Chapter XXIV: Aunt Rachel’s Will, 337 (5)

The keeper must be sent out of the house as soon as I could get away from the bank. His staying there any longer would certainly ruin me. Whatever else was doubtful, this was plain. Tom Flynn stood near me. He had money, though he had just invested all he had in stocks; but I was sure, if I told him the whole truth, he would help me out of the difficulty even if he had to sell his stocks, and sacrifice his dividends. But it was too humiliating to think of telling him that I had plunged into a sea of debt, and was already struggling for life in the waves.

I did think of calling upon my uncle, but I rejected the suggestion on the instant, for I could not listen to the storm of invectives he would heap upon me; and, besides, he would tell my Aunt Rachel, and thus give her a bad opinion of me. The old lady might disinherit me as a “fast boy.”

Buckleton had offered to take a mortgage on my furniture for security. This seemed to be the most practicable solution of the problem which had yet presented itself. But what was the use of mortgaging the property when I could pay the debt as soon as I had seen Aunt Rachel? Besides, if there was a man on the face of the footstool whom I hated with all my mind, heart and soul, that man was Buckleton. He had induced me to purchase more extensively than I intended by holding out to me the most liberal terms of credit. Now, in less than a month, he was putting the twisters upon me. I regarded him as a treacherous and unfeeling man; one without a soul; one who would sell his friend for sixpence. I despised him from the deepest depths of my heart, and the idea of asking a favor of him, or even of having a word to say to him, was utterly repulsive to me. I could not see him; I could only treat him with cold and dignified contempt.

Perhaps it was not becoming in one situated as I was to put on such airs, or to attempt to save my dignity. I could not help it. I was proud—I wish I had been too proud to do a wrong deed. There appeared to be no resource to which I could turn for immediate relief. Of the fifteen hundred dollars for which I had decided to ask my aunt, I was perfectly sure. If the old lady hesitated, I could tell her that ruin stared me in the face, that I should be compelled to run away, and never show my face about Boston again, if I did not obtain this money. I was satisfied this threat would bring the money, if nothing else did. I could assure her it would be all the same with her. I would pay her the highest rate of interest, and return the principal in a short time. If she wished it, I could give her security on my furniture for the amount.

I was sure of the money from her. Why should I be distressed for the want of it during the few days that must elapse before I could see her? There was no reason, in my estimation. I need not inform the reader that by this time I meditated taking another loan from the bank funds in my keeping. I could borrow eleven hundred more, thus making my total indebtedness to the bank fifteen hundred. A few days, or even a week hence, I should receive the loan from Aunt Rachel, and I could slip the whole amount in the drawer. Then I should be square with the bank. Then no one would have the power to distress me.

Two o’clock came, and the bank closed. With far less compunction than I had experienced on the former occasion, I took eleven hundred dollars from my drawer as I transferred the cash to the safe. I did not go through with the idle formality of depositing a memorandum in my trunk with the money. It was a loan for a few days, which Aunt Rachel would enable me to pay. I will not say that I did not tremble—I did. I did not persuade myself that the act was right, only that I intended no wrong. I called the deed simply an “irregularity.” It was not stealing, embezzlement, or any other ugly thing with a savage name. I had the money in my pocket, and I think this fact was the basis of all the arguments I used in persuading myself that I had not done a very wicked act.

As soon as I had balanced my cash I left the bank and hastened home. I need not say that Lilian was in a tempest of excitement, in spite of my consoling note. The horrible keeper sat in the dining-room, reading the morning paper, and apparently unconscious of the misery he had brought to my house. He was polite and gentlemanly, and I was magnanimous enough to treat him with consideration. I inquired into the particulars of the case, and proposed to settle the claim at once. He had no authority to settle it, and referred me to Messrs. Shiver & Sharp, attorneys, in Court Street, who had procured the writ.

Dinner was nearly ready, and I invited the keeper to dine with me. He was condescending enough to accept, and while we sat at the table I did some large talking, in which I was particularly severe upon Buckleton, and particularly complimentary to Glasswood, the latter of whom was a highly honorable man, who had been grossly wronged by the former. Buckleton had put on the attachment out of spite. Glasswood had always paid his debts fairly and squarely, but would not be imposed upon.

After dinner I rushed down to the office of Messrs. Shiver & Sharp. I was indignant and savage, but I was magnificent. I rolled out the hundred-dollar bills with a perfect looseness. I did not even dispute the costs. I paid all, to the utmost penny demanded. Then I talked about the insult, the stain upon my honor, and dilated upon kindred topics, but I fear I failed to make any strong impression upon the astute Mr. Sharp, who conducted the business. He was polite, but he was cold. He gave me a note to the keeper, which I delivered on my return to Needham Street, and which caused his immediate departure, after he had carefully examined the well-known signature of the legal firm.

“Such things are unpleasant, Lilian, but I suppose they have happened to almost all men at one time or another,” I remarked, as soon as the door had closed upon our unwelcome guest.

“I never was so frightened before in my life,” she replied with a deep sigh, indicative of the relief she felt.

