Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 September 1878 — MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. [ARTICLE]

MY LOST POCKET-BOOK.

Mr name is Edney—Philip Clement Edney. That was my father’s name before me. Twenty-odd years ago he did a small but comfortable dry-goods business in Utica. But in the panic of ’57 he met with severe losses; iyjd he had hardly weathered the financial storm when he was taken down with a disease from which he never recovered. In his last illness he was deeply conCbrne'd for the future of his family. I was the eldest son, and he frequently expressed the hope, to my mother and to me, that in some way we should be able to find Harringford. Thomas Harringford was a generoushearted, but rather unprincipled, young man, who had been in my father’s employ several years before. He got into bad company and was guilty of some irregularity, as the modern genteel phrase is, having helped himself to my father’s cash to the amount of several hundred dollars, before his dishonesty—l mean his irregularity—was discovered. He was penitent, and confessed everything, but it was impossible for him to make restitution. / f He had been a favorite of both my father and mother, and they could not bear to have him sent to prison. So, on his promising to reform, lead an honest life in future, and repay my father, when he was able, the sums he had stolen—l mean misappropriated—he was let off. He went to parts where he was unknown, and only vague rumors concerning him had reached us since. One of these rumors was that he had beeft seen in Buffalo and Detroit, and that he was doing a prosperous business. On settling up my father’s estate, my mother found that she and her little family were left in straitened circumstances. Then we remembered what he had said about Harringford. I wrote to him letters addressed Buffalo and -Detroit, but failed to receive answers. At last we were so much in need that I said: .... .. “ Mother, if you can spare the money for me to make the journey, I believe I can find him, and get at least a part payment of what he owes us.” It was a long time before she would listen to this proposal. She could ill afford the expense. Though we held Harringford’s note to myfather, it was outlawed, and she had not much faith in my being able to get a|ny money of him, even if he could be found in either of the two cities named. . At last, however, thinking the journey might do me some good, at any rate, she consented to.it r and In July 4 set out

I went first to Buffalo, where 1 began with the Postoffice and directory, but without being able to find the man I was searching for there, I proceeded to Detroit. No luck there either. I returned to Buffalo, stopping at Cleveland by the way, and finally gave up the search, concluding that Harringford must have gone elsewhere, and that the world was too large a haystack for me to hunt in for such a needle. But my mother had told me to be sure to visit Niagara before my return; so, one afternoon, I went down by a late train to the Falls, which I saw by moonlight for the first time. I was of course too poor to go to a first-class hotel, but put up at one both small and obscure. The next morning was fine. I was in good spirits, in spite of the failure of my undertaking, for I had youth and health. I passed the day at the Falls, but, for economy’s sake, I felt that 1 ought to leave on the night train for Utica. So I prepared to take leave of the great cataract. “ But 1 am going to drink out of it first, anyway,” I said to a young man whose acquaintance 1 had made that afternoon.

The American shore oi the river was not fenced in from the public in those days, as I found it when I was there a year ago. We stood at the very brink, near the edge of the fall. The wild, tumbling -rapids shot past us, seemed to pause ah instant on the verge, broke into curves of- mavelous green water, then erumbleilintomasscsof loam, and" fell thundering into the abyss. With that view before me, boy-like, 1 got down on my hands and knees for my drink. My lips touched the swift water. 1 had my drink, and was about to rise, when something dropped out of the inner breast-pocket of my coat, and shot away from my reach and sank from sight before I could put out my hahd. In my astonishment, I Was Hear making a leap after it, but the sight of the steaming gulf bftlow brought me to “Gone!” I exclaimed, flingiiig up hands in despair. “ Did you see “ See what?” said my companion. “My pocket-book!” I replied, full of consternation. “It,dropped from my * Coat-pocket into the water, anfl is lost. I came within one of going after it!” He had seen nothing. I explained how it happened. I-had always car" tied my pocket-book in that way and never dropped it before. But in stooping far forward to bring my lips to the water, I hail emptied my pocket and lost, in an instant, all my money, together with that poor outlawed note of Harringford’s, among other more or less valuable papers. ff. il My tiimrce wwiuairrtafncs eTfpressed his sympathy in well-sounding words, but all at once 1 he appeared to. have grown cold toward me. Perhaps he expected I should want to borrow

