So by the cleverness of two
girls a dark cloud was thinned
away and turned into sunshine.
Over one of them,
alas, another cloud was gathering, which could not be so
easily dispersed. Of these three households which fate
had thrown together, two had already been united by ties
of love. It was destined, however, that a bond of
another sort should connect the Westmacotts with the Hay
Denvers.
Between the Admiral and the
widow a very cordial feeling
had existed since the day when
the old seaman had hauled down
his flag and changed his opinions;
granting to the yachts-woman
all that he had refused to the
reformer. His own frank and downright
nature respected the same qualities
in his neighbor, and a friendship
sprang up between them which
was more like that which exists
between two men, founded upon
esteem and a community of tastes.
"By the way, Admiral," said
Mrs. Westmacott one morning,
as they walked together down
to the station, "I understand
that this boy of yours in the
intervals of paying his devotions
to Miss Walker is doing something
upon 'Change."
"Yes,
ma'am, and
there is no
man of his age who is doing so
well. He's drawing ahead, I can
tell you, ma'am. Some of those
that started with him are hull
down astarn now. He touched his
five hundred last year, and before
he's thirty he'll be making the
four figures."
"The
reason I asked
is that I have
small investments
to make
myself from time to time, and
my present broker is a rascal.
I should be very glad to do it
through your son."
"It
is very kind
of you, ma'am.
His partner is away on a holiday,
and Harold would like to push
on a bit and show what he can
do. You know the poop isn't big
enough to hold the lieutenant
when the skipper's on shore."
"I
suppose he
charges the
usual half
per cent?"
"Don't
know, I'm sure,
ma'am. I'll
swear that
he does what
is right and proper."
"That
is what I usually
pay--ten shillings
in the hundred
pounds.
If you see him before I do just
ask him to get me five thousand
in New Zealands. It is at four
just now, and I fancy it may
rise."
"Five thousand!" exclaimed
the Admiral, reckoning it in
his own mind. "Lemme see! That's
twenty-five pounds commission.
A nice day's work, upon my word.
It is a very handsome order,
ma'am."
"Well,
I must pay
some one, and
why not him?"
"I'll
tell him, and
I'm sure he'll
lose no time."
"Oh,
there is no
great hurry.
By the way, I understand from
what you said just now that he
has a partner."
"Yes,
my boy is the
junior partner.
Pearson is
the senior.
I was introduced to him years
ago, and he offered Harold the
opening. Of course we had a pretty
stiff premium to pay."
Mrs. Westmacott had stopped,
and was standing very stiffly
with her Red Indian face even
grimmer than usual.
"Pearson?" said she. "Jeremiah
Pearson?"
"The
same."
"Then it's all off," she cried. "You
need not carry out that investment."
"Very
well, ma'am."
They walked on together side
by side, she brooding over some
thought of her own, and he a
little crossed and disappointed
at her caprice and the lost commission
for Harold.
"I tell you what, Admiral," she
exclaimed suddenly, "if I were
you I should get your boy out
of this partnership."
"But
why, madam?"
"Because
he is tied
to one of the
deepest, slyest
foxes
in the whole city of London."
"Jeremiah
Pearson, ma'am?
What can you
know of him?
He bears
a good name."
"No
one in this
world knows
Jeremiah Pearson as I know him,
Admiral. I warn you because I
have a friendly feeling both
for you and for your son. The
man is a rogue and you had best
avoid him."
"But
these are only
words, ma'am.
Do you tell
me that you
know him better than the brokers
and jobbers in the City?"
"Man," cried Mrs. Westmacott, "will
you allow that I know him when
I tell you that my maiden name
was Ada Pearson, and that Jeremiah
is my only brother?"
The
Admiral whistled. "Whew! " cried
he. "Now that I think of it,
there is a likeness."
"He
is a man of
iron, Admiral--a
man without a heart. I should
shock you if I were to tell you
what I have endured from my brother.
