A RACE FOR MONEY.
For the moment Neka was too stunned to do more than stare at the bootblack. The urchin had seen Longfellow Wadsworth intoxicated and in company with two slick-looking individuals who were most likely bent upon robbing the elocutionist.
“Yer look kinder broke up over dat news, boss,” remarked the bootblack, kindly.
Neka straightened up.
“See here,” he said, “can you lead me to the spot where you saw the three men last?”
“Cert, boss.”
“Then do it. I’ll pay you for your time.”
On the moment the bootblack started down a side street of Woolskill which led to the Hudson River.
It was bitter cold, and the early snow of winter came down in driving sheets. But Neka did not mind this--indeed, he scarcely noticed the snow--his mind being bent upon his partner and the money Longfellow Wadsworth had carried. If the sharpers robbed the elocutionist the combination would be as poor as when it first started.
“And just when we thought to go to New York and start out as a regular company,” Neka said to himself, and almost groaned aloud. It had been hard work to save that three hundred and eighty dollars, and to think of it vanishing was something awful.
Five minutes’ walk brought the two to a street fronting the docks. Here were a number of cheap stores and saloons. The bootblack pointed to a saloon at the end of a row.
“Da was over dare last, boss.”
“Thanks. You didn’t see them after that?”
“Nixey.”
“All right. Here is a quarter for you. Or hold on--wait here for me. I may want you again.”
“Correct, boss; I’ll wait all night ef yer say so,” was the ready reply.
The bootblack remained on the corner while Neka walked in the direction of the saloon. The boy had gone scarcely a hundred feet when a man staggered from a pile of lumber on a dock opposite and came toward him.
“Shay, friend----” he began.
“Longfellow Wadsworth!” cried Neka, and leaped to the other’s side.
The elocutionist stared at him for a second, then fell limp in his arms.
But Neka did not mean to allow the elocutionist to go to sleep just then. He shook him vigorously.
“Where have you been?” he demanded. “Is the money safe?”
“It’s sh’all right, Neka--sh’all right,” mumbled Longfellow Wadsworth. “Just met a couple o’ friends--sh’all.”
“I am sorry to see you have been drinking.”
“Won’t do it again, Neka, my son; never!”
“But the money?”
“Shafe--always shafe w’me,” went on Longfellow Wadsworth.
“Is it in your inside pocket?”
“Course, Neka; course.”
The boy slipped his hand to the pocket. It was torn open on one side, and the well-known flat packet of bank-bills was gone!
“You’ve been robbed!”
“Never!” In surprise Longfellow Wadsworth became sober for a second. “Ain’t the money there? By Heavens!” he went on tragically.
“You miserable man--to get drunk and let them rob you of all our money!”
Longfellow Wadsworth fairly turned pale as Neka flung him off and up against a billboard.
“Don’t, Neka, don’t! I’m--I ain’t fit to live, but don’t leave me! I won’t drink any more--I--I----”
But the elocutionist could not go on. The tears came into his eyes, and he sank down on his back in the snow, overcome equally by drink and sorrow.
Neka gazed at him pityingly. He was tempted to leave the man where he was. But he changed his mind and raised Longfellow Wadsworth up.
Then he motioned for the bootblack to come up, and between them they carried the man through the snow to a safe place on the dock and set him up on some boxes in an out-of-the-way corner.
“Where did you leave the men who were with you?” asked Neka.
It was difficult to make the elocutionist understand, but at last he managed to give forth the information that he had walked to the river and seen the men off in a boat.
“Dem ducks went over ter Pemleton, sure,” said the bootblack, who by this time was almost as much interested as Neka.
“Is that opposite to this town?”
“Yes.”
“Would you remember them if you saw them again?”
“Oh, cert.”
“Then help me put this man in a carriage and come with me.”
To find a carriage and place Longfellow Wadsworth in it was not an easy matter. However, it was at last accomplished, and the driver was given directions to take him to the theatre, along with a note Neka scribbled out for Bindley.
Then, as the carriage went off, Neka and the bootblack hurried to the river. A boat and boatman were found to take them across, and they started from the dock without delay.
The snow was still falling steadily, and a stiff wind from the northeast blew the white particles almost directly into their faces. It was growing darker every instant, and soon all to be seen were the early lights on either side of the stream.
“I suppose you know the way, even in this fall of snow,” remarked Neka to the boatman.
“Ought to, sir; been over it more than a thousand times.”
“Row us over as quickly as you can. It is of great importance.”
“Said you were after a thief, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
And the boatman did, the craft fairly flying through the water, testifying to that fact.
“Those men could not go to any other town than Pemleton, could they?” questioned Neka of the bootblack.
“Ain’t no udder town fer five miles up an’ down, sir.”
“Then that is most likely where they have gone.”
On and on swept the rowboat through the snow and the darkness.
About half the distance across had been covered when Neka suddenly sprang up.
“What is that?” he cried. “Listen!”
“Help! help!” came faintly from out of the darkness to their left.
“Somebody is in trouble,” put in the boatman, quickly.
“Where away?” he called, at the top of his lungs.
“This way! Help! help! Our boat is sinking!”
“Row to the party,” said Neka. “There seems to be two of them! We can’t leave them to perish.”
At once the boatman turned the boat in the direction from which the cry for assistance came. A dozen strokes, and they came in sight of a small boat.
The craft had sprung a leak and was half full of water. Clinging to the seats were two men, both the perfect pictures of misery and despair.
“Look!” burst from the bootblack’s lips. “Dem’s de ducks wot was wid der gent we jest sent off in der coach!”