“It was a miserable trick! It was too mean for any decent man to be guilty of.”

“But did you really owe this Buckleton?”

“I did really owe him about eight hundred dollars, but he told me at the time I bought the furniture to pay him whenever it was convenient. It was not convenient to pay him to-day, and he sued me. You know, my dear, that when one has money comfortably invested, drawing large interest, one does not like to disturb it, at least, just before dividends are payable.”

“It’s too bad!” exclaimed Lilian, warmly, her pretty face beaming with sympathy; and she actually believed that the indefinite pronoun I had used in my description represented myself.

“Well, Lilian, what have you done about the party?” I inquired, rather anxious to change the topic, lest she should desire to know more of my financial affairs.

“I have seen Smith, and made all the arrangements for next Friday evening. As it is to be a house-warming, we must not put it off too long. But, dear me, when I came home, and found this awful man here, I was so alarmed that I was on the point of countermanding the order I had given.”

“It’s all right now. But you must hurry up your invitations.”

“There is time enough for them. We will prepare the list this evening. But, Paley, what shall we do for a piano? It will be very awkward to be without a piano on such an occasion. Besides, people will think we are nobody if we don’t have one.”

“That’s very true, Lilian,” I replied, somewhat startled by the proposition. “But I’m afraid we can hardly afford to buy one just yet. Such a one as I want would cost five hundred dollars.”

“A cheaper one will do.”

“But it is bad economy to buy a cheap one. In the course of six months or a year I shall be able to buy a good one.”

“We must have one for this party.”

“I will see what can be done before Friday.”

“And, Paley, you furnished the house beautifully, but there is just one thing for the parlor that you forgot,” continued Lilian, bestowing upon me her most winning smile.

“What is that?”

“An _étagère_. It would set off the parlor more than all the rest of the furniture.”

“But it would cost about a hundred dollars.”

“I would rather do without many other things than not have an _étagère_,” replied Lilian, beginning to look very sad.

“Will you go down town and look at some of them?” said I, looking as amiable as though I had not borrowed fifteen hundred dollars of the bank.

“Dear me! I can’t go this afternoon. I have everything to do. But your taste is so good, Paley, that you can buy one just as well without me.”

I left the house for the purpose of obtaining a piano and an _étagère_. Buckleton had showed me the latter article, and insisted that my house would not be furnished without it. I had positively refused to buy it, for two reasons. First, because I could not afford it; and, second, because no one could pronounce the name of the thing. I confess that it seemed to be a greater sin to place such a piece of furniture where plain Yankees would be tempted to utter its name, than it was to indulge in criminal extravagance. Lilian’s French had been neglected, and she made a bad botch of the word, but I decided to instruct her in the difficult task of pronouncing the word.

I went to a pianoforte house. The book-keeper made his deposits and drew his checks over our counter. I knew him. He showed me a five hundred dollar instrument. It suited me—the piano, not the price. A lower-priced one did not meet my views. I proposed an arrangement with the concern, that I would hire the instrument with the intention of purchasing if it suited me. One of the firm was consulted. Perhaps he knew that persons who once indulged in a luxury would not willingly give it up. He consented to let it for three months, with the privilege of purchasing at the end of that time. It was ordered to my house. The piano was provided for at an expense of twenty-five dollars, if not bought, for three months.

The _étagère_ was a more difficult matter. I could not hire one, and I did not like to pay a hundred dollars for such a useless piece of furniture; but there was no alternative. Lilian had said she must have one. I had nearly three hundred dollars in my pocket, but with this sum I intended to pay Smith, and get rid of my “floating debt,” so that I should owe no one but Aunt Rachel. But Smith’s bill could not be over a hundred dollars, at the most extravagant figure, and I thought I could spare enough for the _étagère_.

I went to a store near Buckleton’s. While I was looking at the _étagère_ my late creditor came into the store. I was just closing the bargain at ninety-five dollars. Buckleton had heard from his lawyer, and was glad to meet me. I was glad to have him see me purchase this piece of furniture. He spoke to me. I did not answer him. He attempted to apologize. I did not look at him. I closed my bargain, and asked for the bill. Buckleton was evidently vexed, and felt as any man does when he has lost a customer. I enjoyed it.

“I will sell you that same article for seventy-five dollars,” he whispered in my ear, just before I closed the bargain.

“I would not take it, if you would give it to me,” I replied.

“I think I made a mistake to-day.”

“The mistake of your lifetime,” I retorted. “Don’t speak to me again. I despise you.”

I stalked out of his reach, paid my bill, and went home. In the evening Lilian and I made out the list of invitations. Of course I could not overrule Lilian’s decisions, and not less than fifty were invited—all our house would hold. It included my rich friend’s family, and I began to tremble for the result.

_CHAPTER XIV._

THE HOUSE-WARMING.

THE next day the piano and the _étagère_ came, and were duly disposed of in our pretty parlor. I could not help agreeing with Lilian that both of them were absolutely necessary to the proper appointment of the room. After she had covered the _étagère_ with a variety of articles, most of which had to be purchased for the purpose, the effect was pleasing.

