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TOO TRUE-A STORY OF TO-DAY.

CHAPTER XI.

A QUIET GAME, WELL PLAYED.

MR. DASSEL'S first visit to the tenement-house was not his last. Little Toddle would shout with delight when he heard the voice of the beautiful gentleman; while Abby, the girl, a thin child, with light hair and angular motions like her mother's, would brighten up into a shy smile not ugly to see, though rather colorless. Their wonderful visitor was a Prince, like the one she had read about in her torn picturebook, and his gifts were lavish in their magnificence, for they included a real hobby-horse for Toddle and a splendid pink dress for herself, besides bon-bons innumerable.

With Mrs. Bellows he was quite intimate. That severe and chilling woman had conceived a blind admiration for her visitor which, in any one but a genuine New England wife, might have made her husband shake in his shoes; but with this descendant of the Pilgrims not a spark of sentiment or romance mingled with her affection for the man who understood her and sympathized with her as Abel never could or would! Mrs. Bellows once had been pretty, like the gingham dress she wore; like that, she was now faded and limp, and yet, she was younger in years than the handsome man who dandled her baby on his knee while he talked with her. But about this she had no fancies. She never ran to the glass when she heard him on the stairs, greet ing those he chanced to meet in his cheery, foreign fashion, to see if her hair were smooth or her collar pinned straight; therefore, if a flush of pleasure did mount to her face it was not a flush to conceal from the father of her children. It was a great relief to her careworn mind to tell, at full length, the trials of her lot to an appreciative listener, including all those which arose

from the besetting weakness of Abel,— that sad dissipation of his which wasted the means already too narrow for his family. He did not drink, he did not smoke, he was saving of his clothes,— only those wicked lotteries beguiled him and led him astray. Mr. Dassel shook his head over this failing, casting glances of almost tender pity at the poor apartment and the complaining occupant, promising to use all the influence he possessed to win Bellows off from so foolish a passion.

It is true that the street upon which the Bellows resided formed a "cut-off" on Dassel's route from his boardinghouse to the store of Borden & De Witt, of which it was but natural that he should avail himself, to shorten his long walk. Then, in passing, after having once proved his kindness by calling to inquire after a sick child, it might also be natural that he should repeat the deed which had seemed to give so much pleasure. At first, there was the excuse of the baby's picture, which he desired to see; then, he promised Abby a slate and pencil, and must bring them when he passed again. Mrs. Bellows was not a simpleton; she had plenty of shrewdness; and she never doubted, delighted as she was with the gentleman's civilities, and confidential as she became in her disclosures to him, but that he had some object in calling, be yond her or her children. She could see no object but Miss Bayles.

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up-town. So that when Mr. Dassel brought confectionery to the little Bellows, and talked long with the mother, no doubt his eyes, mentally, were on the sweet face of the artist in the adjoining room; and the good woman, fascinated as she was by the enjoyment of pouring forth her own troubles into an attentive ear, was not so selfish but that she cut herself off, as it were, and put herself away, to summon Miss Bayles, with transparent pretexts, into her room to meet her destined prince. All the more delighted was she when she learned, through their conversation, that they had dwelt under the same roof and sat at the same table, during those days of absence in which the artist was at the country-house of her rich friends. The Fates themselves had a hand in it, thought Mrs. Bellows, and the harder, plainer, and more humble her own lot, the more lavishly did she build up castles-in-the-air for her fair neighbor.

An opulent future was slowly unrolling itself before the blind footsteps of the young artist, but Mr. Dassel had no part in it such as the imagination of his humble friend allotted him. Yet he took a deep interest in Miss Bayles; he devoted many hours to her, both in the tenement-house and at the villa, paying her attentions delicate and impressive.

Mrs. Bellows did not open her mind as freely, on these subjects, to Abel, as she would have done, had not a halfguilty consciousness that she was holding up the faults of her husband to a stranger, restrained her. Abel knew that Mr. Dassel came often to his house; he saw the presents received by the children; also, the guest was as apt to come when he was at home as when away. Indeed, to no one did he make himself more agreeable than to the por

ter.