My father's wealth was divided
equally between us. His own share
he ran through in five years,
and he has tried since then by
every trick of a cunning, low-minded
man, by base cajolery, by legal
quibbles, by brutal intimidation,
to juggle me out of my share
as well. There is no villainy
of which the man is not capable.
Oh, I know my brother Jeremiah.
I know him and I am prepared
for him."
"This
is all new
to me, ma'am.
'Pon my word, I hardly know what
to say to it. I thank you for
having spoken so plainly. From
what you say, this is a poor
sort of consort for a man to
sail with. Perhaps Harold would
do well to cut himself adrift."
"Without
losing a day."
"Well,
we shall talk
it over. You
may be sure
of that. But
here we are at the station, so
I will just see you into your
carriage and then home to see
what my wife says to the matter."
As he trudged homewards, thoughtful
and perplexed, he was surprised
to hear a shout behind him, and
to see Harold running down the
road after him.
"Why, dad," he cried, "I
have just come
from town,
and the
first thing I saw was your back
as you marched away. But you
are such a quick walker that
I had to run to catch you."
The
Admiral's smile
of pleasure
had broken his stern face into
a thousand wrinkles. "You are
early to-day," said he.
"Yes,
I wanted to
consult you."
"Nothing
wrong?"
"Oh
no, only an
inconvenience."
"What
is it, then?"
"How
much have we
in our private
account?"
"Pretty
fair. Some
eight hundred,
I think."
"Oh,
half that will
be ample. It
was rather
thoughtless
of
Pearson."
"What
then?"
"Well,
you see, dad,
when he went
away upon this
little holiday
to Havre he left me to pay accounts
and so on. He told me that there
was enough at the bank for all
claims. I had occasion on Tuesday
to pay away two cheques, one
for L80, and the other for L120,
and here they are returned with
a bank notice that we have already
overdrawn to the extent of some
hundreds."
The
Admiral looked
very grave. "What's
the meaning of that, then?" he
asked.
"Oh,
it can easily
be set right.
You see Pearson invests all the
spare capital and keeps as small
a margin as possible at the bank.
Still it was too bad for him
to allow me even to run a risk
of having a cheque returned.
I have written to him and demanded
his authority to sell out some
stock, and I have written an
explanation to these people.
In the meantime, however, I have
had to issue several cheques;
so I had better transfer part
of our private account to meet
them."
"Quite
so, my boy.
All that's
mine is yours.
But who do
you
think this Pearson is? He is
Mrs. Westmacott's brother."
"Really.
What a singular
thing! Well,
I can see a
likeness now
that you mention it. They have
both the same hard type of face."
"She
has been warning
me against
him--says he
is the rankest
pirate
in London. I hope that it is
all right, boy, and that we may
not find ourselves in broken
water."
Harold had turned a little
pale as he heard Mrs. Westmacott's
opinion of his senior partner.
It gave shape and substance to
certain vague fears and suspicions
of his own which had been pushed
back as often as they obtruded
themselves as being too monstrous
and fantastic for belief.
"He is a well-known man in
the City, dad," said he.
"Of
course he is--of
course he is.
That is what
I told her.
They would have found him out
there if anything had been amiss
with him. Bless you, there's
nothing so bitter as a family
quarrel. Still it is just as
well that you have written about
this affair, for we may as well
have all fair and aboveboard."
But Harold's letter to his
partner was crossed by a letter
from his partner to Harold. It
lay awaiting him upon the breakfast
table next morning, and it sent
the heart into his mouth as he
read it, and caused him to spring
up from his chair with a white
face and staring eyes.
"My
boy! My boy!"
"I am ruined, mother--ruined!" He
stood gazing wildly in front
of him, while the sheet of paper
fluttered down on the carpet.
Then he dropped back into the
chair, and sank his face into
his hands. His mother had her
arms round him in an instant,
while the Admiral, with shaking
fingers, picked up the letter
from the floor and adjusted his
glasses to read it.
