Chapter 9 MR. BENTON MAKES TROUBLE

"Help! Help!"

"Vas is dot?" exclaimed Mrs. Snitzer, who had been dozing in the rocking chair awaiting her son's return.

"Sounds like some von vas in troubles," replied her husband, from the sofa.

Both sprang to their feet and hurried to the door.

Mrs. Snitzer had scarcely opened it when a man rushed past her and out of the front hall-way.

"Help! Help!"

"It vas Deb, for sure!" cried the German woman, and she ascended the stairs as fast as her portly form would permit, closely followed by her husband.

It took but a moment to pass through the kitchen and unlock the door of the adjoining chamber. They found Deb half dead from fright, and vainly endeavoring to escape.

"Oh, Mrs. Snitzer, a man has just stolen Jack's model!" gasped the poor girl. "He ran down stairs."

"Ve saw him," put in Mr. Snitzer. "I go me after him," he continued, hurrying off as rapidly as his legs would move.

"Oh, what will Jack say when he hears that it's gone!" moaned Deb.

"Tell me apout it," said the kindly German woman.

She took the excited girl in her arms, and stroking the soft, curly hair, tried to calm Deb as best she could.

In a nervous voice the girl told her story. She was on the verge of hysterics, and it was only Mrs. Snitzer's quick sense of comprehension that enabled her fully to understand the situation.

In about ten minutes Mr. Snitzer returned. The look upon his face told plainly that he had failed in the pursuit.

"It vas no use," he said, "I couldn't see nodding of him;" and he dropped into a chair exhausted.

Deb's grief was hard to witness. It was bad enough to have Jack away, but to have some one steal his precious model, the idea of his life, was too dreadful to contemplate.

"I shall never get over it," she sobbed; "I ought to have been more careful!"

Mrs. Snitzer let her cry it out. Experience had taught her that it would do no good to check the flow of tears. She motioned her husband to leave, while she herself made preparations to stay all night.

As the hours wore on Deb for a while forgot the model in her anxiety concerning Jack's welfare. As long as she could remember, her brother had never remained away over night, and whether by premonition or otherwise, she was positive something dreadful had happened.

With the first break of day she was on the watch. She prepared no breakfast, nor did she touch that which the German woman generously offered.

Deb wandered up and down the street for two hours.

Still no Jack.

She visited the neighbors. Had this one seen him? No. Perhaps that one had? Not since yesterday morning.

Suddenly she grew very pale, and with faltering steps approached the jail.

The doorkeeper greeted her with evident surprise.

"What brings you here this morning?" he asked.

"My brother has been missing since last night," replied Deb, in a choking voice, "and I thought that perhaps you had--had locked him up again!"

"Why, no. Haven't seen him since he left," replied the man. "Missing, eh!" He gave a low whistle, "Hope he hasn't jumped his bail."

"What do you mean?"

"Run away to escape trial."

"Jack wouldn't do that."

"Can't tell. Fellows do unexpected things sometimes. So you don't know where he's gone?"

"No."

The doorkeeper reflected for a moment.

"Didn't he accuse somebody else of being the cause of the fire?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; he was almost certain it was done by a man named Mosey."

"And I believe this Mosey couldn't be found?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then maybe your brother has a clue, and is on the man's track."

This put the affair in a new light.

"Perhaps you are right," said Deb, slowly.

"Guess I am. Hope so, anyway."

"Thank you."

The girl breathed more freely when she got to the street. There was a good deal of consolation in what the doorkeeper had said.

She walked over toward the tool works, and saw Mont at one of the windows. A second later the young man came out with a packet of letters.

"I've just finished what remained of the work," he said. "Now I won't have hardly anything to do until we start up again."

He was surprised to learn that Jack had not yet put in his appearance.

"The doorkeeper must be right," he observed reflectively. "Who it was though, that stole the model, I can't imagine. Tell you what I'll do. I'll post these letters, and then walk out to that farmer's place and find out what I can."

When Deb returned home she found a man and a boy in the hall, waiting for her.

"Are you Miss Willington?" asked the man, politely.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'm sorry, but unless you are able to pay the rent that is due, I have orders to put you out of the house."

Deb shrunk back in horror.

"Out of the house?" she repeated!

"Yes, ma'am, Mr. Hammerby served you with a three days' notice to quit, I believe?"

"He did--two days ago."

"Three days----"

"No, only two."

"Will you please let me see the paper?"

"He dated it a day back," explained Deb.

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"If he did, you should have complained of it at the time. I am a constable, and we people always go by the paper. I'm sorry to disturb you."

"Where will you--you put us?" faltered the girl, with a white face.

"Set your goods in the street," was the matter-of-fact reply. The constable was old in the service, and many cruel scenes had hardened his heart.

"Into the street!" wailed the poor girl.

"That's what I said, unless, of course, you can raise the eight dollars that's due."

"I haven't it now. But my brother expected to get fifty dollars from a man for an interest in an invention of his."

"When?"

"To-day. But my brother is away."

"Can't you get it?"

"Perhaps I can," replied Deb, hesitatingly. "I'll try, anyway. Will you wait till I come back?"

"Certainly," replied the constable, and he took a chair, and began to read the morning paper that he had brought with him.

While Deb was getting ready for her urgent errand, there was a noise outside, and Mr. Benton himself appeared.

"Where is your brother?" he demanded, without any preliminary salutation.

"I don't know, sir," replied the girl, her breath almost taken away by the suddenness of the question.

"They told me he was missing," continued the speculator. "I suppose that you have the model safe?"

"No, sir. It was stolen last evening."

Deb began to cry again. Mr. Benton caught her arm roughly.

"I don't believe a word you say!" he exclaimed, in harsh tones. "It's only a plot to do me out of my rights! But it won't work, understand that, it won't work. Either you must produce the model, or else I'll have you arrested for fraud!"