He frequently spent whole evenings with him playing draughts and backgammon, chatting, between-times, to the wife and Miss Bayles.

On many occasions the subject of the robbery at the store came up. The murder had made a profound impression upon Abel. He never could speak of it without nervousness, and a slight

pallor over his ruddy face. The shock to him had been great, for he very well knew that chance might have made him the victim, in place of his unfortunate comrade; while visits of aid and sympathy to the mourning widow kept alive those feelings of horror which he had at first experienced.

Yet, by a curious fascination, it seemed that he and Mr. Dassel could hardly sit down together for a quiet game, but that the subject was introduced. Dassel naturally enough had a great interest in it. Being correspondent for the house, he was interested in their concerns; and then, as he told the little man opposite -whose blue eyes were fixed upon him, as he spoke, with an indescribable, halfeager, half-withdrawn look-he had an inborn taste for disentangling the threads of mysterious crimes or complicated legal troubles-he should have been a lawyer, and had almost decided to study, yet, for the profession.

"I have no doubt I could now pass an examination, having read law, all my life, in pursuance of my natural inclinations," he remarked, one evening. "And, about this robbery, I never told you, Abel, that since my return from St. Louis, I have come upon a clue which I think will lead me to the guilty parties."

"Is that so?" The two men looked at each other across the table. They were alone, Mrs. Bellows having gone down to spend the evening with the school-teacher's wife, and the children were in bed.

It was a cool night, early in November. It was a common thing for the visitor to send out for a pitcher of lager, from which he and Abel would drink moderately as they played their harmless game; but this evening, Dassel, complaining of chilliness, had asked permission to make some hot whiskey punch. Abel, consenting, drew the coals under the kettle, heated the water, and then told his guest to suit his own taste; as for himself, he seldom tasted whiskey. "Of course not, except to keep off chills," the visitor responded in his cheery manner; but, when his

task of concocting the medicine was over, performed with that airy, laughing grace so becoming to him, there were two tumblers of the steaming beverage, one at either elbow, and Abel, as he moved his men, sipped at his glass, half unconsciously, until its contents disappeared.

Now, as he looked up, with the question, "Is that so?" upon his lips, his heightened ruddiness and a certain glitter of the eyes told that the unusual stimulus had affected him.

"Yes," said Dassel, glancing towards the door and finding it closed. Each involuntarily moved nearer across the table, Abel with his short, plump arms folded upon it, his visitor with one finger almost touching his sleeve, scanning the other's face.

"I didn't never have no confidence in that St. Louis trip."

"Why not?"

Bellows grew confused. If he had not taken the whiskey he would not have allowed that remark to have escaped his lips.

"Why not?"

"Wa'll, I don't know,-only I hadn't. It turned out as I expected."

"Bellows, have you any clue?"

There was no reply. Dassel turned more liquor into their glasses, and Abel, in his nervousness, drank his off at once it ran like fire through his veins, for his companion had neglected to add water.

"I've thought, for some time, Abel, that you knew more about this matter than you have disclosed. If so, I think it your duty to make it known. I have not been with the firm as long as you; yet, if I possessed facts with regard to a matter like this, I should feel bound to reveal them. I would like to know how your suspicions tally with mine. Bellows, I have observed you closely, and I know that you have found a clue to the robber. Give up that clue to me, allow me to prosecute this thing alone, and I will not only allow you all the advertised reward, but will add a thousand dollars of my own. Think of that,

Abel two thousand dollars! You are

poor-in debt. Your wife is unhappy. You have made her so by fooling away your hard earnings in lottery tickets. Let this be your lottery, in which, at last, you will be sure of the prize,enough to pay your debts and buy you a snug little home! enough to restore your wife's smiles and good temper! Winter is coming on; rents are high; know it all. Look here! give me the clue, and you shall have this to-night!"

