CHAPTER XIV.
HARRY LECLAIR'S STATEMENT.
During all of that day and the one following Franklin's thoughts were busy concerning the broken machine, and the one who had done the mean piece of work. Without seeming to do so he watched Felter, Nolan and also Bob Jackson closely.
But his watching was without result, for though he often saw his enemies closeted together he could not catch their drift of the conversation further than that they were disappointed because he had not been discharged on the spot by the superintenddent.
"It was their sole aim to get me out of the works," he thought. "They know I can work faster than any of them and can, consequently, make more, and that sours them. Well I'll stick as long as Mr. Buckman will let me."
Frank wondered if the superintendent would speak to Belden Brice about the matter, but he was too proud to make inquiries on the point, nor did he even call at the speculator's residence for some time. He was determined, so far as lay in his power to fight his own battles.
Once in coming from work, he met little Cora on the street, and had quite a chat with her. She was delighted to see him, and chided him for not calling, at which he excused himself by saying he was too tired at night after work to do much of anything, which was not far from the exact truth.
On the morning after the scene over the broken machine Franklin noticed that Harry Leclair, the lame boy, was absent. He thought nothing oi this, as the boy remained away more than any one else in the shop. Three days later Harry's place was still vacant, and then Franklin learned that the lame boy was sick, and it was doubtful if he would be able to get around again before spring.
"That's too bad," said the young electrician to himself, and he resolved to pay a visit to the sufferer without delay and do what he could towards cheering up the simple-minded fellow.
He found out where Harry Leclair lived—down in a wretched tenement in the poorest section of Paterson—and that evening, after swallowing a hasty supper, trudged off through the snow, carrying in a bag some fruit and other delicacies he had purchased with the change in his pocket.
Franklin found the right house, but not without some difficulty, for it was snowing heavily and the narrow streets were practically deserted, and, without knocking upon the door, entered the dark hallway and mounted the stairs to the third floor, upon which he had been told the lame boy lived.
A knock on a rear door brought Mrs. Leclair out with a lighted lamp in her hand. She was a woman of middle age, not unpleasant in appearance, but much broken in health through hard work.
"I came to see how Harry was getting on," Franklin explained, after he had made sure he was addressing the lame boy's mother. "I work in the shop with him."
For a moment Mrs. Leclair eyed the young electrician suspiciously. Her son had often told her how the others in the factory teased him, and she, thought Franklin might be one of the tormentors.
But a second look into the young electrician's open and manly face reassured her, and she invited him into her best room.
"Harry is a little better this evening, she said. "But he had a bad turn of it this morning. He is so feverish and wants to drink all the time, and asks for fruit, which I can't afford to give him now in the dead of winter, with everything so high."
"Here are some oranges and bananas, and a little pot of jelly I brought for him," replied Franklin. "I thought he might like something like this," and he handed the bag to the poor woman.
Franklin's generosity won his way into Mrs. Leclair's heart at once. She offered him the most comfortable chair she possessed, and apologized for not having a fire in the little cylinder stove, stating that the room in which Harry lay was warmed by the fire in the kitchen. Then she asked him his name.
"Mother, tell him to come in," said a weak voice from the bedroom, and Mrs. Leclair at once led the way to the sick boy's side, Franklin close at her heels.
"I'm glad somebody has come for once," murmured the sufferer, as he held out his wasted hand. "Ever since I have been here no one has called but the doctor, and he only a couple of times."
"Don't the neighbors come in?" questioned Franklin.
"No, returned Mrs. Leclair. "They are not our kind of people, and we have never associated with them. They think us too proud, and I suppose we are in a way, for it is only since my husband's death that we came down to life in a tenement house. We used to own our own home and have plenty."
"It is hard to come down. I know something of it, for a few weeks ago I never expected to be employed in such a place as the Phoenix Electric Fan Works."
"The working people there are not very nice," sighed Mrs. Leclair. "Some of them treat Harry shamefully. Here, my boy, Mr. Bell has brought you some fruit."
"Thank you, Franklin. Can I have an orange now?"
"You may have half of one, and the other half if you wake up thirsty during the night. We must make it last as long as possible, you know."
"I'll get more when I get my next pay," said Franklin, as he took a seat beside the bed while Mrs. Leclair dropped into a rocker, after giving Harry the half orange on a plate.
"And how do things go?" questioned the sick boy, after eating a section of the fruit with great relish. "Are you back in the old place yet?"
"No but we will be next week. Things are not going well with me."
"That's too bad." Harry ate another portion of the orange. "Oh, say, did you get your knife back?" he asked, suddenly.
"My knife!" cried Franklin, in astonishment. "What do you know of my knife?"
"Why, I saw Bob Jackson take your knife from your pocket the afternoon I was taken sick. I meant to tell you of it the next day, if he didn't give it back. He would be just mean enough to keep it."
"So Bob Jackson took it," cried Franklin, a flood of light bursting in on him. "I understand it all now. The three are in league against me, planned the whole thing beforehand."
Of course, his last words were all Greek to Harry Leclair and his mother. The sick lad asked for an explanation, and without more ado Franklin told them of all that had happened.
"The rascals!" cried the sick boy. "But that's the way they all are—just as heartless and cruel as they can be. They ought all of them to be put in prison."
"There! there! Harry, don't excite yourself," put in Mrs. Leclair. "I am resolved that you shall not go back to work there. It is not fit."
"It's lucky I came here to-night," said Franklin, thoughtfully. "But, then, I don't know," he added, doubtfully.
"Why, of course it's lucky," said Harry. "You can now explain to Mr. Buckman—"
"Yes, but will he believe me?" He may say that Felter's and Nolan's words are as good as yours and mine. Those fellows may tell him that we are friends, and he may think we hatched this story of the knife being stolen up between us."
"That's so, I never thought of that," returned the sick boy, his face falling. "But I am telling the truth."
"I know you are, Harry, but that won't help matters. Of course Jackson will say he never saw the knife and lie his way out of it."
"Well, can't you do anything?"
"I don't know. I'll think it over. And in the meantime," Franklin continued, as he noted how feverish the sick boy was becoming, "don't you worry yourself, but take it easy and get strong as fast as you can. Those matters are bound to come out right in the end."
After this the subject was changed, and by the time he was ready to leave, the young electrician had the satisfaction of seeing that Harry was quieted down to such an extent that he was sleepy.
"I have great hopes that his mind will be clearer when he gets over his illness, said Mrs, Leclair, as she followed Franklin to the stairs with the lamp.
"The doctor says his brain needs nourishment and nothing more."
"Yes," returned Franklin. "He seems brighter than when he was at work in the factory. "I certainly hope he does recover completely."
The way to his boarding house through the deserted streets piled high with snow was far from agreeable to the young electrician. But he gave the elements around him but scant attention, his whole mind being engaged upon what had been revealed to him.
"I must watch those fellows closely," he reasoned. "Sooner or later they will do or say something which will incriminate themselves."
At that moment Franklin came to the corner of the street in which he lived. Here there was a high drift of snow, and deeming it unwise to plow his way through the bank the young electrician started to trudge around it.
As he did so he heard voices on the other side of the drift.
"Confound such a night, Mike, why didn't we do the job yesterday?"
"Well, I was willing, Jim, but Bob said we had better wait, for the watchman would be off duty to-night. He's going to his sister's wedding in Jersey City."
Franklin was greatly astonished, for the speakers were Mike Nolan and Felter!