True Riches: Wealth Without Wings

On the next day, a fellow-clerk, who had always performed this little service for Claire, took the order to Jasper.  With a nervous impatience that he found it impossible to repress, Claire awaited his return.  On his appearance, he said, with ill-concealed anxiety—­

“Did he pay the order?”

The young man shook his head.

“What!  Didn’t pay it?” Though half-expecting such a result, he was none the more prepared for it, nor the less disturbed when it was known.

“No; he said that the contract entered into with you for boarding the child was at an end three months ago.”

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing else.”

“Did he send no message to me of any kind?”

“None.  When I handed him the order, he pushed it back, and used the words I have repeated.  I waited a little while for some further remark, but he made none.”

“Did he seem angry?”

“Not angry; but rather pleased, I should say.  There was a heartless smile on his face, as if he enjoyed the act of refusal.”

Claire made no further remark.  For a time he groped about, mentally, like one in darkness and lost.  It appeared as if there was no escape; as if the evil which had long dogged his steps was upon him.  But in a short time, a ray of light shone in here and there, paths that might be walked in safely were dimly perceived—­escape seemed possible.  Still, he was deeply depressed and sorely troubled.

Edith received the intelligence in a calmer spirit than her husband had expected.

“The way will be made plain before us,” said she.  “It is plainer now than it was last night—­much plainer.”

“How can you say that, Edith?”

“Mr. Jasper has refused to pay any thing more to us for Fanny’s support.”

“Yes.”

“But in the refusal said nothing about our giving her up to him.”

“Well?”

“I gather from this, and the fact that he was aware of her being twelve years old, that he does not really want her now in his own family, but refuses to pay us for her board and education from a feeling of ill-will toward you.  His manner to the young man who presented the order clearly indicates this.”

“You may be right there, Edith,” said Claire, a further light breaking into his mind.  “We have at least done our duty toward Fanny in making this demand on her guardian.  And now, the question left for us to decide may be whether it will be just toward her, and also toward our own children, still to keep her in our own family, and let her share, with the others, the best that it is in our power to give.”

“And will it be hard to make that decision?” said Edith, a slight flush coming into her earnest face.

“I think not,” was the firm reply.

“Have we loved her less than our own?” asked Edith.

“I believe not.”

“Love seeks the highest good for its object.”

“Yes—­yes.”

“Can a stranger love the child as we have loved her?”

Claire shook his head.

“Can a stranger, even with more of what the world gives, yet with less of a genuine affection, secure for her, as we may, what should justly be regarded as the highest good in life.”

“No stranger can ever be to her, Edith, what you have been, and will continue to be.”

“We must not thrust her out, Edward.  We cannot thrust her out.  While God permits her to remain, let us keep her, assured that He will send for her use all things needful.”

“Most cheerfully will I prolong my daily toil for her sake,” replied Claire; “and cheerfully will I make sacrifice of personal comfort.  Yes, let her remain where she is, so long as, in God’s providence, she is permitted to remain.  If Jasper continues to withhold the price of her maintenance, there will be the more left for her when she becomes of age; and then, if there are defects in her education, a few years of earnest application on her part, will remove them.  Even now, we could compel him to pay for her a reasonable sum, but in securing this, we would assuredly lose the child, for this man’s anger would burn hot against us.”

“I have thought of that,” replied Edith.  “No, our only plain course, for the present, is to look away from Jasper, and regard Fanny as one of our own children.”

To this conclusion the mind of Claire and his wife came firmly.  Then the painful agitation they had for some time suffered gradually subsided, and they began earnestly to cast about for the ways and means whereby so large an extra draft as was likely to be made upon their slender income could be met.

Two propositions were made by Edith:  one was, that they should make a reduction in their expenses, by moving into a smaller house.  They now paid two hundred dollars annually for rent; and she was sure that, for one hundred and fifty, they might suit themselves very well.  The other proposition was, to give two or three hours every evening, after the children were in bed, to fine needle-work, in which she was well skilled.