I

he took from his vest-pocket two bonds of five hundred dollars each, and held them before him on the table.

"What is it I am to give you for this?"

"You know, well enough, to what I refer,—a thousand dollars, cash down,— nothing can be easier."

Abel did know to what his companion referred. There was a spot over his heart which burned with intense consciousness. It appeared to him as if the keen blue eyes opposite could see, through his soiled vest, and all its wrappings of paper, the sleeve-button, with its green jewel flashing balefully. His whole breast seemed illuminated. He half expected the man to reach forth and grasp it. But, although the liquor he had taken increased the vividness of his feelings, it had not impaired his judgment. The doubts which had troubled him, the conflicting respect and suspicion, all merged in one sharp certainty, and he drew a breath which relieved him of weeks of suspense. Modest and deprecating as were his ordinary manners, he did not quail, now, before an inquisition which was truly terrible. The flash of their eyes met like the clashing of steel.

"Think of how much good this money will do you. The friend to whom you gave your note for a bundred dollars will be here to attach your furniture next week.”

"Who told you that?"

"Your wife. No one else can make that thing which you have worth as much to you as I, Abel. A thousand dollars is quite a sum to a man situated as you are."

“I know it, Mr. Dassel. I have often

thought it over. I could have had it, any day, since the first week of the murder."

A slight paleness increased over Dassel's face; there was hatred or some other ugly emotion in its pallor, but he conquered the feeling which had only betrayed itself in the clutch of his finger-nails into the flesh of his palm; a tremulous smile played about his mouth as he spoke as if he were asking some woman to be his wife

I

"Are we not friends, Bellows? have relied on your friendship. I believed that you loved me, as I have you, and yours."

Abel's glance sank beneath the soft power of a look which few, of either sex, ever had resisted, and, wandering restlessly about the room, fell on the hobby-horse which had given Toddle such delight.

"I always liked you better'n any blood relation," he faltered, presently.

"Thank you, Abel. Then I cannot see how you can refuse me so small a favor, the first I ever asked of you!"

"Because," answered Abel, again recovering his self-possession, "this is a matter of conscience, Mr. Dassel. God knows I've been troubled in my mind about it! Murder is murder, sir, and nothing ought to excuse it. It makes me feel like a party to it, sir."

"That is all right, Abel; I see just how you are placed. But this case, it strikes me, admits of palliation. I have made up my mind that the robber had no intention of murder,—he was attacked by the watchman, and, under the influence of the instinct of self-preservation, killed him to save himself. How he came to be tempted to commit the robbery, who knows? Desperate circumstances-circumstances like yours, or worse-might have urged him upon it. I would not be any more merciful to him than you would. It is not a question of the robber's crime. It is a question of friendship between you and I, Abel. I want to prosecute this thing myself. In order to get it into my hands, I wish to get possession of that small article which the robber lost. I

offer you a thousand down for it, and all the reward promised by the firm."

"You don't mean to say you will deliver up the guilty parties and secure the reward?"

"Oh, but I do. Your suspicions are as far astray as wrongful to an innocent man. There is something to be explained which will be made clear when the time comes. Did you not know, Abel, that I, also, was a loser, to a small amount, by that robbery? that my desk was opened, and a little box taken from it containing several precious souvenirs of my foreign home-among other things, a pair of sleeve-buttons, of old-fashioned setting, but containing emeralds which were heirlooms in my family? Such was the case. My reason for not complaining was this: I believed that I could find the burglar by means of those jewels; they were too remarkable not to give a probability of their being traced. Since the robbery I have not allowed a day to pass in which I have not made exertions to find those emeralds. I have been to diamond-merchants and pawnbrokers. In short, I have found the other button, and by that means expect to convict the guilty party. I only ask you to give me that which you found, and to testify, when called into court, to the circumstances of the finding. In the meantime I give you a thousand dollars to relieve you from your present difficulties."