The piano filled a waiting space; and really there seemed to be nothing more to wish for in this world. Lilian played a few tunes on the new instrument, and my home seemed to be invested with a new charm. Beyond the party, I looked forward to pleasant hours when our friends should gather in this room on Sunday evening to sing sacred music, for which Tom Flynn had a decided partiality.

On Friday morning I went to the bank as usual. When I returned, Smith had taken possession of the house, and was making his arrangements for the grand occasion in the evening. I am bound to say that he made but little fuss for so great an affair. When the evening came, a colored gentleman in white cotton gloves was stationed at the door, and more waiters were disposed of in other parts of the house. People came—every body Lilian had invited, except those she wanted most, viz: my wealthy friend from Beacon Street, with his family. They did not come, and I had not supposed they would.

Mrs. Oliphant came, and certainly this was a triumph. Lilian felt that she had outgeneralled her mother, and conquered a peace. I am afraid it required a desperate struggle on the part of “dear ma” to yield the point, and I could only guess at the consideration which induced her to come down from the “high horse.” But she was stiff and magnificent at first. She did not seem to enjoy the affair, and looked upon me as an ogre who had defeated all her cherished plans.

Miss Bertha came, and so did Tom; and early in the evening I was not a little surprised to hear the piano giving out the solemn notes of Peterboro and Hebron, sung by a large portion of the company. The instrument was pronounced excellent. Bertha sang like a nightingale, and I am not sure that the piano did not cement a regard which ultimately transformed the fair pianist into Mrs. Tom Flynn.

Everything went well, and at eleven o’clock Smith’s supper was uncovered. When I saw the stores with which the table was loaded, I was afraid that the expense would spoil the face of a hundred dollar bill. A little later, when champagne, Madeira and sherry were produced, I was somewhat troubled. Reading the dates on the bottles, I was absolutely alarmed.

“I did not think you intended to have wine, Lilian,” I remarked, rather seriously.

“Not have wine!” exclaimed she, after she had imbibed a glass of champagne. “Why, it would be no party at all without wine. I told Smith to bring the best, and plenty of it.”

He had evidently done so, and I groaned in spirit.

“Tom Flynn don’t drink wine,” I added.

“Let him drink coffee, then. We can suit his taste.”

“He thinks it is wicked to furnish wine.”

“Well, he can have the full benefit of his opinion,” laughed Lilian, whose tongue flew merrily under the stimulus of the wine she had drank.

Mrs. Oliphant took champagne, and warmed up under its influence. She became quite sociable, and even forgiving. I was very glad to see that Miss Bertha, for some reason best known to herself, did not partake of the generous beverage. I am not sure that it was not the prospect of disposing of another of her incumbrances quite as much as the influence of the champagne which melted Mrs. Oliphant. Certainly Miss Bertha’s chances were very flattering. Psalmody seemed to have done its perfect work.

Tom looked very serious when the wine began to flow in rivers of profusion. He did not like it, and he seemed to be out of his element. While most of the party were eating and drinking in the hall, dining and sitting-rooms, I heard the voices of Bertha and Tom mingling with the notes of the piano in a sacred song. They were alone in the parlor, preferring to be away from the noisy revel over the wine cup.

Smith’s stores of champagne and Madeira seemed to be inexhaustible, and when the clock struck one, some of the party, not excluding a few of the ladies, were in an exceedingly happy frame of mind. Then a dance was proposed, and Tom and Bertha were driven from the parlor. A gentleman played and called the changes. My good friend was actually scandalized by the orgies of the revellers. He never danced; he did not believe in it. Bertha appeared to sympathize with him, though this was not in accordance with her antecedents.

Wine was brought up to the parlor, and the dance went on, though some of my guests were slightly unsteady in their movements. I was shocked to see how wild Lilian was, and I mentally decided that no wine should ever be brought into my house again, for the occasion was now nothing but a revel. Some of the older of the party proposed to go home, and Tom joined them. Miss Bertha was attended to her house by him. When everybody was worn out, the party broke up, and all went away. Lilian dropped into her bed exhausted, and in a measure stupefied. As the hostess, she had been compelled to imbibe oftener than she desired, and really I was grieved to see her in this condition. After all was still, I went through the rooms to see that the windows were secure and the lights put out. I was shocked when I saw what damage had been done to the furniture. The carpets were stained with wine, ice cream and cake; the new piano was scratched and discolored, and the cloth greased. Besides the cost of this house-warming, whatever it might be, the damages could not be less than three hundred dollars.

At daylight I went to bed, sick at heart. I doubted whether the hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket would pay the bills, and I was miserable. I was in debt at least twenty-five hundred dollars. Lilian slept heavily after the night’s debauch. But I could not sleep. What if the bank should discover what I had done? What would the world say the next day, when the particulars of my party were known? for I was satisfied they could not be concealed.

At seven o’clock I got up, my head aching fearfully, for I had not wholly spared the champagne. I was positively miserable. I intended to visit Springhaven that day, and secure the loan from Aunt Rachel. It was not safe to let the matter stand any longer. I went to the bank, and with a throbbing brow attended to my duties. Tom looked very serious, but he did not say any thing to me. Probably he thought I was going to ruin rapidly, not because I had appropriated the funds of the bank, but because I furnished wine to my guests.