money of him; for money I should certainly need in getting away from the Falls. I still had my hotel-bill to pay and I could not.very well travel by rail for nothing. We had already exchanged cards, and I had ascertained that his name was Eastmore—that he was a reporter, or somethihg of the sort, for a Buffalo paper, {thought ayoungrpanof his experience ought to be able to give me good advice, If nothing else, and I begged him to tell me wnat to do. “Have you any friend in town that you can call on for assistance P” he asked. “ Not one,” I said, and added, without thinking how hewouldtakeit, “You are the only acquaintance I have here except the hotel folks.” He laughed and looked embarrassed. “That’s bad!” he said. “I would be glad to lend you a little, if I had any to spare, but I haven’t. Perhaps the hotel folks will help you, if you can convince them of the truth of your story.” A horrible suspicion flashed across my mind. I might pass for -an impostor! “The truth of it!” I exclaimed. “Why, I had my pocket-book right here, with twenty dollars in it! And what motive could I have” — In my bewilderment I could not finish my -question. , “Of course you had your pocketbook,” he answered, with a smile; “ and mind, I don’t say you have any motive for making a false pretension. But the world is full of impostors, who are always inventing excuses for borrowing money or for omitting to pay their bills. Hotel-heepers have to deal with such characters pretty often, and we can’t blame them for being a trifle suspicious of men who have lost their pocxet-books?*' — —: • He must have been impressed by the horrified look I gave him, for he immediately went on— “ Of course I am as much convinced that you lost your pocket-book in the way you say as if I had seen it go over the Falls. But even if I had seen it, I never saw the money in it—though don’t understand me to say that I have any doubt of that either. I am only stating the case as it might look to other people, if you didn't carry such an honest face about with you.” ,„ “ Thank you for so much!” I said, bitterly; for now I perceived by something in his look and tone which he could not hide, that in his own mind, my story stood sadly in need of confirmation.

I couldn’t blame him, however. lm- f posters are in the majority among smooth-tongued people in want of assistance; and the worst of their sin is that they throw discredit upon honest people who have been really unfortunate. I was destined to find that out to my sorrow. felt that the first thing to be done was to make my case known to my landlord, and I went back to the house. 1 told him, in as cool and business-like way as I could, what had happened, and 1 asked him to trust me for the amount of my bill. Eastmore went with me, and I hoped he would say something to corroborate my story; but he was very cautious. He stood at my elbow, a little behind, and I suspect there was something in his face which did not help my cause. The landlord, a short, stocky, redvisaged, wall-eyed Irishman, glanced over his shoulder with the one good eye he had, and seemed to receive intelligence to my disadvantage. I turned quickly. I don't think Eastmore had made a signal, but he had not concealed his incredulity. I found then that I might better have gone alone to the landlord.

“I don’t know anything about your losing your pocket-book,” said the Irishman, after hearing me out. “If you have no money, you must get some. My business is to keep a hotel, and I can’t furnish guests with board and lodging for the fine stories they may tell.” The words stung me, but I managed to reply calmly: 1 don’t ask you to do any such thing. I shall pay you every cent I owe you. But I have lost my money, and can't very well afford to stay here until ! receive more.” Then it occurred to me that that was just what he would like to have me do. He could hold my valise for security, and my bill would be increasing, so I added: “I shall be obliged to leave your house, anyway. If yod will’.let me take my valise, I think I may get passed over the railroad; and I promise to send you the two dollars I owe you as soon as I reach Utica.” He smiled. , “What time is it?” he asked. I took out my watch and told him. “That’s a good-looking turnip,” he said. “ Leave that, afrd you may take your baggage.” The watch had been my father’s. I wouldn’t have trustedit in his hands on any account. “No thank you!” I said, and put it back into my pocket. He saw that I distrusted him, and became abusive.

