True to Himself | Page 5

this was plain.
As I have stated, his father, Aaron Woodward, was at one tune a
fellow-clerk with my father. At the time my father was arrested,
Woodward was one of his principal accusers. Duncan had, of course,
taken up the matter. Since then Mr. Woodward had received a large
legacy from a dead relative in Chicago, or its suburbs, and started the

finest general store in Darbyville. But his bitterness toward us still
continued.
That the man knew something about the money that had been stolen I
did not doubt, but how to prove it was a difficult problem that I had
pondered many times without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.
I watched Duncan out of sight and then turned and walked slowly
toward the house.
"Roger!"
It was Mrs. Canby who called me. She stood on the side porch with a
letter in her hand.
"You want me?"
"Yes, I have quite important news," she continued. "My sister in
Norfolk is very ill, and I must go to her at once. I have spoken to Kate
about it. Do you think you can get along while I am gone?"
"Yes, ma'am. How long do you expect to be away?"
"If she is not seriously ill I shall be back by day after to-morrow. You
can hitch up Jerry at once. The train leaves in an hour."
"I'll have him at the door in five minutes."
"And, Roger, you and Kate must take good care of things while I am
gone. There are several hundred dollars locked up in my desk. I would
take the money to the bank in Newville, only I hate to lose the time."
"I reckon it will be safe," I replied; "I'll keep good watch against
burglars."
"Do you think you can handle a pistol?" she went on.
"I think I could," I replied, with all the interest of the average American
boy in firearms.

"There is a pistol upstairs in my bureau that belonged to Mr. Canby. I
will let you have that, though of course I trust you won't need it."
"Is it loaded?"
"Yes; I loaded it last week. I will lay it out before I go. Be very careful
with it."
"I will," I promised her.
I hurried down to the barn, and in a few moments had Jerry hooked up
to the family turnout. As I was about to jump in and drive to the house,
a man confronted me.
He was a stranger, about forty years of age, with black hair and shaggy
beard and eyebrows. He was seedily dressed, and altogether looked to
be a disreputable character.
"Say, young man, can you help a fellow as is down on his luck?" he
asked in a hoarse tone.
"Who are you?" I responded.
"I'm a moulder from Factoryville. The shop's shut down, and I'm out of
money and out of work."
"How long have you been out?"
"Two weeks."
"And you haven't found work anywhere?"
"Not a stroke."
"Been to Newville?"
"All through it, and everything full."
I thought this was queer. I had glanced at the Want column of a

Newville newspaper and had noted that moulders were wanted in
several places.
The man's appearance did not strike me favorably, and when he came
closer to me I noted that his breath smelt strongly of liquor.
"I don't think I can help you," said I. "I have nothing for you to do."
"Give me a quarter, then, will you? I ain't had nothing to eat since
yesterday."
"But you've had something to drink," I could not help remark.
The man scowled, "How do you know?"
"I can smell it on you."
"I only had one glass,-- just to knock out a cold I caught. Come, make it
half a dollar. I'll pay you back when I get work."
"I don't care to lend."
"Make it ten cents."
"Not a cent."
"You're mighty independent about it," he sneered.
"I have to be when such fellows as you tackle me," I returned with
spirit.
"You're mighty high toned for a boy of your age."
"I'm too high toned to let you talk to me in this fashion. I want you to
leave at once."
The tramp-- for the man was nothing else-- scowled worse than before.
"I'll leave when I please," he returned coolly.

I was nonplussed. I was in a hurry to get away to drive Widow Canby
to the station. To leave the man hanging about the house with no one
but my sister Kate home was simply out of the question.
Suddenly an idea struck me. Like most people who live in the country,
Mrs. Canby kept a watch-dog-- a large and powerful mastiff called
Major. He was tied up near the back stoop out of sight, but could be