Chapter XX. Reveals a Mystery.

Driven From Home

by Horatio Alger

"Please read this letter, Mr. Jennings," said Carl.

His employer took the letter from his hand, and ran his eye over
it.

"Do you wish to ask my advice about the investment?" he said,
quietly.

"No, sir. I wanted to know how such a letter came to be written
to me."

"Didn't you send a letter of inquiry there?"

"No, sir, and I can't understand how these men could have got
hold of my name."

Mr. Jennings looked thoughtful.

"Some one has probably written in your name," he said, after a
pause.

"But who could have done so?"

"If you will leave the letter in my hands, I may be able to
obtain some information on that point."

"I shall be glad if you can, Mr. Jennings."

"Don't mention to anyone having received such a letter, and if
anyone broaches the subject, let me know who it is."

"Yes, sir, I will."

Mr. Jennings quietly put on his hat, and walked over to the post
office. The postmaster, who also kept a general variety store,
chanced to be alone.

"Good-evening, Mr. Jennings," he said, pleasantly. "What can I
do for you?"

"I want a little information, Mr. Sweetland, though it is
doubtful if you can give it."

Mr. Sweetland assumed the attitude of attention.

"Do you know if any letter has been posted from this office
within a few days, addressed to Pitkins & Gamp, Syracuse, New
York?"

"Yes; two letters have been handed in bearing this address."

Mr. Jennings was surprised, for he had never thought of two
letters.

"Can you tell me who handed them in?" he asked.

"Both were handed in by the same party."

"And that was----"

"A boy in your employ."

Mr. Jennings looked grave. Was it possible that Carl was
deceiving him?

"The boy who lives at my house?" he asked, anxiously.

"No; the boy who usually calls for the factory mail. The nephew
of your bookkeeper I think his name is Leonard Craig."

"Ah, I see," said Mr. Jennings, looking very much relieved. "And
you say he deposited both letters?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you happen to remember if any other letter like this was
received at the office?"

Here he displayed the envelope of Carl's letter.

"Yes; one was received, addressed to the name of the one who
deposited the first letters-- Leonard Craig."

"Thank you, Mr. Sweetland. Your information has cleared up a
mystery. Be kind enough not to mention the matter."

"I will bear your request in mind."

Mr. Jennings bought a supply of stamps, and then left the
office.

"Well, Carl," he said, when he re-entered the house, "I have
discovered who wrote in your name to Pitkins & Gamp."

"Who, sir?" asked Carl, with curiosity.

"Leonard Craig."

"But what could induce him to do it?" said Carl, perplexed.

"He thought that I would see the letter, and would be prejudiced
against you if I discovered that you were investing in what is a
species of lottery."

"Would you, sir?"

"I should have thought you unwise, and I should have been
reminded of a fellow workman who became so infatuated with lotteries
that he stole money from his employer to enable him to continue his
purchases of tickets. But for this unhappy passion he would have
remained honest."

"Leonard must dislike me," said Carl, thoughtfully.

"He is jealous of you; I warned you he or some one else might
become so. But the most curious circumstance is, he wrote a second
letter in his own name. I suspect he has bought a ticket. I advise
you to say nothing about the matter unless questioned."

"I won't, sir."

The next day Carl met Leonard in the street.

"By the way," said Leonard, "you got a letter yesterday?"

"Yes."

"I brought it to the factory with the rest of the mail."

"Thank you."

Leonard looked at him curiously.

"He seems to be close-mouthed," Leonard said to himself. "He has
sent for a ticket, I'll bet a hat, and don't want me to find out. I
wish I could draw the capital prize-- I would not mind old Jennings
finding out then."

"Do you ever hear from your--friends?" he asked a minute
later.

"Not often."

"I thought that letter might be from your home."

"No; it was a letter from Syracuse."

"I remember now, it was postmarked Syracuse. Have you friends
there?"

"None that I am aware of."

"Yet you receive letters from there?"

"That was a business letter."

Carl was quietly amused at Leonard's skillful questions, but was
determined not to give him any light on the subject.

Leonard tried another avenue of attack.

"Oh, dear!" he sighed, "I wish I was rich."

"I shouldn't mind being rich myself," said Carl, with a
smile.

"I suppose old Jennings must have a lot of money."

"Mr. Jennings, I presume, is very well off," responded Carl,
emphasizing the title "Mr."

"If I had his money I wouldn't live in such Quaker style."

"Would you have him give fashionable parties?" asked Carl,
smiling.

"Well, I don't know that he would enjoy that; but I'll tell you
what I would do. I would buy a fast horse--a two-forty mare--and a
bangup buggy, and I'd show the old farmers round here what fast
driving is. Then I'd have a stylish house, and----"

"I don't believe you'd be content to live in Milford,
Leonard."

"I don't think I would, either, unless my business were here.
I'd go to New York every few weeks and see life."

"You may be rich some time, so that you can carry out your
wishes."

"Do you know any easy way of getting money?" asked Leonard,
pointedly.

"The easy ways are not generally the true ways. A man sometimes
makes money by speculation, but he has to have some to begin
with."

"I can't get anything out of him," thought Leonard. "Well,
good-evening."

He crossed the street, and joined the man who has already been
referred to as boarding at the hotel.

Mr. Stark had now been several days in Milford. What brought him
there, or what object he had in staying, Leonard had not yet
ascertained. He generally spent part of his evenings with the
stranger, and had once or twice received from him a small sum of
money. Usually, however, he had met Mr. Stark in the billiard room,
and played a game or two of billiards with him. Mr. Stark always
paid for the use of the table, and that was naturally satisfactory to
Leonard, who enjoyed amusement at the expense of others.

Leonard, bearing in mind his uncle's request, had not mentioned
his name to Mr. Stark, and Stark, though he had walked about the
village more or less, had not chanced to meet Mr. Gibbon.

He had questioned Leonard, however, about Mr. Jennings, and
whether he was supposed to be rich.

Leonard had answered freely that everyone considered him so.

"But he doesn't know how to enjoy his money," he added.

"We should," said Stark, jocularly.

"You bet we would," returned Leonard; and he was quite sincere
in his boast, as we know from his conversation with Carl.

"By the way," said Stark, on this particular evening, "I never
asked you about your family, Leonard. I suppose you live with your
parents."

"No, sir. They are dead."

"Then whom do you live with?"

"With my uncle," answered Leonard, guardedly.

"Is his name Craig?"

"No."

"What then?"

"I've got to tell him," thought Leonard. "Well, I don't suppose
there will be much harm in it. My uncle is bookkeeper for Mr.
Jennings," he said, "and his name is Julius Gibbon."

Philip Stark wheeled round, and eyed Leonard in blank
astonishment.

"Your uncle is Julius Gibbon!" he exclaimed.

"Yes."

"Well, I'll be blowed."

"Do you--know my uncle?" asked Leonard, hesitating.

"I rather think I do. Take me round to the house. I want to see
him."