“ You’re aswindler!” he cried. “I’ve heard of you before. -How many pock-et-books nave you lost this week? I’ve a cat here that could eat them all, and lick her chops for. more. Ah!” —he shook his fist at me angrily— “I’m the wrong man for you to try your little confidence game on. If yott come into my house again without the money,” he shouted after me as I was turning ihy" “back on him indignantly, ‘ r HT haveyou arrested! - I’ll have-- you- in the lock-up!’ 1 ’ I think! was never so angry in my life; but wnat is the use of arguing with a wild beast? I held my tongue, and walked out of his miserable hotel without my baggage. I had been poorly accommodated there, and his charge, after all, was exorbitant—almost as pinch as I should have had to pay in those days at a firsteflass ’hotlsw. “ I should have found no fault with that,apd would gladly have sent him the money if he would have let me off; but to feel that I had been imposed upon as well as insulted increased my indignation. .Eastmbre followed me out, and spoke some words intended to appear sympathizing; but I had no patience with the cold, suspicious, non-committal character of the fellow, and gave him but a curt reply. So lie went his way, and I mine. I had already resolved what to do. I walked boldly into a first-class hotel, entered my name on the register, and then asked the Clerk to be-good enough to put my watch in the hotel safe. It was an unusual act. I knew the clerk wouldwonder why I requested it; but I made no explanation. I then took a rumn rnd Wrotea tetter to mymother, which I thought would reach her the next morning, and serve my purpose as well as a telegram. I got my letter . into the mail ana took “mine ease in

mine inn.” I determined to enjoy my stay at the Falls while waiting for money to get away. The next, day, while walking out of the hotel, I met Eastmore walking in. He gave me a curious smile and went to the desk, where he seemed to be looking over the register for names. I didn’t have anything more to say to him, but sauntered away, with my head up. I looked eagerly, the next moaning,' for the expected letter from Home. It did not come. But I got an interesting bit of news instead. I took up at the breakfast-table a newspaper which a gentleman had laid down, and read with feelings which you can perhaps imagine, this item, under the heading of “Spray from the Falls:” “Don't drink out of the Cataract! That in what Philip Clemen* Edney attempted toda on Tuesday, in the presence of our reporter, and fhfiriWTlxl wi*ha l*ryeand well-stuffed pocketbook, which took that occasion to leap out of his breast-pocket and dart over the'Aincrican Fall like a fish. Philip Clement Edney was hugely disgusted; so likewise was the landlord of the Eagle House, when he found that the said P. 0. E. had nothing but fair promise* wherewith to settle hi* bill. Unfortunately our reporter could not swear to the wallet and it* contents; and in this age of dead beats and confidence men, P. 0. E. naturally fell under some supicion. “If an impostor— which our reporter did not believe—hets a very young, and a very goodlooking specimen. If an honeet person—a* he appears—we can only say that it was an expensive drink, and refer the prudent reader to the moral of our story, which, to insure it* being read, we have placed at the beginning, and here repeat at the end. Don't drink out ar the Cataract!"

