Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's ExperienceAlger, Horatio, Jr.
General
Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Didactic fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Juvenile fiction; Runaway teenagers -- Juvenile fiction
“Certainly,” said the manufacturer. “I know, Carl, that you are devoted
to my interests. It is a comfort to know this, now that I have cause to
suspect my bookkeeper.”
It was only a little after nine. The night was moderately dark, and Carl
was intrusted with a wax candle, which he put in his pocket for use in
the office. They reached the factory without attracting attention, and
entered by the office door.
Mr. Jennings opened the safe--he and the bookkeeper alone knew the
combination--and with some anxiety took out the tin box. It was possible
that the contents had already been removed. But no! on opening it,
the bonds were found intact. According to Mr. Thorndike’s advice, he
transferred them to his pocket, and substituted folded paper. Then,
replacing everything, the safe was once more locked, and the three left
the office.
Mr. Thorndike returned to the hotel, and Mr. Jennings to his house, but
Carl asked permission to remain out a while longer.
“It is on my mind that an attempt will be made to-night to rob the
safe,” he said. “I want to watch near the factory to see if my suspicion
is correct.”
“Very well, Carl, but don’t stay out too long!” said his employer.
“Suppose I see them entering the office, sir?”
“Don’t interrupt them! They will find themselves badly fooled. Notice
only if Mr. Gibbon is of the party. I must know whether my bookkeeper is
to be trusted.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BURGLARY.
Carl seated himself behind a stone wall on the opposite side of the
street from the factory. The building was on the outskirts of the
village, though not more than half a mile from the post office, and
there was very little travel in that direction during the evening. This
made it more favorable for thieves, though up to the present time
no burglarious attempt had been made on it. Indeed, Milford had been
exceptionally fortunate in that respect. Neighboring towns had been
visited, some of them several times, but Milford had escaped.
The night was quite dark, but not what is called pitchy dark. As
the eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, they were able to see
a considerable distance. So it was with Carl. From his place of
concealment he occasionally raised his head and looked across the way to
the factory. An hour passed, and he grew tired. It didn’t look as if the
attempt were to be made that night. Eleven o’clock pealed out from the
spire of the Baptist Church, a quarter of a mile away. Carl counted the
strokes, and when the last died into silence, he said to himself:
“I will stay here about ten minutes longer. Then, if no one comes, I
will give it up for tonight.”
The time was nearly up when his quick ear caught a low murmur of voices.
Instantly he was on the alert. Waiting till the sound came nearer, he
ventured to raise his head for an instant above the top of the wall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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