"My DEAR DENVER," it ran. "By
the time that this reaches you
I shall be out of the reach of
yourself or of any one else who
may desire an interview. You
need not search for me, for I
assure you that this letter is
posted by a friend, and that
you will have your trouble in
vain if you try to find me. I
am sorry to leave you in such
a tight place, but one or other
of us must be squeezed, and on
the whole I prefer that it should
be you. You'll find nothing in
the bank, and about L13,000 unaccounted
for. I'm not sure that the best
thing you can do is not to realize
what you can, and imitate your
senior's example. If you act
at once you may get clean away.
If not, it's not only that you
must put up your shutters, but
I am afraid that this missing
money could hardly be included
as an ordinary debt, and of course
you are legally responsible for
it just as much as I am. Take
a friend's advice and get to
America. A young man with brains
can always do something out there,
and you can live down this little
mischance. It will be a cheap
lesson if it teaches you to take
nothing upon trust in business,
and to insist upon knowing exactly
what your partner is doing, however
senior he may be to you.
"Yours faithfully,
"JEREMIAH PEARSON."
"Great Heavens!" groaned the
Admiral, "he has absconded."
"And left me
both a bankrupt and a thief."
"No, no, Harold," sobbed his
mother. "All will be right. What
matter about money!"
"Money, mother!
It is my honor."
"The boy is right. It is his
honor, and my honor, for his
is mine. This is a sore trouble,
mother, when we thought our life's
troubles were all behind us,
but we will bear it as we have
borne others." He held out his
stringy hand, and the two old
folk sat with bowed grey heads,
their fingers intertwined, strong
in each other's love and sympathy.
"We were too happy," she
sighed.
"But it is
God's will, mother."
"Yes, John,
it is God's will."
"And yet it
is bitter to bear. I could
have lost all, the house,
money, rank--I could have borne
it. But at my age--my honor--the
honor of an admiral of the fleet."
"No honor can
be lost, John, where no dishonor
has been done.
What have you done? What has
Harold done? There is no question
of honor."
The old man shook his head,
but Harold had already called
together his clear practical
sense, which for an instant in
the presence of this frightful
blow had deserted him.
"The mater is right, dad," said
he. "It is bad enough, Heaven
knows, but we must not take too
dark a view of it. After all,
this insolent letter is in itself
evidence that I had nothing to
do with the schemes of the base
villain who wrote it."
"They may think
it prearranged."
"They could
not. My whole life cries out
against the thought.
They could not look me in the
face and entertain it."
"No, boy, not if they have
eyes in their heads," cried the
Admiral, plucking up courage
at the sight of the flashing
eyes and brave, defiant face. "We
have the letter, and we have
your character. We'll weather
it yet between them. It's my
fault from the beginning for
choosing such a land-shark for
your consort. God help me, I
thought I was finding such an
opening for you."
"Dear dad!
How could you possibly know?
As he says in his letter,
it has given me a lesson. But
he was so much older and so much
more experienced, that it was
hard for me to ask to examine
his books. But we must waste
no time. I must go to the City."
"What will
you do?"
"What an honest
man should do. I will write
to all our clients
and creditors, assemble them,
lay the whole matter before them,
read them the letter and put
myself absolutely in their hands."
"That's it,
boy--yard-arm to yard-arm,
and have it over."
"I must go at once." He put
on his top-coat and his hat. "But
I have ten minutes yet before
I can catch a train. There is
one little thing which I must
do before I start."
He had caught sight through
the long glass folding door of
the gleam of a white blouse and
a straw hat in the tennis ground.
Clara used often to meet him
there of a morning to say a few
words before he hurried away
into the City. He walked out
now with the quick, firm step
of a man who has taken a momentous
resolution, but his face was
haggard and his lips pale.
"Clara," said he, as she came
towards him with words of greeting, "I
am sorry to bring ill news to
you, but things have gone wrong
in the City, and--and I think
that I ought to release you from
your engagement."
Clara stared at him with her
great questioning dark eyes,
and her face became as pale as
his.
"How can the
City affect you and me, Harold?"
"It is dishonor.
I cannot ask you to share it."
"Dishonor!
The loss of some miserable
gold and silver coins!"
