd better take Sidney; but in that case I shall probably ride away
from you."

"I'll take Bucephalus," said Gilbert, in decided tones. "I am not in
the least afraid, and I think I can keep up with you."

"On that horse I am sure you can."

John saw that further remonstrance would be unavailing, and very
reluctantly got ready the mettlesome steed. Gilbert jumped on his back
and put his feet in the stirrups.

John came to his side, and said, in a low voice:

"Be very careful, sir. Let him have his way, and don't chafe or vex
him. I hope you won't have any trouble."

"I don't think I shall. Thank you."

"What could possess Mr. Jasper to be so particular to have his friend
ride out on the ugly brute?" thought John, as he watched the two
galloping up the road. "He wouldn't trust himself on his back. Maybe he
won't mind it so much if the other gets a broken limb or broken neck. I
hope there won't be no accident. That Gilbert, as he calls himself,
looks like a nice, gentlemanly lad. I think I'd like him much better
than Mr. Jasper, who does put on airs, and orders me round as if I was
a dog."

John watched the two till a turn in the road concealed them from his
view, and then went back to his work. But his thoughts could not help
dwelling on the rash youth who had placed himself at the mercy of this
ill-tempered steed, and he heartily wished he could be sure of his safe
return.

We will now follow the two riders, and inquire how they sped.

Jasper soon found that Gilbert knew how to ride. His position was easy
and unconstrained, and his seat was firm. He seemed as much at ease as
in a parlor. But then Bucephalus was behaving well. He showed spirit,
but was obedient to the rein.

"How do you like Bucephalus?" inquired Jasper.

"I find no fault with him. He is a fine horse. What made your coachman
so afraid of trusting me on him?"

"I hope you won't be angry with John," answered Jasper, laughing, "but
he doubted whether you could ride. If you didn't know anything about
riding, your horse would soon find it out, and take advantage of it."

"Almost any horse would do that."

"Of course."

"I suppose you have ridden Bucephalus, Jasper?"

"Certainly, though not often. I am used to my own horse--General, I
call him--and I naturally prefer him."

Jasper did not speak the truth. He had never ridden Bucephalus, nor
would he have done so for a considerable sum of money, though he was by
no means a poor rider. But Gilbert had no reason, or thought he had
not, for doubting his assertion, and readily believed that it was only
the coachman's doubt of his horsemanship that had given rise to the
fears he expressed.

"How long has your father owned Bucephalus?" inquired Gilbert.

"Only three months."

"Who rides him?"

"Neither of us, much. The fact is, Sidney is father's horse, and this
is mine. We don't need Bucephalus, but father took him for a debt, and
means to sell him when he has a good opportunity."

This was true. Bucephalus had been taken for a debt, and as, on account
of his ill-temper, he was of no use to Mr. Grey, he proposed to dispose
of him at the first favorable opportunity.

"You ride well," said Jasper, after a pause. "Have you ridden much?"

"Considerably," answered Gilbert, modestly.

Had he not been so modest he might have added that his teacher had
pronounced him the best rider he had ever taught. But Gilbert was no
boaster, and, therefore, Jasper remained in ignorance of his really
superior horsemanship.

"You don't seem to find any trouble in managing him. I wish John could
see you ride. He would see how foolish he was in being afraid for you."

Gilbert was only human, and the compliment pleased him. He knew he was
a good rider, and though he was not willing to boast of it, he liked to
have it appreciated by others. He could not read the unspoken thought
that was passing through his cousin's mind.

"He does well enough now," thought Jasper; "but wait till Bucephalus
wakes up. Then he will be like a child in his grasp. I wouldn't like to
be in his shoes then."

Yet to this danger from which he himself shrank in dread he had exposed
his cousin, when he could easily have saved him from it. It was proof
of his cold and selfish wickedness that he could do this without being
visited by reproaches of conscience.

For several miles Bucephalus behaved unusually well. But at length he
began to show signs of the insubordinate spirit that possessed him.
They came to a turn in the road; Jasper took the turn, but Bucephalus
preferred to go straight on. He shook his head viciously, and snorted
defiantly.

"It's coming," thought Jasper, and for the first time he did feel a
little pity for his companion.

"Won't he turn?" he asked.

"He don't want to, but he will," said Gilbert, coolly.

He pulled the right rein in a firm, decided way. Bucephalus reared, and
began to dance round.

"Is that your game?" said Gilbert. "We'll see who will be master."

[Illustration: "Is that your game?" said Gilbert. "We'll see who will
be master."--Page 221.]

He sawed away at the horse's mouth with no mercy. Bucephalus was
enraged. He could hardly understand the presumption of the rider, who
was daring enough to defy him to his worst. He was accustomed to
inspire fear in his rider, and his spirit was up. He indulged in worse
antics, when he was astonished and maddened by a terrible lashing from
the whip in Gilbert's hand.

