CHAPTER V
CHARLEY GROVE’S IDEA
“HEY, Tom!” hailed a voice, as our hero got off the street car, near his home. “Where are you going?”
Tom turned, to behold his chum, Charley Grove, whom he had not seen since going to work in the book store.
“Going home,” replied Tom. “Where are you going?”
“Same place. Haven’t seen you in over a week. Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“I’ve got a new job,” replied Tom.
“Where?”
“Down in Townsend’s Book Emporium.”
“What doin’? Readin’ books?”
“Not much. Don’t get any time for that. We’re busy on account of the holidays. What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’ve got a new job, and it’s fine.”
“What at?”
“I run the telephone switchboard in a broker’s office. Short hours and good pay. I get ten a week. All I got was eight in my last place.”
“That’s what I got, before the firm failed. Now I only get five.”
“You ought to strike for more money.”
“Wouldn’t do much good. I’m only an extra hand during the holidays. I’ll be lucky if I stay there after the first of the year.”
“That’s too bad. You ought to learn to be a telephone boy. I know two or three who make more money than I do.”
“Is it hard to learn?”
“Well, it isn’t so very easy, and if you’re in a busy office like mine it keeps you on the jump. It’s no fun to have all three members of the firm trying to get connections at once, and half a dozen parties on the outside wanting to talk to the partners to give orders to sell or buy stocks. I couldn’t do it at first, and I got all mixed up, but I can work it all right now.”
“I’d like to have a place like that,” said Tom. “I used to take orders over the telephone in the grocery store.”
“Bein’ on a private exchange is a heap different from that,” said Charley, as he walked along beside Tom.
“Do you think there’s a place in your office for another boy?” asked Tom, rather wistfully, as he thought of the good salary his chum was getting.
“I don’t believe so. But I’ll keep my ears open, and if I hear of anything in that line, I’ll let you know.”
“I wish you would. I’ll have to look for something after Christmas, and I’m afraid I’ll have a hard task finding anything.”
“Where were you when I saw you getting off the car?” asked Charley.
“I’d been over in the Back Bay section, to collect some money from a Dr. Spidderkins.”
“Dr. Spidderkins! Why he used to be our doctor,” said Charley. “He’s too old to practice now, but I remember my mother saying she had him for me, when I was a baby.”
“He’s rather a queer character,” commented Tom. “He’s always forgetting things.”
“I wish I had his rocks! He’s got slathers of money.”
“He doesn’t look rich. His clothes aren’t very good, but maybe that’s because he spends so much on books.”
“Oh, he’s got lots to spend,” said the other boy. “I heard my dad say Dr. Spidderkins was worth close to half a million. But I guess he doesn’t have much fun out of it.”
“Why?”
“Well, he’s always studying some queer subject or other, or writing books or papers for the scientific magazines. And then I guess his sister-in-law doesn’t treat him any too good.”
“I believe you’re right there,” agreed Tom. “She seems to make fun of him, because he’s so forgetful.”
“From what I hear, though,” went on Charley, “his short memory just suits Mr. Sandow—that’s his sister-in-law’s second husband.”
“Suits him? How do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve got an idea,” went on Tom’s chum, “that Sandow would like to get control of part of Dr. Spidderkins’ money. He’s got slathers of it, as I said, and I don’t believe he knows where it all is. He’s as careless about cash as he is about other things, dad says. Forgets what he does with his rocks.”
“How do you know Sandow would like to get hold of it,” asked Tom.
“Well, Sandow does some business through our firm. Not much, though. He’s a ‘piker.’”
“What’s a ‘piker’?”
“That’s what we call a chap that buys a few shares of stock at a time. Small business, you know. Well, Sandow does a little business with us, and I heard him telephoning to our junior partner one day, giving an order for a few shares. Mr. Fletcher, that’s the junior partner, asked him why he didn’t buy more, and I heard Sandow say he couldn’t, as he didn’t have the money. Then I heard him laugh, sort of queer-like, and he said he might have more soon. Mr. Fletcher asked him where he was going to get it, and Sandow said he expected to get it from a friend of the family. Mr. Fletcher asked him if he meant Dr. Spidderkins, and Sandow only laughed. That’s all I heard.”
“Can you hear what both people say over the wire?”
“Sure, when you cut in on the switchboard. I have to keep listening, to tell when they’re finished, ’cause there’s most always somebody waitin’ for our wire.”
“So you think Sandow is trying to get part of the old doctor’s money?” asked Tom.
“That’s my idea,” replied Charley. “I guess it wouldn’t be so hard, either, for the doctor’s so forgetful he might have a hundred or five hundred dollars one minute, and not find it the next, and he wouldn’t know what become of it.”
There came at once to Tom’s mind the scene he had witnessed that evening in the doctor’s home—the confusion about the money, and the puzzled air of the physician—when he could not find it in his wallet.
“Well, this is my street,” announced Charley, as he paused on a corner. “Come on over some night and see a fellow.”
“I will, only I can’t until after the holidays. We’re going to keep open evenings beginning next week.”
“That’s tough. You ought to be a telephone boy, and get done at three o’clock. I went to a moving picture show this afternoon.”
“I wish I could go. But let me know if you hear of a chance for me, Charley.”
“I will, Tom. Hope you keep your job.”
“I don’t know as I want to, since I’ve heard about yours,” replied Tom with a laugh. “Good-night.”
Tom hurried on to his home. As he reached the steps, and felt for the key of the door, he gave a sudden start. The envelope containing the ten dollars which Dr. Spidderkins had given him, and which he had put in his pocket, was gone!