The porter stared blankly into the face of the speaker. Astonishment too great to be otherwise than mute had possession of him. But, it had an effect upon him quite contrary to what his companion expected; instead of adding to his confusion it calmed his excitement; the fumes of the liquor cleared away from his brain; his sensibilities no longer were in the ascendant; his reason came into full play; the halfshrewd, half-merry twinkle of the eyelid was gone; one might have thought that the porter had changed places with the man of the world, his glance grew so penetrating.

In the short silence which followed,

swift thoughts brought numerous matters before his mind, from which to make his selection. Was it possible that he had been accusing an innocent man, constantly, in his secret soul?misrepresenting his every action, giving a ghastly coloring to his most simple actions, shrinking from his proffered friendship, shuddering when his hand touched his laughing boy? How glad he would be, could he spring up, this moment, confess his suspicion, and beg the forgiveness of the man whom he had loved, even while he had condemned! How simple the solution, after all! And he had made himself such an unhappy fool about the matter! Now that Dassel had mentioned that the buttons had been taken from his desk, how the whole face of the case was altered! How thankful he was that he had taken no steps to accuse one who could so easily have proved himself innocent!

And yet how curious that Dassel should offer him so large a sum of money for the missing button, instead of simply asking him if he had found it!

Guilt is almost sure to overreach itself. It betrays itself continually; as Dassel had remarked, in the story of Count Konisberg, "the Ancient Mariner is ever impelled to repeat the tale of his own crimes."

There was inconsistency in the manner which Dassel had taken to recover his sleeve-button. Abel could but see it, though his heart yearned to overlook it. Perhaps, too, in that long watch which he had kept over a suspected man, he had come upon other reasons for doubting him. As we have said, the porter was not the firmest of men; he trembled, now, inwardly, for soft and thrilling as was the regard of his friend, there was a subtle light behind it which pierced him like a threat; but he had considerable moral bravery, and his hand, which had moved towards his vest-pocket, withdrew itself, and he answered the other's proposition,

"Give me twenty-four hours to think upon it, Mr. Dassel. Come here tomorrow night, and get my answer."

"I will not wait. A thousand dollars to-night or never."

"Indeed, it is not with me; I have it away, for safe keeping."

This was a falsehood into which Abel was hurried by the other's manner; he blushed as he spoke it, for he was not accustomed to lie, and he felt that Dassel knew that he was lying.

Dassel stood up; Abel arose, also, pale with a dread that the angry man was about to spring upon him and choke him. He felt guilty, as if he had given his friend good reason to hate him, even to attack him. He had refused to give up that which belonged to the other. At this moment, Mrs. Bellows came in.

"I declare, if you don't look like two prize-fighters," she laughed; "what ye been talking about,-politics?"

"Oh no, indeed, madam, I've been giving your husband a lesson in the art of making money."

"Which he needs, bad enough."

"Like the rest of us, I suppose. I have stayed late; I must be going. Tomorrow night, is it, then?"

"Yes," said Bellows, following him to the door, "I will get it for you tomorrow. Don't be offended, Mr. Dassel."

"Oh, as to that," with a light laugh, "we are friends or enemies. I love my friends and hate my enemies. Goodnight, Mrs. Bellows."

Abel arose, the next morning, more uneasy in mind than he had been since the first week of the robbery. Some instinct urged him not to go about with the fatal sleeve-button on his person. He could not tell himself whether he was afraid that it would be violently wrested from him, or whether he dreaded his own weakness which might be persuaded into giving it up. He always had kept it in the pocket of his vest.

"It is cold," he said to his wife; "I b'lieve I'll put on my winter-vest, Abbey," and he hung the one he had been wearing on a peg in his bedroom.

Still, he did not feel easy. He went back, took the troublesome button from its hiding-place, wrapped it in more paper, opened the clock and tucked it

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