The news of my party had not yet been circulated, and I was spared any allusion to it. When I went home I found Lilian had not risen from her bed. She was quite sick. Biddy had done what she could to restore the house to its wonted order, but it was still in confusion. I could not go to Springhaven that day. By Monday morning Lilian was able to get up, and was herself again. She was even willing to acknowledge that such parties “do not pay.” I am sure I enjoyed our little Sunday evening gatherings, when Tom and Bertha sang sacred music, much better.

When I went to the bank on Monday, I found Smith’s bill enclosed in an envelope. I was afraid to open it at first, but when I did so my worst fears were more than confirmed. The total was three hundred and fifty dollars, of which two-thirds was for champagne, Madeira and sherry. I was appalled and terrified. It must be promptly paid, or Smith would be dunning me. I was short two hundred dollars.

I read the bill a second time, and I was absolutely in despair. My month’s salary, when paid, would not make up the deficiency; and I had all my house bills to provide for, which would take up the whole sum. I was running blindly before the wind to destruction. My extravagance would ruin me in a short time. But it was no use to cry. I was in the scrape, and I must get out of it.

My hopeful tendencies came to my aid. With careful economy I could soon pay my debts. A bright idea flashed through my excited brain. Would it not be just as easy to induce Aunt Rachel to lend me two thousand dollars as fifteen hundred? It was a brilliant thought, in my estimation. Five hundred dollars could make no difference to her, if the interest was punctually paid. It was a plain case. If the old lady did not promptly meet my views, I could frighten her into acquiescence. All right! The two thousand was sure enough.

I did not think I should be able to go to Springhaven before Saturday, and I did not care to receive a dunning visit from Smith. I might as well “be hung for an old sheep as a lamb.” I could borrow five hundred more from the bank, with no greater risk than I had already incurred—and I did so! My cash was then two thousand short; but before another week had passed, I should get the money from Aunt Rachel, and make good the deficit.

I called upon Smith, and paid the bill. I did not venture to suggest that it was more than I had expected it would be. With so much money in my pocket I felt rich again, and did not bother my head to consider how I had obtained it. I went home in better spirits than for a week. I talked pleasantly and magnificently to Lilian. I had even forgotten my good resolution to practise a rigid economy, for with three hundred dollars in cash in my pocket, it no longer seemed necessary.

Lilian, too, was in excellent spirits. She was very affectionate, and when I sat down on the sofa after supper, she seated herself beside me, and told me how happy she was in her new home, and how glad she was that I had compelled her to move into it. With my head upon her shoulder and her arm around my neck she told me how kind and indulgent, how tender and affectionate I had always been, and then—added that she had not had a new dress since we were married! Mrs. Gordon Grahame had just come out in a splendid black silk; Lilian had never had a black silk, and she wanted one just like it.

“How much will it cost, Lilian?” I asked, rather startled by this ultra-affectionate turn in the conversation.

“You won’t be angry with me, Paley—will you?”

“Of course I won’t be angry with you, Lilian,” I laughed.

“But I have been very economical with clothes.”

“I know you have, my dear; and I haven’t a word of fault to find. I only asked how much the black silk would cost.”

“I can’t tell exactly what it will cost,” she answered, biting her finger nails, as though she feared even to express an opinion.

“Will it cost fifty dollars?” I asked, thinking I was placing it high.

“Fifty dollars! Why, what an ignoramus you are, Paley!” tinkled she, in the most silvery of tones. “You don’t think I can buy a black silk such as a lady would wear for fifty dollars, do you?”

“Well, I don’t know any thing about it,” I replied, abashed at my own ignorance. “Will a hundred do it?”

“Hardly. I can’t tell precisely what it will cost, but I think Mrs. Gordon Grahame’s did not cost less than a hundred and twenty. Don’t be angry with me, Paley. Don’t look so cold!”

“I am neither angry nor cold, dearest,” I answered, pulling out my portmonnaie, and taking therefrom one hundred and fifty dollars, which I handed to her.

It was the half I had left of what I had stolen that day—for, in the light of after days, I may as well call the act by its true name. I could not bear to have her accuse me of being angry, or of being cold, or of grudging her any thing I had, or any thing I could get.

“O, thank you, Paley! How generous you are!” she exclaimed, giving me a rapturous kiss.

She was satisfied, and so was I. We talked and read and played backgammon till ten o’clock.

“Paley, won’t you take a glass of wine?” she asked. “We had some left the other night.”

“I don’t care, Lilian. Did I tell you how much that party cost?”

“No.”

I told her.

“I think that was quite reasonable, considering what we had. The champagne was splendid, and the Madeira had been to India three times—so Smith said.”

She brought a bottle of sherry. It was old and strong. I was rather startled to see her take two glasses within a few minutes of each other, and I wished there was no wine in the house. We went to bed happy, and no thought of the future disturbed me.