"Oh, Clara,
if it were only that! We could
be far happier
together in a little cottage
in the country than with all
the riches of the City. Poverty
could not cut me to the heart,
as I have been cut this morning.
Why, it is but twenty minutes
since I had the letter, Clara,
and it seems to me to be some
old, old thing which happened
far away in my past life, some
horrid black cloud which shut
out all the freshness and the
peace from it."
"But what is
it, then? What do you fear
worse than poverty?"
"To have debts
that I cannot meet. To be hammered
upon 'Change
and declared a bankrupt. To know
that others have a just claim
upon me and to feel that I dare
not meet their eyes. Is not that
worse than poverty?"
"Yes, Harold,
a thousand fold worse! But
all this may be got
over. Is there nothing more?"
"My partner
has fled and left me responsible
for heavy debts,
and in such a position that I
may be required by the law to
produce some at least of this
missing money. It has been confided
to him to invest, and he has
embezzled it. I, as his partner,
am liable for it. I have brought
misery on all whom I love--my
father, my mother. But you at
least shall not be under the
shadow. You are free, Clara.
There is no tie between us."
"It takes two to make such
a tie, Harold," said she, smiling
and putting her hand inside his
arm. "It takes two to make it,
dear, and also two to break it.
Is that the way they do business
in the City, sir, that a man
can always at his own sweet will
tear up his engagement?"
"You hold me
to it, Clara?"
"No creditor
so remorseless as I, Harold.
Never, never shall
you get from that bond."
"But I am ruined.
My whole life is blasted."
"And so you
wish to ruin me, and blast
my life also. No indeed,
sir, you shall not get away so
lightly. But seriously now, Harold,
you would hurt me if it were
not so absurd. Do you think that
a woman's love is like this sunshade
which I carry in my hand, a thing
only fitted for the sunshine,
and of no use when the winds
blow and the clouds gather?"
"I would not
drag you down, Clara."
"Should I not
be dragged down indeed if I
left your side at
such a time? It is only now that
I can be of use to you, help
you, sustain you. You have always
been so strong, so above me.
You are strong still, but then
two will be stronger. Besides,
sir, you have no idea what a
woman of business I am. Papa
says so, and he knows."
Harold tried to speak, but
his heart was too full. He could
only press the white hand which
curled round his sleeve. She
walked up and down by his side,
prattling merrily, and sending
little gleams of cheeriness through
the gloom which girt him in.
To listen to her he might have
thought that it was Ida, and
not her staid and demure sister,
who was chatting to him.
"It will soon be cleared up," she
said, "and then we shall feel
quite dull. Of course all business
men have these little ups and
downs. Why, I suppose of all
the men you meet upon 'Change,
there is not one who has not
some such story to tell. If everything
was always smooth, you know,
then of course every one would
turn stockbroker, and you would
have to hold your meetings in
Hyde Park. How much is it that
you need?"
"More than
I can ever get. Not less than
thirteen thousand
pounds."
Clara's face
fell as she heard the amount. "What
do you purpose doing?"
"I shall go
to the City now, and I shall
ask all our creditors
to meet me to-morrow. I shall
read them Pearson's letter, and
put myself into their hands."
"And they,
what will they do?"
"What can they
do? They will serve writs for
their money,
and the firm will be declared
bankrupt."
"And the meeting
will be to-morrow, you say.
Will you take my advice?"
"What is it,
Clara?"
"To ask them
for a few days of delay. Who
knows what new
turn matters may take?"
"What turn
can they take? I have no means
of raising the
money."
"Let us have
a few days."
"Oh, we should
have that in the ordinary course
of business.
The legal formalities would take
them some little time. But I
must go, Clara, I must not seem
to shirk. My place now must be
at my offices."
"Yes, dear,
you are right. God bless you
and guard you!
I shall be here in The Wilderness,
but all day I shall be by your
office table at Throgmorton Street
in spirit, and if ever you should
be sad you will hear my little
whisper in your ear, and know
that there is one client whom
you will never be able to get
rid of--never as long as we both
live, dear." |