“I could easily earn two dollars a week, in this way,” was her confident remark.

Claire, who had other plans in his mind, did not speak very encouragingly of these propositions, though he avoided disapproval.  Increased expense demanded an increase of income; and his thoughts were all now bent suggestively in that direction.  As for Edith, her burdens were heavy enough; and her husband, though he did not check her generous enthusiasm, by no means acquiesced in the plan of evening toil for his wife out of the range of her many domestic duties.

A few days went by, with no incident of importance.  Claire, during the time, appeared, to his wife more thoughtful that usual.  One evening he came home with a brighter countenance.

“Good news, Edie,” said he in a cheerful voice, as soon as the children’s glad and noisy welcome of their father was over; and he drew his wife aside as he spoke.

“Good news, dear,” he repeated.  “I was sure the way would open for us, and it has opened.”

“How, Edward?” asked Edith, with a quickly flushing face.  “How has it opened?”

“I’ve secured employment for my evenings, at six dollars a week.  So all will go on with us the same as usual.  The only drawback lies in the fact that you will have to remain at home alone.  But, for the sake of the end, you will bear that cheerfully.”

The light which had come into Edith’s countenance faded.

“What kind of employment?” she inquired, with a slight huskiness of voice.

“I’ve engaged to act as clerk in an auction store, where they have regular night-sales.”

Edith shook her head.

“I thought you would be so delighted,” said her husband, evidently much disappointed.

“You often come home, now, overwearied with the day’s labour,” replied Edith.

“An hour at tea-time will refresh me for the evening’s work.  Don’t think of that a moment, Edith.”

“How can I help thinking of it?  No, no, Edward, you must not do this.  It will destroy your health.  You are not very strong.”

“My health is perfectly good, Edith.”

But Edith shook her head—­

“Not so very good.  You look paler, and are much thinner than you were a year ago.  A little over-exertion throws your system off of its balance; and then you are sick.”

“I will be very careful of myself,” replied Claire.  “If, after a few weeks, the extra labour is found to be too severe, I can give up the place.  Nothing like trying, you know, dear.”

Still, Edith was not satisfied.  Very strongly she urged her husband not to increase his labour in the degree contemplated.

“Let us try if we can reduce our expenses by a closer economy.  It is better to deny ourselves things not necessary to health, than to injure health by extra labour.”

She urged this view, however, in vain.  Claire could not, without at least a trial of his strength, decline the important offer which had been made to him.  And so, after a consultation with Mr. Melleville, he entered upon his new employment, leaving his wife to spend the hours of his absence alone.  Not idly were those hours spent.  What she had at first proposed to do, she now began to execute.  Without saying any thing to her husband, she had procured, from a friend who kept a fancy-store, and who took in from the ladies a great deal of work, some fine sewing; and with this she was busily occupied until his return, which did not take place on the first night until near eleven o’clock.

There was a slight drawback in the pleasure both felt in meeting at this late hour—­the drawback of weariness.  Yet their hearts were tranquil and elevated in the consciousness that they were denying self for the good of another—­and that one most tenderly beloved.  Again the way had become plain before them; and if strength only were given to bear their increased burdens, they would move on with even lighter footsteps than before.

And now, after having lingered thus long with the humble clerk, let us turn to the rich merchant; for Jasper has become a man of extensive possessions.  Wealth flowed in upon him with extraordinary rapidity—­not in the regular course of trade, overreaching and unscrupulous as he was in dealing, but through what are called fortunate speculations.  How he made his first hundred thousand dollars—­the basis of his present very large fortune—­was not clearly understood, though sundry vague rumours on the subject were afloat, none of them, however, very near the truth, except in the admission that a fraud on somebody had been committed.  But let us introduce Mr. Jasper.

On the night that Claire entered upon his duties as clerk in the auction store, and about the same hour that his duties began, Mr. Jasper, who was walking restlessly the floor of his richly furnished parlours, his mind busy with some large money-making scheme, yet fretted by a recent disappointment, found himself suddenly in the presence of, to him, a well-known individual, whose ring at the door he had not observed.