The following Saturday was the last day of the month, and I was detained at the bank so late that I could not go to Springhaven. I did not like to leave while others remained, for I did not know but Mr. Bristlebach might take it into his head to overhaul my cash again. The next Monday I learned that Aunt Rachel was very sick, had been attacked with paralysis. I went down to see her that night. She was almost senseless, and I could not talk with her. But she might die in a few days, and then her money would all be mine—I hoped; for it did not yet appear that she had made a will.

Two or three days later, my uncle, Captain Halliard, came into the bank just as we were closing. He looked particularly grim and savage.

“Paley, your aunt is very sick,” said he.

“I know she is, but I hope she will get better,” I replied, perhaps stretching the truth no more than many people do under such circumstances.

“I am attending to her affairs, as usual.”

I bowed, and wondered what was coming.

“I found among her papers a note for a thousand dollars, signed by you,” he added, taking the document from his pocket.

My heart came up into my throat. What was he driving at?

“If you can afford to give parties and fill your guests with champagne, you can afford to pay this note,” he continued, sternly.

My plan was set at naught.

_CHAPTER XV._

MY UNCLE IS SAVAGE.

CAPTAIN Halliard was as grim as an ogre, and evidently intended to make me pay the thousand dollars I owed my Aunt Rachel. Of course he did not care half so much about the money as he did to bring me to a realizing sense of the peril of living too fast. He had worked hard for me, and used his influence in obtaining the situation I then held. He was fond of power and influence, and a failure to consult him in regard to any important movement was a mortal insult.

His views of life and living were different from mine, and I found it necessary to steer clear of him. I do not say that this was not a mistake on my part—it was. If I had followed his prudent counsels, I should have kept out of trouble. I had sinned against my uncle, and was no more worthy to be called a _protégé_ of his. I had married, I had taken a house, I had furnished it, I had given a party, without consulting him, and even without inviting him to any of the later festive occasions. I knew that they were not to his taste, and it was almost a cause of offence to ask him to attend a merry-making of any kind.

He had lent me three hundred dollars for my bridal tour, though he did not know what it was for—if he had he would not have loaned it to me. He made me pay him when it was the least convenient for me to do so. Now he crossed my path again in the same disagreeable manner. Aunt Rachel was very sick. Probably Captain Halliard had deemed it his duty to look over her papers while she lay insensible on her bed. Notes or interest might fall due. Perhaps it was proper enough that he should do so, but it was deused unfortunate for me.

It was equally unfortunate that I had written this note “On demand, with interest.” I had done so because I did not wish to fix a time when Aunt Rachel would feel compelled to ask me for the money. In avoiding a dun in this direction, I had courted one in an other. As sharp people are apt to do, I had overreached myself.

The captain was in bad humor. I had once been his favorite. If I was so now, I was under a shadow. But the case was a very simple one. I had been acting without his advice, and contrary to his well known opinions, which was perhaps very imprudent in me. He was a man of the world, with no fine feelings to interfere with what he regarded as his duty. Of course I could not think of such a thing as paying him. He looked ugly, and my pride was touched by the attitude in which he placed himself.

“Paley, you are going too fast!” said my uncle, sternly.

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“I think so!” he added, in a tone which was intended to indicate that he regarded the question as settled, and that it would be useless for me to attempt to argue the matter with him.

“I don’t know what you mean by too fast,” I replied.

“Champagne suppers!”

“Only one, and probably I shall never have another as long as I live.”

“You had a party at your house, and the champagne flowed as free as water. Two or three hundred dollars for wine in one evening, as I am informed by one who knows!”

“Who was he?”

“No matter who he was. Deny it if you dare.”

“Well, I dare!”

“Show me the bill, then!” said he, fiercely.

I was vexed and indignant at this rude treatment. I forgot that this man had labored to procure my situation; that he was my mother’s brother; that he had always taken a deep interest in me. I could not bear to be regarded as a child, and be taken to task as such by any one. My pride revolted.

“I don’t understand that you are my guardian,” I answered.

“I’m not your guardian! If I were, I would send you a hundred miles from the city, and make you work on a farm. I’m the guardian of this note, though; and it must be paid, or I’ll trustee your salary. When you owe your aunt a thousand dollars, you shall not fool away your money on champagne suppers. Pay the note!”

“The note don’t belong to you,” I added, doggedly, as I beat about me for the means of escaping from the uncomfortable dilemma.

“Don’t belong to me!” growled my uncle. “What do you mean by that?”

“How did the note come into your possession?”

“None of your business how it came into my possession, you puppy! Do you mean to insult me?”

“No, sir; but I think you mean to insult me.”

“Insult you!” sneered he. “Why, you young cub, I am your uncle, and old enough to be your grandfather!”

“You are not old enough to insult me.”

“You have said enough! Will you pay the note?” demanded he, impatiently.

He talked to me as though he were on the quarter-deck, while I belonged in the forecastle. He was not in the habit of permitting his positions to be disputed by those whom he regarded as his dependents or inferiors.

“Not till you have shown me by what authority you hold the note.”

“As the agent of the promisee!” snapped he.