He started off like a shot at a break-neck speed down the road which
Gilbert wanted him to take. In his fury he was not probably aware that
he had yielded that point to his master. On he rushed with the speed of
lightning. Terror-struck, Jasper, sitting still on his own horse,
followed him with his glance. He saw Gilbert, immovable as a rock,
keeping his seat on the maddened steed, never for a moment losing
courage or self-possession. He was astonished, but he could not help
feeling admiration also.

"He rides magnificently," he said to himself. "Who would have supposed
that he could manage that brute?"

But there was one thing that Jasper did not know--which I have not yet
imparted to the reader. Gilbert had taken lessons of Rarey, the famous
horse-tamer, and that gave him a wonderful advantage. Feeling firm in
his seat, he let Bucephalus continue his break-neck speed till his
beating sides and labored breath showed that he was exhausted. Then
turning him unresisting he rode back. After a while he met Jasper. The
latter could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the fierce steed cowed
and subdued, while his cousin seemed perfectly cool and composed.

"Thank Heaven, you are safe!" ejaculated Jasper, hypocritically. "I was
very much alarmed about you."

"I have given Bucephalus a lesson," said Gilbert, quietly. "I will ride
him again to-morrow. I think he is thoroughly subdued now. Did he ever
act in this way when you rode him?"

"No," answered Jasper. "I don't see what got into him to-day. You rode
him splendidly," he felt forced to add.

"I am not afraid of horses," said Gilbert, quietly. "But suppose we
turn back. I think he has had enough for one day."

CHAPTER XXXII.

AN UNWELCOME RETURN.

"I wish I know'd the boy would come to no harm," thought John, the
coachman. "What made Master Jasper so anxious to have him ride the ugly
brute? He wouldn't trust his own neck, but maybe it makes a difference
when another's is in danger. I ain't sure but I'd rather my frind, Pat
Murphy, would break his neck than mysilf. It's human natur to think of
your silf first, and Master Jasper is got his shere of human natur' I'm
thinkin'!"

Time passed, and still John, as he kept about his work, could not keep
his thoughts off the adventurous youth who had ridden Bucephalus.

From time to time he went outside the stable, and shading his eyes with
his hand, looked up the road, but still nothing was to be seen of
either of the boys.

"If he can manage the ugly baste, he knows how to ride, that's sure,"
said John to himself. "I wish I was certain of that same, I do, by St.
Patrick."

"What are you looking at, John?" asked a voice, near at hand.

John turned suddenly, and perceived that it was Mr. Grey who spoke.

"I was lookin' to see if the boys was comin' back," said John.

"They'll come back in due time. You needn't leave off your work for
that."

"I wish I knowed that, sir."

"Knowed what?" repeated his employer.

"That the young man--Mr. Gilbert--would come back safe."

"Why shouldn't he come back?" inquired James Grey.

"He rode on Bucephalus, sir."

"Suppose he did?"

"I'm afraid the ugly baste will do him some harm."

"I am not afraid. Bucephalus is a spirited horse, I am aware, but he is
used to riding, and doubtless can manage him."

"So is Mr. Jasper used to riding, but you couldn't hire him to ride
Bucephalus."

"He has a horse of his own," said Mr. Grey, impatiently, not liking
John's pertinacity. "Of course he prefers to ride on his own horse."

"Would you ride him yourself, sir?" asked John, shrewdly.

"I have had enough of this," said Mr. Grey, sternly. "It is a good
rule, John, to mind your own business, and I am forced to remind you of
it. Go into the stable, and continue your work. I did not know Gilbert
was going to ride Bucephalus, but as he has chosen to do it, I do not
feel in the least anxious. I have no doubt he will come back safe."

"There he comes, begorra," exclaimed John, suddenly, swinging his hat
in joyous excitement, "alive and kickin', sure, and the ugly brute as
make and quiet as a lamb, too."

"Where?" asked Mr. Grey, sharing John's excitement, but feeling a
wicked disappointment in the failure of his evil plans.

"Don't you see him, sir? He's jist at the turnin'. Shure he looks like
he had mastered the horse, as bowld as a hero."

It was as John had said. Side by side at a walk came the two horses
with their riders. The fierce steed had found his master, and looked
quiet and subdued. Never till that day had he been broken. Till this
time he had felt his power, now he felt the power of another. Gilbert
seemed perfectly at home on his back, and from his manner no one would
have supposed that he had had a hard conflict with the brute, from
which, had he not come forth victorious, the result might have been
death or serious injury.

"He's dangerous," thought his uncle. "A boy who can subdue such a horse
must have an unconquerable will. _While he lives, I am not safe._"

To John he said, wishing to keep up appearances:

"I told you he would come back safe. You only made a fool of yourself
by worrying."