“Martin!” he exclaimed, in no affected surprise.  “Is it possible?”

“Ah, Jasper!  How are you?  Right glad to get sight of your face again!” said the other familiarly, as he grasped the merchant’s passive hand, and squeezed it until the joints cracked.

“When did you arrive in the city?” returned Jasper, as he reached his visitor a chair.  He did not speak with much warmth; and yet there was an effort to be at ease and cordial.

“Some two hours ago,” said Martin, in whose face was already beginning to gather a few lines in token of the sober thoughts that lay beneath his assumed smiling exterior.

“From which direction did you come?”

“West.  I’m from the Upper Mississippi.”

“Ah!”

“I went to Galena some five or six months ago; and have since been actively engaged in lead-mining.  A great business that, Mr. Jasper.”

“Ah?” This “ah?” was particularly chilling.

“There are more rapid fortunes made at the lead-mines in the neighbourhood of Galena, at present, than in any part of the United States,” said Martin, approaching, by rapid advances, the subject nearest to his thoughts.

“You think so?” returned Jasper, with cold incredulity.

“I know so,” was the positive response.  “I could point you to a dozen men who have made their tens of thousands annually for the last five or ten years.”

“It is easy to talk about making tens of thousands, Martin; but the fact itself is a more difficult matter.”

“A fact is a fact, however, Mr. Jasper,” said the other.  “What is done, is done.”

“Of course.”

“It is a fact that money is made at the lead-mines, hand over fist,” continued Martin.  “Of this I am prepared to give you the strongest kind of evidence.”

“Why should you be so anxious to convince me of this fact?” returned the merchant.  “I have quite as many irons in the fire now as I can see to.”

“Ah!  That may be,” said Martin, forcing to his rather hard features a bland smile.  “But these new irons I will keep from burning.”

“It’s no use, Martin, to talk of lead-mines to me,” said Jasper firmly.  “I am spread out enough already.  Contraction, not expansion, is my present motto.  I’ve met with more than one heavy loss since I saw you.”

“Have you, indeed?  I’m sorry for that.  But a false card will turn up now and then, you know.  The game in the long run is sure.”

“We’re sure of nothing,” replied Jasper, with considerable feeling.

“I wouldn’t like to say that.  Of course, all plans will not succeed; for man’s judgment is far from possessing the virtue of infallibility.  But human reason would be a poor endowment, did it not lead us, in most cases, to right conclusions, if we are careful in our modes of using this high faculty.”

“The purpose of your visit to the East,” said Jasper, who understood perfectly the man with whom he was dealing, and, therefore, determined to know at once the length and breadth of what he was expected to do, “is, I presume, to enlist some capitalists here in a lead-mining speculation?”

“My ideas do not extend quite that far,” was Martin’s answer.  “Too many cooks, you are aware, sometimes spoil the broth.  To come to the point at once, let me explain the purpose of my present journey to the East.”

“Well; I am all attention.”

“My fur-trade business, as I wrote you a year ago, turned out disastrously.”

“Yes.”

“After that, I opened a small store in one of the frontier towns, and I did very well, all things considered.  But the gain was too slow to suit my ideas of things; so, meeting with a fair chance, I sold out, and bought a lead-mine, which I have been working ever since to good profit.  Recently, I struck upon one of the richest veins ever discovered.  If properly worked, it will yield a rapid fortune.  But I have not sufficient capital to avail myself of the advantages offered, and have come on here to lay the matter before you, and to offer you a share in the business.”

Jasper shook his head, saying—­

“I have more business on my hands now, Martin, than I can possibly attend to.”

“You don’t know what you are declining, Mr. Jasper,” urged Martin warmly.  “You havn’t yet looked at the statements which I am prepared to lay before you.”

“I do know one thing,” was the feeling answer, “and that is, that I am declining trouble and cost.  About that part of the business, there can be little question.”

“Then,” said Martin, his manner changing, “I am to understand that you do not wish to join me in this matter?”