“Did she authorize you to collect it?” I inquired.

He drew his out pocket-book, and trembling with rage and impatience took a document from it, which he thrust into my face. It was a general power of attorney, authorizing him to transact any and all business for my aunt, and ratifying all his proceedings under it. Of course it was dated before Aunt Rachel’s present sickness, but I could not deny his power to act under it.

“Are you satisfied?” said he, in a triumphant tone, and he folded up the paper and restored it to his pocket-book.

“I am,” I answered.

“Pay then!”

“When do you want the money?” I asked, in a tone of easy indifference, for I saw that I could make nothing by attempting to bluff the old fellow.

“Now!”

“Of course I don’t carry a thousand dollars around with me, in my pocket, and I did not expect to be called upon to pay this note to-day. It is not convenient for me to do so.”

“I suppose not,” sneered my uncle. “But you seem to have money enough to pay for champagne suppers, and better furniture than I can afford to have in my house.”

Buckleton was the villain who had been talking to my uncle! “Better furniture” meant the _étagère_. But I must not quarrel with my uncle. He had the power to throw me out of my situation in the bank. As my mother’s brother he would not be likely to do that. I was even willing to believe that he was acting for my good, but certainly he was doing so in a very clumsy and ungainly manner. He evidently wished to get me into a tight place, where he could control me, and thus compel me to forego my habits of extravagance.

“Uncle, the champagne supper was a mistake. I did not know there was to be any wine until I saw it. My wife ordered it without my knowledge. I did not suspect she intended to have it, or I should have spoken in season to prevent it.”

“Very well; let that pass,” said he, considerably mollified. “You have fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of furniture in your house. I will sell you all mine for half that sum.”

“Buckleton cheated me into taking twice as much as I wanted.”

“Humph! Did he?”

“He did.”

“Did you pay cash for all these things?”

“Of course I did; though I did not intend to pay Buckleton for a month or two. But he is a scoundrel, and I was glad to get rid of him, even at the expense of sacrificing some stocks I had.”

“Stocks?” said my uncle.

“I haven’t been so reckless as you think I have,” I replied. “I saved two-thirds of my salary till I was married, and doubled it by speculation every year.”

“What did you borrow a thousand dollars of your aunt for?”

“Because I didn’t wish to sell a thousand dollars’ worth of ‘coppers’ I had, and still have,” I continued, knowing very well what would satisfy my uncle. “Somebody was ‘bearing’ them then; but they are all right now, and I shall make a pretty thing on them by-and-by.”

“That’s all very well; but you are living too fast.”

I was afraid he would ask me what “coppers” I had been dickering in, but he did not, probably reserving an inquiry into the details of my financial operations till we were on better terms.

“I don’t think I am living beyond my means.”

“I do think so. You must give up that house in Needham Street, and live within your means,” he added, sternly.

I actually began to think that he was in league with Mrs. Oliphant.

“I think I can live as cheaply there as anywhere else.”

“You can board for half the money it will cost you.”

“I differ from you there, uncle, I replied, mildly. “I paid—”

“You differ from me!” exclaimed he, angrily. “Do you think I don’t know what I am talking about. I am older than you, and I have seen more of the world. I know what it costs a man to live.”

“I think I know something about it.”

“No, you don’t!” replied he, as arbitrarily as ever. “You can dispose of your lease, and sell your furniture for all it cost you, for houses are scarce.”

“I don’t wish to do so; the house and furniture are worth as much to me as to any one.”

“Paley, you are a fool!” said he, impatiently.

“I came of your stock, then,” I retorted, rashly, for my blood was warm again.

“None of your impudence to me!”

“None of yours to me!”

“I am an older man than you are.”

“That gives you no right to call me a fool.”

“Will you listen to reason?”

“I will, but not to abuse.”

“Do you know Brentbone?”

“No, sir.”

“He would have taken the house where you live if you had not. While he went to consult his wife you took it.”

“I was told that another man would take the house in half an hour if I did not.”

“Brentbone was the man. He was terribly disappointed, for he had set his heart upon having the house. He is an old friend of mine, and still wants it. He is willing to give you a hundred dollars bonus for the house, and pay all the bills for the furniture.”

“I am much obliged to him for his liberal offer, but I must decline it,” I replied, firmly, for I could not think of leaving the English basement house, when I was just beginning to realize the joys of home.

“Are you mad, Paley?”

“Not just now.”

“You can’t afford to live there. Your mother-in-law will board you at half the rate it will cost you to live in this house.”

Upon my word, it looked more and more as if Captain Halliard was in league with “dear ma.”

I hate mysteries, and I may as well explain the facts as I afterwards discovered them. Mr. Brentbone was a man of considerable means, who had just married a second wife. The house in Needham Street pleased him, and, too late, he found that it pleased his wife even more. He was acquainted with Mr. Oliphant and with my uncle. When he ascertained who had taken the house, he went to see Mrs. Oliphant, but this was about the time I moved in, and “dear ma” was too indignant to mention the subject to me, though I remembered that she had suggested the idea of selling out the furniture and giving up the lease.

