Originally Published: November 2, 1895
Genres: Children's
Dime Novel Bibliography: https://dimenovels.org/Item/86775/Show
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54815
Chapters: 36
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
THREE CHARACTERS ARE INTRODUCED
It was early in the afternoon of a July day. A warm sun beaming down with almost tropical fervency glinted through the open windows of an office in the foreign settlement of Yokohama, Japan. The room, a large one, furnished with desks and chairs, and the various equipments of such an apartment, contained a solitary occupant.
He—it was a youth of not more than nineteen years of age—was leaning back in an easy, revolving chair, with his hands resting upon an account book laid open on a light bamboo desk. His face, as seen in the glare of the light, was peculiar. The expression was that termed old-fashioned by some. He had queer, puckered eyes, and many wrinkles here and there, but the chin was firm and resolute, and the forehead lofty—marks of intelligence and great shrewdness.
There was something in the pose of the body, however, that did not denote either gracefulness or symmetry. Presently he arose from his chair and moved with a halting gait toward the window opening into an outer court. Then it became evident that he was a cripple.
One leg, the right, was shorter than its mate. There was also a droop in the shoulders that betokened a lack of physical strength, or many years of ill health. Notwithstanding this misfortune, the youth had a cheerful nature. As he glanced out into the court, with its huge-leafed palms, shady maples, and the ever-present bamboo, he whistled softly to himself.
Presently the faint tinkling notes of a samisen—a native square-shaped banjo—came to his ears from a neighboring building. Then the rat-tat of the hourglass-shaped drum called tsuzumi joined in, and the air was filled with a weird melody.
With something like a sigh, the young man turned back to his work. Bending over the book, he added up interminable columns of figures, jotting down the results on a pad at his elbow.
A stranger entering from the teeming street would have noted something amiss in this office. He would have seen that the half-dozen desks, with the exception of that being used by the solitary occupant, were thickly covered with dust.
A delicate tracery of cobwebs held in its bondage the majority of the chairs. There were others festooning the row of books and pasteboard files upon a number of shelves lining the walls. Over in one corner was an open fireplace, looking grim and rusted, and above a lacquered side table swung a parrot cage, desolate and empty. It was a scene of disuse, and it had its meaning.
It was the counting room of John Manning, "Importer and Trader," as a tarnished gilt sign over the outer door informed the passerby. But the master of it, and of the huge warehouse back on the bay, had gone to his last rest many months before.
He had been the sole owner of the business—which rumor said had fallen into decay—and when he went to join his helpmate, he left two sons to fight the battle of life. One, Grant Manning, we now see hard at work in the old office. The other, Nathaniel Manning, or "Nattie," as he was familiarly called by his associates, was at that moment on his way to the office to join his brother.
Just fifteen years had John Manning conducted business as an importer and trader in the foreign quarter of Yokohama. At first, his firm had prospered, but the coming of new people, and severe competition had finally almost forced the American to the wall.
He died leaving his affairs in a muddle, and now Grant, after months of delay and litigation, was puzzling his brain over the carelessly kept books and accounts. Five years previous Nattie had been sent home to New England to school. He was on the point of entering Harvard when the word came that his father had suddenly passed away.
In the letter, Grant had added that but little remained of their father's money, and that his presence was also needed to help settle the accounts. For several months after Nattie's arrival in Japan, nothing could be done. At last, the elder brother had cleared up matters sufficiently for the boys to see where they stood.
On the day on which this story opens Grant had arranged an appointment with his brother, and was now awaiting his coming with the patience characteristic of him.
The task he had taken upon himself was not the lightest in the world. The books were in almost hopeless confusion, but by dint of hard application, Grant had finally made out a trial balance sheet. As he was adding the finishing touches to this, he suddenly heard the sounds of an animated controversy in the street.
An exclamation uttered in a familiar voice caused him to hastily leave his desk and open the door leading outside. As he did so a couple of jinrikishas—two-wheeled carriages pulled by laborers—came into sudden collision directly in front of the office. Each vehicle was occupied by a fashionably dressed lad.
They were gesticulating angrily and seemed on the point of coming to blows. The kurumayas, or jinrikisha men, were also bent on hostilities, and the extraordinary scene was attracting a dense crowd of blue-costumed natives. Rushing bareheaded into the street, Grant grasped one of the lads by the arm and exclaimed:
"What under the sun does this mean, Nattie? What is the cause of this disgraceful row?"
"It's that cad, Ralph Black," was the wrathful reply. "He made his kurumaya run the 'rikisha in front of mine on purpose to provoke a quarrel. He will have enough of it if he doesn't look out."
"Not from you, Nattie Manning!" insolently called out the youth in the other vehicle. "You are very high and mighty for a pauper."
Nattie gave a leap from his carriage with the evident intention of wreaking summary vengeance upon his insulter, but he was restrained by Grant.
Ralph Black, a stocky-built youth of eighteen, with an unhealthy complexion, probably thought that discretion was the better part of valor as he hastily bade his kurumaya carry him from the spot.
The brothers gave a final glance after the disappearing jinrikisha, and then entered the office, leaving the crowd of straw-sandaled natives to disperse before the efforts of a tardy policeman.
"Nattie, when will you ever learn to avoid these disgraceful rows?" remarked Grant, seating himself at his desk. "Since your return from the States, you have quarreled with Ralph Black four or five times."
"I acknowledge it, brother, but, really, I can't help it," replied Nattie, throwing himself into a chair. "The confounded cad forces himself upon me whenever he can. He is insolent and overbearing, and I won't stand it. You know I never liked Ralph. Before I left for the States we were always rowing. He is a mean, contemptible sneak, and if there is anything on earth I hate it is that."
The lad's face flushed with passion, and as he spoke he struck the arm of the chair with his clenched fist. In both appearance and actions, the brothers were totally different. Stalwart for his age, clean-limbed, a handsome face, crowned by dark, clustering hair, Nattie would have attracted admiration anywhere.
As stated before, Grant was a cripple, deformed and possessed of a quaint, old-fashioned countenance, but readers of human nature would have lingered longer over the breadth of his brow, and the kindly, resolute chin. Nattie would have delighted athletes, but his elder brother—a truce to descriptions, let their characters speak for themselves as the story progresses.
Grant smiled reprovingly. He had a great liking for Nattie, but he regretted his impulsiveness. None knew better than he that the lad was all right in his heart, but he needed a rudder to his ship of life.
"I suppose it is hard to bear sometimes," he acknowledged. "It is a pity that you are compelled to antagonize the fellow just when we are placed in such a predicament. I have gone over the books from end to end, but I declare I can't find any further references to the payment of the debt."
"We are sure Father settled it, anyway."
"But we can't prove it, more's the pity. The last entry in father's personal account book is this: 'Paid this date the sum of five thousand, six hundred dollars ($5,600.00) to—' it ends there." Grant's voice lowered as he added: "At that moment he fell from his chair, you know, and died before help could come."
Both were silent for a while, then Nattie reached for the book in question and glanced over it. Finally, he said, with decision:
"That entry certainly means that Father paid back Mr. Black the debt of five thousand dollars, with six percent interest for two years, on the day of his death."
"There isn't the slightest doubt of it in my mind. I cannot find the faintest trace of any similar debt in the books. But Mr. Black swears the amount was not paid, and he threatens to sue the estate."
"Nice work for a reputable English exporting merchant. But I don't put it above him. The sire of such a son as Ralph Black would do almost anything, in my opinion."
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