"Shure he must be a splindid rider, sir," said John, perplexed, "or
else he has the divil's own luck, the one or the other."

Mr. Grey waited till the boys came up, and John took the liberty of
doing the same, though he had been bidden to go back to his work.

"How did you enjoy your ride?" he inquired, looking to Gilbert. "I see
you rode Bucephalus."

"I had a little fight with the horse," answered Gilbert, "but I came
off best."

"So he undertook to trouble you, did he?" asked Mr. Grey, with
curiosity.

"Yes. He thought he was master, and undertook first to disobey, and
afterward to run away with me. But I think he met his match, didn't
you, Bucephalus?" said Gilbert, with a laugh, as he stroked the horse's
neck.

Bucephalus showed signs of pleasure, and the fierce glance of his eye
was softer and more gentle than Mr. Grey had ever known it.

"Shure and I'm glad you come back safe, Mr. Gilbert," said John,
earnestly. "I don't see how you did it."

"I don't think you'll find him so troublesome after this, John," said
our hero, dismounting. "We are better friends than we were--eh,
Bucephalus?"

"Ye must have had a charm," said John, more than half in earnest. "I
never saw such a change in a creetur before. He was a lion when he went
out, and he comes back a lamb."

"It's a great secret," said Gilbert, laughing.

"Will it last, do you think?"

"I think so. When a horse is once conquered he remembers it."

"Shure, thin, he's worth twice the sum he was before," said John.

"Do you want me to charge Mr. Grey for my services?" asked Gilbert,
laughing.

"Shure he could afford to pay you," answered John, "and that handsome."

"How far did you go, Jasper?" inquired his father.

"About eight miles, sir."

"Well, you must be tired and hungry. Come into the house, and the cook
shall send you up some lunch."

"I am not in the least hungry, sir," said Gilbert. "We lunched at a
hotel in the next town."

Jasper accompanied his father into the house, but Gilbert remained
behind five minutes longer. John's good-natured anxiety for his safety
had enlisted his good will, and he thought he would like to chat a
while with him.

"You seem to be surprised at my coming home safe," he said.

"Yes, sir--shure I am. You're the only one I know that could manage the
ugly brute, let alone a horse-tamer."

"But Jasper has ridden on him. Don't you think I can manage him as well
as Jasper?"

"Mr. Jasper niver has ridden on Bucephalus."

"He told me he had," said Gilbert, in a tone of surprise.

"Shure, sir, you couldn't have understood him."

"Do you mean to say that he never rode on the horse?"

"No; and he wouldn't for a hundred dollars."

"What did he mean, then, by telling me he had done so?"

"Are you sure he told you so, Mr. Gilbert?"

"Yes; he said he had ridden Bucephalus, but not often, as he preferred
his own horse."

"Then, savin' your presince, he told a lie, but you mustn't tell him I
said so."

"I won't betray you; but I don't see why he should deceive me," said
Gilbert, regarding the coachman with perplexity. "Did Mr. Grey ever
ride on him?"

"No, sir, and he wouldn't. He'd be afraid of his life."

"Did you ever ride on him yourself, John?"

"Yes, sir, I did that same. I rid him once too often. Before I knew
where I was I found myself lyin' in the road lookin' up to the stars,
of which I saw plenty, though it was broad daylight."

"How long ago was that?"

"Two months ago, jist after we got him. I hain't been on his back
since."

Gilbert now began to look serious. He was beginning to understand a
little better how matters stood.

"I shouldn't think Mr. Grey or Jasper would have let me ride him if he
was so dangerous," he said, after a pause.

"Nor I," said John. "Faith, they care less for your neck than their
own, I'm thinkin'."

"It is lucky I am a good rider, or you might never have seen me again.
I conquered him, but it wasn't easy. Six months ago he would have
conquered me."

"All's well that ends well," said John, philosophically. "He won't be
up to any more of his tantrums when you are on his back, I'm thinkin'.
Horses have a good mimery, and they know their master."

"I shall not be afraid to ride him now. But I must go into the house."

Gilbert entered the house. He did not enter his uncle's presence at
once, but went up to his room and seated himself thoughtfully at the
window.

"Can it be that he meant to risk my life?" he said to himself. "I am in
his way, I know, but is he capable of such a crime?"

He could not decide. He was not prone to think evil of others, yet he
felt that it was necessary to be on his guard.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

ANOTHER PLOT.

"So he mastered Bucephalus," said James Grey, when alone with his son.
"He must be a splendid rider."

"I had no idea he was so used to horses," said Jasper. "He sat like a
rock, and did not seem in the least frightened."

"I begin to think he is more dangerous than I at first supposed. Did he
appear to suspect anything when the horse began to behave badly?"

