CHAPTER IX A PROSPECT OF TROUBLE

When Ben returned home from the Town Hall he discovered, at the first glance, that his mother was in trouble.

“Are you disturbed because I came home so late?” asked Ben.  “I would have been here sooner, but I went home with Rose Gardiner.  I ought to have remembered that you might feel lonely.”

Mrs. Barclay smiled faintly.

“I had no occasion to feel lonely,” she said.  “I had three callers.  The last did not go away till after nine o’clock.”

“I am glad you were not alone, mother,” said Ben, thinking some of his mother’s neighbors might have called.

“I should rather have been alone, Ben.  They brought bad news—­that is, one of them did.”

“Who was it, mother?  Who called on you?”

“The first one was the same man who took your money in the woods.”

“What, the tramp!” exclaimed Ben hastily.  “Did he frighten you?”

“A little, at first, but he did me no harm.  He asked for some supper, and I gave it to him.”

“What bad news did he bring?”

“None.  It was not he.  On the other hand, what he hinted would be good news if it were true.  He said that your father left property, and that he was the only man that possessed the secret.”

“Do you think this can be so?” said Ben, looking at his mother in surprise.

“I don’t know what to think.  He said he was a barkeeper in the hotel where your poor father died, and was about to say more when a knock was heard at the door, and he hurried away, as if in fear of encountering somebody.”

“And he did not come back?”

“No.”

“That is strange,” said Ben thoughtfully.  “Do you know, mother, I met him on my way home, or rather, he came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.”

“What did be say?” asked Mrs. Barclay eagerly.

“He gave me back the bogus dollar he took from me saying, with a laugh, that it would be of no use to him.  Then he said he might do me a service sometime, and I would some day hear from him.”

“Ben, I think that man took the papers from the pocket of your dying father, and has them now in his possession.  He promised to sell me a secret for money, but I told him I had none to give.”

“I wish we could see him again, but he said he should leave town to-night.  But, mother, what was the bad news you spoke of?”

“Ben, I am afraid we are going to lose our home,” said the widow, the look of trouble returning to her face.

“What do you mean, mother?”

“You know that Squire Davenport has a mortgage on the place for seven hundred dollars; he was here to-night with a man named Kirk, some connection of his wife.  It seems Kirk is coming to Pentonville to live, and wants this house.”

“He will have to want it, mother,” said Ben stoutly.