CHAPTER XXX. CONGREVE'S SCHEME
James Congreve was a dangerous companion for Philip. He was utterlyunscrupulous, but took care to keep up a semblance of propriety, inorder not to terrify the boy whom he was leading into mischief.
They had commenced playing cards for amusement – at least, that was
Congreve's pretext – but it had led to playing for a stake.
Occasionally, when the stake was small, Congreve allowed Philip to win; but, when more than a dollar was staked on the game, he generallymanaged to win himself.
Of course, Philip did not know that he was a victim, and that his chosenfriend, Congreve, was a skillful sharper, who had practiced his art onWestern steamboats, and was sure to get the better of him.
Why had he remained in this country village so long? Surely, it didn'tpay him to fleece one victim, and that one a boy.
I can give the explanation.
He had been leading a fast life for a year back, and a physician whom heconsulted had recommended country air and quiet for the summer.
"Unless you follow my directions, Mr. Congreve," he said, "I won'tanswer for your life. You have been going at too quick a pacealtogether."
James was sensible enough to follow this advice, and that is why we findhim a guest at the quiet village hotel.
The physician's advice proved to be good. His wasted energies wererecuperated, his thin cheeks filled out and showed a healthy color, hisappetite improved, and he felt himself again.
When the first week in September arrived, he felt that he was wellenough to go back to the city, to more congenial scenes. He was heartilytired of the country, and anxious to get away. Only one thing remainedto be done, and that was to collect what Philip owed him.
"I can't wait any longer," he said to himself. "I must compel the boy topay up. It will liquidate my hotel bill and leave me something over. Ican't let the thing stand any longer."
Soon after he had come to this conclusion, Philip entered his friend'schamber.
"How are you, Phil?" said Congreve, carelessly.
"All right!"
"By the way, I've got some news for you."
"What is it?"
"I'm going away."
"Going away? Where?"
"Back to the city first. I have an urgent summons from my friendsthere."
"How soon do you go?"
"That depends upon you."
"Upon me? I don't understand!" said Philip, puzzled.
"You ought to. As soon as you have paid me what you owe me. I need it toenable me to settle up at the hotel."
Philip turned pale. It was just what he had worried over many atime – this terrible debt, which he felt utterly unable to liquidate.
"How much is it?" he asked, nervously.
"How much? Really, I haven't reckoned it up yet; but I will," said
Congreve, carelessly.
He took out his wallet, and drew out a variety of papers, to which
Philip's signature was attached.
Then he sat down at a table, took a pencil from his pocket, set thedifferent sums on paper, and added them up deliberately. All this washumbug, for he had added it up before Philip came in, and knew to adollar how much it amounted to. Philip stood by, feeling miserablyuncomfortable, while the reckoning went on.
"Really," said Congreve, looking up at length, in assumed surprise, "Ihad no idea it amounted to so much!"
"How much does it come to?" questioned his wretched dupe.
"One hundred and thirty-six dollars," was the calm response.
"A hundred and thirty-six dollars!" gasped Philip.
"Yes; surprising, isn't it? Little sums count up, you know. However, we've had some fun out of it, haven't we?"
"I don't see where the fun comes in," said Philip, bitterly. "Of course, it's fun for you to win so much."
"You won some of the time, Phil. Think how many games we have had, andhow exciting it was. You play a good deal better game than you did."
"But I have lost a big pile of money."
"Oh, yes. Experience costs money, you know. You'll get it all back, andmore, too, some day."
"How can I, when you are going away?"
"I don't mean out of me. I suppose my game is better than yours. I meanout of somebody else."
Philip was silent. The hope held out did not seem to comfort him much.
"When will you pay me that money, Phil?" asked Congreve, abruptly.
"When? I'm sure I don't know. I haven't any money, you know."
"That won't do. It isn't satisfactory," said Congreve, assuming asternness he had never before exhibited toward his friend.
"What do you mean?" asked Philip, half frightened, half offended.
"I mean that I need the money, and must have it."
"I'd pay it to you if I had it, but I haven't."
"You must get it."
"How can I? My father won't give it to me."
"Listen to me. I am in earnest. I want to ask you a question. Supposeyou had won, wouldn't you have expected me to pay you?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so."
"Well, it's a poor rule that doesn't work both ways. I tell you, Phil, Ineed that money. I need it to pay my hotel bill."
"Was that what you depended upon to pay your bills?" asked Philip, withawakening suspicion. "I thought you had plenty of money."
This was what Congreve had represented to his dupe, but the question byno means disconcerted him.
"Of course," he said; "but a man can't always command his resources. Ihave sent in two different directions for money, but they have put meoff, so I have to fall back on you."
"I'd like to pay the money, and get it off my mind," said Philip, uncomfortably, "but the fact of it is I can't."
"This is a debt of honor. Gentlemen always pay their debts of honor. Ittakes precedence of all other claims."
"I have no other claims. That is all I owe to anybody."
"Well, when can you let me have the money?"
"I am sure I don't know," returned Philip, sullenly. "I didn't expectyou were going to press me so."
James Congreve saw that Philip had reached the point which he desired.
"I press you because I have to," he said. "I have already told you howyou can settle the claim."
"How?" asked Philip, uneasily.
He could guess, for there had been conversation on that point before.
"You know what I mean. Get hold of some of your father's governmentbonds," said Congreve, insinuatingly.
"I don't want to become a thief."
"Pooh! Isn't he your father, and ain't you an only son? Won't it all beyours sometime?"
"Yes, but – "
"Oh, don't bother with buts! That makes all the difference in theworld."
"I couldn't do it without being suspected," objected Philip, with whomthis was the principal consideration.
"Yes, you can. You'll give the bonds to me, and I will dispose of them. If you could get hold of two hundred-dollar bonds, I would give you thebalance, after deducting the amount of my debt."
"But I am sure to be suspected."
"Unless you throw the suspicion upon some one else."
"How can I?"
"There's your friend, Harry Gilbert – "
"He isn't my friend."
"Well, your enemy, then. So much the better. You can say you saw himprowling round the house. If you could get him arrested, it would be asatisfaction, even if he wasn't convicted."
"That's true. I should like to get even with him."
"So you can. You can throw suspicion on him, and get off free yourself.
It will be a splendid revenge."
Philip began to think favorably of the scheme, arid before he left thehotel had agreed to it.