Hot and cold.streaks shot over me as I read this smart paragraph. I burned to get hold of Eastmore’s sagacious nose, and be rude to it. My name—the name which the reporter had given in full—was on the hotel register, and already, no doubt, I was an object of suspicion by the clerk. 1 arose hastily and left the dining-hall. I went to cool my heat under the cliff below the Falls, and did not return to the hotel until noon. Again I asked the clerk for letters. There were none’ for me; but there was something else—a card. “H. F. Marston” was the name I read on it; and I was informed that Mr. Marston had inquired for me. “ I don’t know Rim,” I said. “ Who is he?” By way of reply the clerk struck a bell, called a messenger and sent him off to see if Mr. Marston was in his room, and to tell him that “ Mr. Edney” had returned. Then he said to me: “You are the young man who left a watch with me, I believe. Do you wish for it?” “ I shall wish for it,” I said, “ when I have money to pay my bill, which I am expecting by every mail.” “Then it wasn’t simply for safe keeping that you handed it to me?” he said. “Not altogether,” I replied. “ I had no baggage; and to avoid unpleasant explanations, and perhaps still more unpleasant suspicions, I thought I would place that security in your hands.” He smiled as he took the watch from the safe and handed it back to me. “ I don’t require the security. I believe you are honest, Mr. Edney. The paragraph in this morning paper has excited interest, and one or two persons have asked about you. Mr. Marston wished particularly to see you. Walk up stairs.” The messenger had in fact just returned for me, and I went with him, wondering all the way what would happen next. I found a tall, well-dressed, fine-look-ing gentleman waiting for me in his private parlor. “Is this Philip Clement Edney?” he said, with a smile, which brought up a host of recollections.

I stared at him, all a-tremble with excitement. I might have passed him twenty times in the hotel without knowing him; but now I was sure of my man at a glance. “That is my name,” I said; “and you” He stopped me with another engaging smile. “I am Henry F. Marston, please remember. If I had another name once, I should be glad to have it forgotten. But I am willing that you should know who I am. When I saw your name in the paper this morning, I knew It must : be you. Then 1 found you were stopping at the same Hotel with me. Your father was very, very kind tome, Philip; and when I learned” - The tears actually came into his eyes, as he faltered; and at that moment I forgave him all. “You were a little shaver when I knew you,” he went on, with another flashing smile. “I should not have recognized you; but you' have your father’s flame and your mother’s eyes. I don’t know why I have neglected to communicate with them. When I found that you were here, my heart yearned toward you. How are your parents, Philip?’’ He had not heard of my father’s death. When 1 told him, and described the straitened circumstances of our family, he appeared greatly astonished andcon-science-stijicken. *' l Why haven’t you sent for me?” he asked. “My father, in his last moments, begged us to let you know our circumstances, and I have gone through three cities in search of you.’ ’ I replied. * ‘ But no Thomas Harringford” He stopped me again. “Of course not,” he said. “ There is no such man now, and never has been, since 1 left Utica and began a new life under a new name. I have been much to blame that I have never repaid your father. Do you know the amount of the debt?” “ The face of the note .was $740,” I answered. But that, I am softy to say, went oyer the Falls in my pocketbook.” “'But I have a letter to you from my mother, which I have left in my valise at the Eagle House.” “ Go and get it,” he said. “Ican’t,” 1 said, “for I have. no money to pay my bill there.” Ha at once Qpened .frU “ Take that ana get your valise.” He put a twenty-dollar bank-note into my hand. ■ •- In half an hour I had redeemed my baggage, told the landlord of the Eagle House, in plain language, what 1 thought of his conduct, returned to Harringford’s room—or, rather, Marston’s—with my mother’s letter. In reading it he had to hide his face. Tears were still in his eyes, though he was smiling -again. Then he turned to me. “ That was a lucky paragrah in this morning’s paper,” he said; “and a lucky accident which detained you here. In your absence I have computed the present value of that note, at compound interest, and now it gives me the greatest satisfaction to re pay; your family in a time of need. I have deducted the twenty dollars I just handed yott. arni here is the balance?’ < He put a paper into my hands. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a cheek for r-

I did not wait for my mother’s letter, but took the next train for home. I found my letter' there waiting for her. She was away, and it had not been forwarded. She soon returned, and I had the joy of putting Harringford’s check into her hands. We felt some anxiety lest it shouldn't prove good for the very large sum of money it called for; but it did; and it proved also to be the turning-point in our fortunes. ■ ■ ■ In my delight at the happy termination of my adventure, 1 forgave everybody who had wronged me. 4I forgave the wall-eyed landlord. I even forgave Eastmore. ... I have visited Niagara Falls more, than once since. But I never again felt any desire to drihk out of the cataract.—J. T. Trowbridge, in Youths" Companion.