As we had moved in, Brentbone gave up his purpose, and tried to find a house elsewhere. Failing to suit himself, he again turned his attention to the house in Needham Street, and spoke to my uncle about it. Captain Halliard was probably startled to find I was living in a house which would satisfy a person of Brentbone’s means. The matter was left in my uncle’s hands for negotiation. He assured the would-be purchaser that there would be no difficulty in completing the arrangement. All this Brentbone told me himself in self-defence, a few weeks later, when I made his acquaintance.

As my uncle had in a measure pledged himself to complete the arrangement, he felt a pride in doing so. He honestly and sincerely believed that I was living beyond my means, and here was an opportunity for me to change my style, and make something by it at the same time. He might have succeeded better if he had not begun by attempting to drive me into compliance.

“I have no idea of boarding with my mother-in-law again, and paying her thirty dollars a week for accommodations I can procure for ten,” I replied, to my uncle’s proposition.

“Then board somewhere else. I don’t care where you board; but it will cost you three thousand dollars a year to live in that house.”

“I think not.”

“I know it will,” responded my uncle, sharply.

“Time will tell.”

“Leave a fool to his folly,” snarled the captain out of patience with me.

“I will leave you to yours,” I replied.

“Will you pay the note?”

“When?”

“Now.”

“No, sir; I will not.”

“When will you pay it?”

“To-morrow,” I replied, willing to gain even a day’s’ delay.

“Very well; if it isn’t paid to-morrow, I’ll trustee your salary, and keep doing it till the note is paid!” exclaimed he, darting out the ante-room where we had gone to talk over the matter.

I felt very much like sinking through the floor. Not only was I cut off from obtaining the two thousand dollars from Aunt Rachel, but I was called upon to pay the thousand I already owed her. The means of making my account good with the bank were gone, for Aunt Rachel was too sick even to speak to me. What could I do?

I went into the banking-room, and balanced my cash-two thousand short! No one knew it but myself. Mr. Bristlebach was a careful man. He made frequent forays into all the departments of the institution, and the fact could not long be concealed from him. It was about time for the directors to make an examination of the funds. I should be ruined in a few days, or weeks, at most. I could only study how to defer rather than avoid the catastrophe. I put my cash into the safe, and left the building. My face was like a sheet as I saw it in the glass before I left the bank. My heart was in my throat. I could not see any thing or any body as I walked along State Street.

“Glasswood, how are you?”

I turned to the speaker. It was Cormorin, paying-teller of the Forty-third. I was well acquainted with him, and he lived near my house. He had been present at our party, and had drank more champagne than any other five persons present.

“How are you, Cormorin?” I replied.

“In a hurry, Glasswood?”

“No, not specially.”

“Come into Young’s with me and drink a bottle of wine.”

That was just what I wanted in my misery—something to enliven my spirits. I went, and found that Cormorin had a mission with me.

_CHAPTER XVI._

CORMORIN AND I.

CORMORIN was not a man for whom I had ever entertained any great respect, and I wondered how he contrived to retain his position in the bank, for he was rather dissolute and dissipated in his habits. We went to a private room in the hotel, and he sent for champagne. He talked about indifferent matters for a time, but I was soon satisfied that he had something more than these to bring forward. I was not mistaken.

We finished the first bottle of champagne before the plan of my companion began to be developed. He ordered another; but I ought to add, in justice to myself, that he drank three glasses to my one. His frequent potations, however, seemed to have but little effect upon him, for he was accustomed to drink stronger fluids than champagne.

“Glasswood, what salary do you get now?” asked Cormorin, after we had begun upon the second bottle.

“Two thousand,” I replied.

“The same as mine. But can you live upon it?”

“I think I can, though I have not had much experience since I was married.”

“I can’t live on mine.”

“You drink expensive wines.”

“’Pon my soul, I don’t!” he protested. “I haven’t tasted champagne, except at your house-warming, for a year, until this afternoon. I can’t afford to drink champagne more than once a year; and I have to stimulate on cheap whiskey. Well, even on this camphene, I can’t make the ends meet. I’m as economical as a London Jew. I don’t spend a cent on luxuries. I don’t go to the opera above a dozen times a year. I don’t own a horse. I don’t average hiring one more than once a week. I have been in the same fix these two years.”

“What do you mean—that you run in debt?” I inquired, willing to help him reach the point at which he was evidently aiming.

“Just that; and nothing less, nothing more. I’ve tried every way in the world to eke out my income; and, just now, I’m in a fair way to put about ten thousand dollars into my pocket.”

“I congratulate you.”

“If I had sold my stock to-day, I should have put five thousand into my exchequer.”

“Why didn’t you do it, then?”

“Because I would rather have ten thousand dollars than five,” he replied, gulping down a full glass of the generous fluid before us.

“When a man can make a good thing by selling, I believe in realizing.”

“Isn’t it better to wait when a man is sure of making twice as much a week hence?”

“Are you sure?”

“I wish I was as sure of living a week as I am of making this money, if I can hold on for a week.”

“If I were reasonably certain, I should hold on; by all means.”

