“Go somewhere else. There are plenty of other men as rich, and richer, where you would not be compromising an old friend.”
“It’s because I have an old friend in the office that I have thought this would be my best opening.”
“Surely, man, you don’t expect me to betray my employer, and join with you in robbing him?”
“That’s just what I do expect. Don’t tell me you have grown virtuous, Gibbon. The tiger doesn’t lose his spots or the leopard his stripes. I tell you there’s a fine chance for us both. I’ll divide with you, if you’ll help me.”
“But I’ve gone out of the business,” protested Gibbon.
“I haven’t. Come, old boy, I can’t let any sentimental scruples interfere with so good a stroke of business.”
“I won’t help you!” said Gibbon, angrily. “You only want to get me into trouble.”
“You won’t help me?” said Stark, with slow deliberation.
“No, I can’t honorably. Can’t you let me alone?”
“Sorry to say, I can’t. If I was rich, I might; but as it is, it is quite necessary for me to raise some money somewhere. By all accounts, Jennings is rich, and can spare a small part of his accumulations for a good fellow that’s out of luck.”
“You’d better give up the idea. It’s quite impossible.”
“Is it?” asked Stark, with a wicked look. “Then do you know what I will do?”
“What will you do?” asked Gibbon, nervously.
“I will call on your employer, and tell him what I know of you.”
“You wouldn’t do that?” said the bookkeeper, much agitated.
“Why not? You turn your back upon an old friend. You bask in prosperity, and turn from him in his poverty. It’s the way of the world, no doubt; but Phil Stark generally gets even with those who don’t treat him well.”
“Tell me what you want me to do,” said Gibbon, desperately.
“Tell me first whether your safe contains much of value.”
“We keep a line of deposit with the Milford Bank.”
“Do you mean to say that nothing of value is left in the safe overnight?” asked Stark, disappointed
“There is a box of government bonds usually kept there,” the bookkeeper admitted, reluctantly.
“Ah, that’s good!” returned Stark, rubbing his hands. “Do you know how much they amount to?”
“I think there are about four thousand dollars.”
“Good! We must have those bonds, Gibbon.”
CHAPTER XXII.
MR. STARK IS RECOGNIZED
PHIL STARK was resolved not to release his hold upon his old acquaintance. During the day he spent his time in lounging about the town, but in the evening he invariably fetched up at the bookkeeper’s modest home. His attentions were evidently not welcome to Mr. Gibbon, who daily grew more and more nervous and irritable, and had the appearance of a man whom something disquieted.
Leonard watched the growing intimacy with curiosity. He was a sharp boy, and he felt convinced that there was something between his uncle and the stranger. There was no chance for him to overhear any conversation, for he was always sent out of the way when the two were closeted together. He still met Mr. Stark outside, and played billiards with him frequently. Once he tried to extract some information from Stark.
“You’ve known my uncle a good while,” he said, in a tone of assumed indifference.
“Yes, a good many years,” answered Stark, as he made a carom.
“Were you in business together?”
“Not exactly, but we may be some time,” returned Stark, with a significant smile.
“Here?”
“Well, that isn’t decided.”
“Where did you first meet Uncle Julius?”
“The kid’s growing curious,” said Stark to himself. “Does he think he can pull wool over the eyes of Phil Stark? If he does, he thinks a good deal too highly of himself. I will answer his questions to suit myself.”
“Why don’t you ask your uncle that?”
“I did,” said Leonard, “but he snapped me up, and told me to mind my own business. He is getting terribly cross lately.”
“It’s his stomach, I presume,” said Stark, urbanely. “He is a confirmed dyspeptic– that’s what’s the matter with him. Now; I’ve got the digestion of an ox. Nothing ever troubles me, and the result is that I am as calm and good-natured as a May morning.”