Edward Stratemeyer - The Last Cruise of the Spitfire - or, Luke Foster's Strange Voyage

"Never mind, I am your guardian now, and I know what is best for you."

"How much money did my father leave me?" I asked, with considerable curiosity.

"None of your business."

"Oh, but it is my business."

"It is not your business, and I want you to shut up!" he cried, in a rage. "He left little enough."

"Little enough," I cried. "My father was rich."

"He was at one time; but he lost the most of his fortune in stocks just before he died. You have hardly enough to keep you until you are twenty-one."

I must confess that my uncle's remarks were quite a shock to me. I had always supposed that I would some day be wealthy. I gave the matter a moment's thought, and then came to the conclusion that Mr. Stillwell was not telling the truth.

"How much money did my father leave?" I repeated. "I am entitled to know."

"You will know when I get ready to tell you, not before."

"Perhaps you are mistaken," said I. "And another thing, Uncle Felix, how is it that you were appointed my guardian?"

At these words I fancied my uncle turned pale. He sprang towards me, then stopped short.

"What do you mean by that question?" he demanded.

"I mean why were you made my guardian when my father and you were not on good terms?"

"Pooh, that quarrel was of no consequence," was the lofty reply. "Your father could not find a better person in which to trust his son's care."

I had my own opinion on that point, but did not find it fit to say so. Then I put in what I thought was a master stroke.

"I thought Mr. Banker was to be my guardian."

At these words Mr. Stillwell turned even paler than before, and his hand trembled as he pointed his long finger at me in a threatening manner.

"You think too much!" he growled.

"Are you going to answer that question?"

"What put it into your head?"

"Never mind."

"Has John Banker been writing to you about it?"

In spite of his effort to ask the question unconcernedly I could see that my uncle was tremendously interested. Like a flash it came over me that perhaps this was one of the reasons he did not wish me to spend any time at Harry Banker's home. Mr. Banker might take it into his head to ask me how I was being treated, and that might lead to trouble.

"Never mind; but I'm going to find out before long."

"And you are going to prison before long, unless you hand over what you took from the safe."

"I am not afraid of you, Mr. Stillwell. I have always done right. But I'm going to know something about myself, and soon. I have a letter in my pocket that tells me that Mr. Banker was to be my guardian, and I'm going to know why he is not."

Mr. Stillwell glared at me. If he could have eaten me up I believe he would have done so.

"You have a letter?" he cried hoarsely. "Who from?"

"That is my business."

"And I'll make it mine. Hand it over this instant!"

"Not much."

"I say you will."

"And I say no."

I was sorry I had spoken of the letter. I could readily see that it had worked Mr. Stillwell up to a fever heat.

"Give me that letter, Luke. I'll stand no more fooling."

Once more my uncle bore down upon me. But I saw him coming, and shoved the chair in his way.

I still held the ruler in my hand, and now brandished it over my head.

"Don't come any closer!" I cried. "If you do I'll crack you on the head!"

My uncle was too enraged to pay attention to my words. He hurled the chair aside and sprang upon me as a wild beast springs upon its prey.

"We'll see who is master!" he panted.

In another instant he had me by the throat. His grasp was that of a band of steel, and I thought for a surety my last hour had come.

"Let – let go!" I gasped.

"Will you give me the letter?"

My only reply was to struggle with all my strength. In a moment we were both on the floor.

"Help! Help!" I cried.

"Shut up!" he exclaimed, and tried to close my mouth with his hand.

"I won't shut up! Let me up! Help!"

But now my voice was fainter. It was all I could do to get my breath. The room swam round and round before my eyes.

"Give up that letter and the money and papers you took!"

"Help! Help! – "

I could cry no longer. My senses were fast leaving me. Would no one come to my assistance?

"We'll see who is master! If you don't give – "

My uncle did not finish his speech, for at that instant the door was flung open, and a tall, powerful man stood in the doorway.

"Here! let up there!" he commanded. "What are you doing, Stillwell? Who's that on the floor? Great buckwheat, if it ain't Luke Foster!"

I listened in amazement as well as delight. The newcomer was Mr. John Banker!

Never was an arrival more opportune than when Mr. John Banker stepped into the private office. I fully believe had he come a moment later he would have found me insensible. As it was it took me several seconds to recover my breath.

"John Banker!" ejaculated my uncle, and every line of his features told of his discomfiture.

"What are you doing with Luke?" went on Harry's father. "Let him up."

"None of your business!" growled my uncle.

"I think it is. Luke, get up."

By this time I had somewhat recovered, and I was not slow to obey the command. I arose to my feet, and took my place beside my newly-arrived friend.

"What's it all about?" went on Mr. Banker, turning to me.

"He says I robbed the safe of six thousand dollars," I replied.

"And so he did," put in my uncle, glad to be able to speak a word for himself.

"Six thousand dollars!" ejaculated Mr. Banker. "Phew! but that's a large sum!"

"I know nothing of the money," I went on. "But I think his son took it, and I just told him so, and that made him mad."

"My son is no thief," stormed Mr. Stillwell.

"And neither is Robert Foster's son, I reckon," returned my friend. "I've knowed Luke all my life, and he's as straightforward a lad as one wants to meet. There's some mistake, Mr. Stillwell."

"No mistake at all; and unless the boy gives up what he took he shall go to prison."

"No, no; don't be too harsh!" cried Mr. Banker. "Remember he is your nephew."

"He is no longer any relation of mine! I've cast him off."

"You have, have you?" asked my friend, curiously.

"Yes, I have."

"Maybe you haven't any right to do it," went on Mr. Banker. "You've got his money in trust."

"Precious little of it."

"Yes? I reckon Robert Foster left quite a pile."

"No such thing."

"He was worth fifty or sixty thousand dollars."

"Fifty or sixty thousand dollars!" howled Mr. Stillwell. "It isn't quarter of that sum. He left five thousand dollars, and that's all."

"Nonsense, Stillwell, he left more."

"Who knows best, you or I?"

"Never mind; you can't make me believe Luke's father wasn't better off than that."

My uncle pursed up his lips.

"But that isn't here nor there," he said. "Luke has taken the money, and he's got to go to prison."

A look of pain crossed Mr. Banker's face. He and my father had been warm friends, and I well knew that he would do all in his power for me.

"He won't go to prison if I can help it," he said. "Luke, tell me the whole story."

Despite the numerous interruptions from my uncle, I related the particulars of the case. Mr. Banker listened with close attention.

"That sounds like a straight story," he said, when I had concluded. "I can't see but what your son is just as much under suspicion as Luke, Stillwell."

"You don't know anything about it, Banker, and the less you have to do with the matter the better off you will be."

"I'm going to see Luke through."

"What brought you here?"