“Yes.  I would like you to understand that distinctly.”

“Very well.  I am sorry you refuse so advantageous an investment of money; for right sure am I that no other investment you can make will turn out as this would have done.  But, as you have declined, I will not offer a share in my good fortune to any one else; but prosecute the work to my own advantage.”

“I thought you hadn’t the capital to do that,” said Jasper, speaking with ill-repressed eagerness.

“Nor have I,” coolly answered Martin.  “The proposition I was about to make was this—­an advance of twenty thousand dollars capital on your part, to constitute you an equal partner in the mine.  But this you decline.”

“Certainly! certainly!  I would not have entertained it for a moment.”

“Exactly.  So I have already inferred.  I will, therefore, as just said, retain this advantage in my own hands.  But, Mr. Jasper, I shall need some help.”

The visitor fixed his eyes keenly on the merchant as he said this.  There was a momentary pause.  Then he resumed.

“I shall only want about ten thousand dollars, though; and this you must obtain for me.”

“Martin!  Do you think I am made of money?” exclaimed Jasper, starting to his feet, and facing his companion, in the attitude and with the expression of a man who, finding himself in the presence of an enemy, assumes the defensive.

“Oh no,” was the quiet answer—­“not made of money.  But, for a particular friend, you can no doubt, easily raise such a trifle as ten thousand dollars?”

“Trifle!  You mock me, sir!”

“Don’t get excited about this matter, Mr. Jasper,” coolly returned Martin, whose name the reader has probably recognised as that of an agent employed by the merchant and Grind, the lawyer, some years before, in making investigations relative to the existence of coal on certain lands not far from Reading, Pennsylvania.  “Don’t get excited,” he repeated.  “That will do no good.  I have not come to rob you.  I don’t ask you to give me ten thousand dollars.  All I want is a loan, for which I will pledge good security.”

“What kind of security?” asked Jasper quickly.

“Security on my lead-mine.”

“Pooh!  I wouldn’t give the snap of a finger for such security!”

Jasper, thrown off his guard, spoke more contemptuously than was prudent.

An instant change was visible in Martin, who, rising, commenced buttoning up his coat.  There was about him every mark of a man deeply offended.

“Good evening, sir!” said he, with a low, formal bow, yet with his eyes fixed searchingly in those of the merchant.

“Martin,”—­Jasper did not smile, nor was there in his voice the slightest affectation of good feeling—­yet his manner and tone were both decisive,—­“Martin, sit down again.  Talk in reason, and I will hear.”

The man resumed his seat, and, with his eyes still in those of Jasper, said—­

“I have talked in reason.  You are worth, so report says, not less than three hundred thousand dollars.  How the first hundred thousand came, is known, certainly, only to one man beside you and me.  In procuring that large sum I was a very prominent agent.”

“You have already been paid for your services a dozen times over.”

“There may be a difference of opinion about this,” replied the man boldly—­“and there is a difference of opinion.”

“I have already advanced you over five thousand dollars.”

“What of that!  Five thousand to three hundred thousand that you have made by the operation.”

“You are in error, Martin,” said Jasper, with a blended look of perplexity and distress.  “I am not worth the sum you have mentioned—­nothing like it.  My losses during the past six months have been very heavy.”

“It is your interest to say this.  I can credit as much of it as I please.”

“You are insulting!  You presume on the power a knowledge of my affairs has given you.  I will look for a more honourable agent the next time.”

“Honourable!  Ha! ha!” The visitor laughed in a low, guttural voice.

“Martin!  I will not hear this from any living man.”

The face of Jasper was almost purple with suppressed anger.

“Go!” he added.  “Leave my house instantly.  I defy you!”

Scarcely had these words passed his lips, ere Martin glided from the drawing-room, and in a few moments the street-door shut with a heavy, reverberating jar.

The merchant stood, like one bewildered, for a few moments, and then, as he sank into a chair, uttered a low groan.  For a long time he remained as motionless as if sleeping.