“O, I’m dead sure! I wouldn’t give the president of our bank sixpence to insure me.”

“Of course you will hold on, then,” I added.

“That’s the trouble,” said he, slapping his fist upon the table, and then swallowing another potion.

“What’s the trouble?” I inquired, kindly asking the questions he suggested.

“Why, the holding on.”

“But if you are sure of the result, you cannot be in doubt in regard to your course.”

“Well, I’m in no doubt about that.”

“What are you in doubt about?”

He looked at me steadily, and appeared to be uncertain whether to say anything more or not. He was struggling to reach some point, though I could not imagine what it was. I began to suspect that he wanted to borrow some money of me. If he did, he had come to the wrong man. He labored heavily, like a ship in a storm, and I was beginning to be rather impatient at the slowness with which he proceeded.

“Glasswood, give me your hand,” said he, after a long pause, as he extended his own to me across the table.

I took his hand, for I could not refuse to do as much as that for a man who was paying for the champagne.

“We are friends—are we not?” he continued.

“Certainly we are.”

“Do you mean so?”

“Of course I do. I don’t say one thing and mean another. If you want to say any thing, Cormorin, say it.”

“As a friend, I will,” said he, with compressed lips, as though he had made up his mind to do a desperate deed. “This is between us, you know?”

“Certainly,” I replied.

The champagne I had drank had somewhat muddled my brain; and I was in that reckless frame of mind which is so often induced by stimulating draughts. If I had drank nothing, I should have been cautious how I permitted myself to be dragged into the counsels of such a man as Cormorin. As it was, I was becoming rapidly prepared for any desperate step. I was very curious to know what my companion was driving at.

“I’m in a tight place, then!” said he, filling the glass again.

“A tight place! Why, I thought you were on the high road to wealth!” I replied, rather to help him forward in his statement, than because I experienced any astonishment at his apparent contradictions.

“Exactly so! Both propositions are equally true, and equally susceptible of demonstration. You are dull, Glasswood. You don’t drink enough to sharpen your wits. Don’t you see that while I am waiting for a further rise in my stocks I am kept out of my capital?”

“Precisely so; that is not a difficult problem to comprehend,” I replied.

“Well, you don’t seem to get along as fast as I do.”

“I understand you now. Go on.”

“That’s all.”

“Let’s go home, then,” I added, rising from the table.

“Not yet. Hold on! Don’t you understand my position?”

“Very clearly; you are short. So am I. If I could help you, I would do so with the greatest pleasure.”

“You can help me. We are both honest fellows, and don’t mean to wrong or injure any one.”

“That’s myself for one,” I replied, warmly.

He seemed to be using the very arguments which. I had applied to my own case while borrowing the funds of the bank that employed me. What did he mean by it? Could it be possible that he even suspected me of taking the money of the bank? Had he by any means obtained a hint of my financial operations? He was in another establishment. He could not suspect what none in our bank suspected. I was excited with champagne, and I dismissed the fear as preposterous.

“That’s myself for another!” exclaimed he, with more emphasis than the subject matter seemed to require. “My coppers have doubled on my hands.”

“What are your coppers?” I inquired.

“The Ballyhack,” he answered promptly. “Do you think I haven’t any?”

He pulled from his breast-pocket a bundle of papers, and exhibited certificates of shares for a very large amount of stock. Just at this time there was a fever of speculation in these copper stocks. While some were substantial companies, many were mere fancies, run up to high figures by unscrupulous and dishonest men. In the particular one he mentioned, the upward progress of the stock had been tremendous. Men had made five or ten thousand dollars in them as easily as they could turn their hands. It was patent to me that the Ballyhack had doubled in a week, and was gaining rapidly every day.

Cormorin had “gone in for a big thing,” for he exhibited two hundred shares, for which he had paid twenty-five, and which was now quoted at fifty. Shrewd men were buying it at this rate, confident that the stock would touch a hundred in a week or two. Cormorin’s statements, therefore, were reasonable, and I began to be deeply interested in the operation. If this reckless and semi-dissipated fellow could make five or ten thousand dollars in a fortnight, why might not I do the same. It flashed upon my mind that I could redeem myself from my own financial difficulties by this exciting process—if I only had the capital to make the investment. My companion had gone deeply into the business, and could advise me in regard to some safe and profitable speculation in coppers. It would be even less troublesome than borrowing money of Aunt Rachel.

“You see it now,” continued Cormorin, folding up his papers, and restoring them to his pocket.

“I do; that’s a good operation.”

“That’s so! What’s the use for a man to be contented with a paltry salary of two thousand a year, when he can make five times that sum in a week or two? That’s the question,” said he, vehemently.

“It is all very well for a fellow that has the capital to go into these operations,” I added.

“The capital! Yes; that’s so! There’s the rub. But you see I didn’t have any capital.”

He paused to fill the glasses again, though mine was not empty. He was laboring with the next step in his revelation, and, reckless as he was, he appeared to halt on the verge of further developments. I could not see how he purchased his stock, if he had no capital; and I was rather anxious to have the problem solved.