The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1883-12-08

mercy. am entirely in your power,
but if you believe my story you will be
sorry for me. | am quite innocent of
any wrong in this matter-as innocent
as yourself-and might say, even more
sop
Glow can that be-" 1 asked
'See," said he, "this is the only
thing have robbed you of, and this is
mine, not yoursr' and he showed me
the envelope with my name upon it.
"Then why did you not claim it?" 1
asked; you saw it in my hand yester-
day. Why did you not ask for it?''
IL dared not, and am going to tell
you why"
''How came my name upon it?''
sit is my name, not yours-or rather
mine as well as yours"
"But the waiter told me your name
was Pierce, not Dickens"
'Pierce is the name l go by here.
Let me sit down; l will explain every
thing"
He seated himself by my bedside,
wrapped in a travelling rug which | lent
him, for he was shivering, as much
from nervousness, perhaps, as from the
cold, and told me his story in a few
words.
He was bankers clerk, high up, of
long standing, and very much respected
in his house. He had-or, | may say,
has-a son grown up and daughter.
The former had been idle and unsteady
until about a year ago; he had held
one or two situations and lost them
from misconduct. At length he seemed
determined to reform, and as he had
never been suspected of anything worse
than unpunctuality and inattention to
business, his father consented, upon
his earnest promise of good conduct, to
apply for situation for him in the
bank and under his own immediate SUI
pervision. For a time the young man
went on well, but he grew weary of the
confinement and often talked of emil
grating, proposal to which, as he was
his only son, the father would not listen
to Dor a moment.
At length one day the son disap-
peared, and letter arrived bypost next
morning from Liverpool, saying that
he was on the point of sailing for New
York, begging forgiveness for the Sc
crecy and suddenness of his departure,
which he could only Justify on the
plea that he knew it would be useless
to ask his fathers consent. The letter
was full OF good resolutions and affec-
tionate promises, but before they could
reply to it he had sailed.
Here | would have comforted the old
man with the prospect of seeing his son
at home again after time, and prob
ably in prosperous circumstances, but
he interrupted me.
"You have heard nothing yet" he
said, and then proceeded to tell me,
with faltering words and burning tears,
that day or two after the departure of
his son it was found that u sum of
money, amounting to several hundred
pounds, which had been intrusted to
him in the course of his duties, was
missing. 1t ought to have been paid to
the account of one Sydney Smith at
a certain bank, but had never been de-
livered therein a word, his son was a
defaulter. The father, too, was i'm
plicated; indeed, the onus rested upon
him, for it was he who had intrusted the
young man with the money and had
sent him on his errand, and no one else
in the bank knew that he had done so.
Therefore he could only justify himself
by accusing his son, and even then he
had no proof to offer, and could not be
sure that he would be eXonerated. The
poor old man, as soon as he learned
what had happened, seemed to have
lost his better judgment He took i'm
mediate steps to raise money by the
help of his friends, to replace that
which was lost, but felt that until this
was done he could not face his prin-
cipals nor his fellow clerks, and he
seems to have thought that by absent
ing himself on some fictitious plea the
inquiry might be deferred and exposure
avoided. In a fit of nervousness and
alarm (such as plead guilty to myself
when | ran away from the Frenchmen)
he took train and came at once to
Dieppe; at the same time he assumed
another name, and for greater security
would not even allow his daughter to
write to him, but contrived a plan of
communication by means of advertise
ments in the Times, in which the let
tiers were to be so transposed as to be
incomprehensible Gas they imagined)
to any one who was not acquainted with
the key That key he had lost; he saw
it in my hands, but dared not ask for it.
1t had been placed in an envelope for
him by his daughter, who had thought
lessly, but very naturally, written his
real name upon it. He feared that if
he should ask for it, it would be the
means of his betrayal. He did not
know me, of course, or Ihope he would
have had better opinion of me. The
Times of the previous day had few
lines in the second column which he
was sure were meant for him, but he
could not decipher them. The poor
mans anxiety again got the better of
his discretion, andh adopted the means
which | have described to recover pos
session of the all-important document,
of which, as he truly remarked, had
robbed him, rather than he me.
| need not tell you that | exonerated
him at once from all blame, and prom
ised that, whatever happened, l would
keep his secret. | should have gone on
to offer my assistance in arranging
matters for him at home, but he inter
rupted me.
80, if | could but see the Times" he
said. II will 90 down to the coffee
room and fetch it; / cannot wait It'll