"I don't think he did."

"He may be surprised that we should give him that horse when we don't
ride it ourselves."

"He doesn't know that. He asked me if I ever rode Bucephalus, and I
told him yes, but not often, as I preferred my own horse."

"That will do, if John doesn't undeceive him."

"John is a meddlesome fellow," said Jasper, in a tone of vexation. "He
tried to persuade him not to ride Bucephalus."

"John makes a fool of himself. I am afraid he will arouse Gilbert's
suspicions. If he does, we must do what we can to allay them."

"What shall you do now, father?" inquired Jasper.

"I have not decided. When I have, I may not tell you."

"Why not?" asked Jasper, suspiciously.

"Not from any feeling of distrust, for we are both in the same boat,
and equally interested in frustrating your cousin's designs. But it may
be necessary to resort to strong--perhaps forcible measures--and it may
be well that you should be kept in entire ignorance of them. It is a
serious peril for both of us, this claim of Gilbert's, but more so to
you. I have already enjoyed the estate for a long time. In the course
of nature I have thirty-five years less of life to look forward to than
you. Therefore your interest is greater than mine."

"All right, father. Whatever you think best I am ready to agree to; but
if you need any help that I can give, just let me know."

"That shall be understood. Now, you had better go out and look for your
cousin. It is not best that John and he should be left to themselves
too long."

Jasper went out into the stable-yards, but found that Gilbert had
already gone into the house.

"That's a mighty foine lad, that Gilbert," said John.

"Yes, he's a clever fellow," responded Jasper, not very
enthusiastically.

"He's as smart as a steel-trap," said John, earnestly.

"I didn't know steel-traps were very smart," said Jasper,
sarcastically.

He felt instinctively that John considered Gilbert smarter than
himself, and his self-conceit was so great that this troubled him.

"Wait till you get into one," said John, laughing. "If you'd get your
little finger into one of them things, you'd find it was too smart for
ye."

"What did Gilbert have to say to you?"

But John was too smart to be pumped.

"Nothing much," he answered. "He says the ugly brute won't give no more
trouble."

"Do you think so yourself?"

"He won't trouble Mr. Gilbert."

"Will he trouble anybody else?"

"Maybe not. He's had a good lesson."

"I wonder whether Gilbert told him what I said," thought Jasper. He
didn't like to ask, for, in so doing, he would betray himself. After a
little pause he walked back to the house; but he did not see Gilbert
for some time, for the latter was still in his chamber.

When they met at supper, Mr. Grey said:

"I ought to apologize to you, Gilbert, for trusting you to such a
horse; but he has never cut up such pranks before, and I did not
realize the danger to which I was exposing you. From what Jasper says,
you must have been in peril."

"I suppose I should have been, sir, if I had not been so accustomed to
horses; but I have ridden a great deal, though I don't think I ever had
such a sharp contest before."

"You had better ride Sidney to-morrow--I don't want you to run any more
risk."

"Thank you, sir; but I am not afraid. Bucephalus has had a lesson, and
won't try to master me again. With your permission, I will try him
again, and hope to have him wholly subdued before I go."

"I shall be glad to have him subjugated, I confess, as it will greatly
enhance his value; but I don't want you to run any further risk."

"The danger is quite over, Mr. Grey."

This conversation, and the regret frankly expressed by his uncle, did
considerable to put to rest the suspicion that had been excited in
Gilbert's mind. It did look strange, to be sure, that Jasper should
have made a false claim to have ridden Bucephalus, when he hadn't done
so; but possibly this was because he did not like to have it supposed
that he was inferior in courage or in horsemanship. At any rate, though
not quite satisfied, he felt that there might be an explanation.

The next morning the boys went out to ride once more. Bucephalus
justified Gilbert's prediction, and behaved as well as could be
expected. Once he made a start, but a sudden twitch of the reins
recalled to his mind the defeat of the day before, and he quickly
relapsed into obedience.

Meanwhile Mr. Grey paced the floor of his library, and thought deeply.
To what means should he resort to avert the danger that menaced his
estate? He knew enough now of Gilbert to understand that he was
resolute and determined. He might be conciliated, but could not be
intimidated while he felt that he was battling for his inherited
rights. Would it be worth while to conciliate him? Mr. Grey feared that
he would require the surrender of the major portion of the estate, and
to this he was not willing to accede. While he was thus perplexed,
Pompey made his appearance, and said:

"There's a man wants to see you, Mr. Grey."

"A man, or a gentleman?"

"A man. It's Hugh Trimble."

"Bring him up."

Some idea must have been started in Mr. Grey's mind, for his eyes
lighted up with a gleam of exultation, and he muttered:

"The very thing. Why didn't I think of it before?"

Hugh Trimble shuffled into the room--a tall, shambling figure of a man,