Tom admitted that this was a matter which he could not understand.
“Then I will explain. After leaving you I called upon Mr. Simpson. He did not at first recognize me, but I succeeded in recalling myself to his remembrance. He was not glad to see me. In fact, he heartily wished me at the remotest corner of the globe, I make no doubt, but he was, nevertheless, prevailed to hand over to me five hundred dollars. I see you look surprised,” continued Darius Darke. “_He did not dare to do otherwise!_ I knew that about him which gave me a hold upon him. Well, it was so late that it seemed necessary to remain in Wilton till morning. In my wretched attire I could not secure a lodging at the tavern, and my kind host offered me the hospitality of his barn. I don’t think at the moment he had any designs upon my life. Otherwise he would have suggested that I leave the money in his hands till the next day, and thus avoid the danger of burning it up.”
“I was thinking of that, Mr. Darke,” said Tom.
“It would naturally occur to any one. I suppose that after I had left him the idea of this easy way of ridding himself of me occurred to my old friend Simpson, and although he was likely to sacrifice the money, he doubtless thought it would save him from any more involuntary loans. So he went out after midnight, when I might be supposed to have fallen asleep, and kindled the fire.”
“The next morning he accused me of setting the fire,” said Tom.
“The scoundrel! I can see his object, however. He hates you almost as much as he does me.”
“I don’t see why he should hate me,” said Tom.
“People are sure to hate those whom they have injured. That is a lesson I have learned in a rather varied career.”
“I don’t know that Mr. Simpson has tried to injure me, unless by discharging me from his employment.”
“I think he would like to drive you out of the village,” said Mr. Darke, thoughtfully. “The sight of you is unpleasant to him.”
“Why? I will tell you presently. But I must first proceed with my own story. I arrived in New York with the five hundred dollars which my kind friend Simpson had given me. My first business, as you can well imagine, was to procure a more suitable dress; in other words, to restore myself to society by assuming a respectable appearance. That did not take long. I ran across a friend of more prosperous days, and learned that he was in business in Wall Street, as a broker. He gave me a valuable point, bought for me a line of stocks, which went up five per cent. the first day, and, in brief, has so manipulated my little fund that the five hundred dollars which I brought from Wilton have already increased to five thousand.”