Kitabı oku: «The Continental Monthly , Vol. 2 No. 5, November 1862», sayfa 15

CHAPTER XI

At the appointed hour, the young gentleman whom Mr. Joslin had addressed as 'Hill' waited on Hiram at the Franklin House. He sent up his card, and Hiram descended to meet him. He could scarcely recognize the young man before him, dressed in a ridiculous extreme of fashion, and covered with rings, pins, and gold chains, as the clerk hard at work with coat off, superintending the stowing away of a lot of merchandise. But Hiram was in no way deceived or taken in by the imposing manner in which Mr. Hill had got himself up. He saw quickly the difference between the real and the flash fashionable. But he did not betray this by word or sign, and continued to maintain the character he had assumed of an unsophisticated, verdant country youth.

Mr. Hill at the outset proposed they should take a drink, to which Hiram readily assented. They proceeded to the bar, when the young man asked his companion what he would have.

'A glass of lemonade,' replied Hiram.

'Lemonade!' exclaimed the other. 'You don't call that drinking with a fellow, do you?'

'I can't take anything stronger,' answered Hiram. 'I belong to the temperance society.'

'Temperance society!' retorted Hill, a good deal chapfallen that he was to lose his chief weapon of attack. 'I thought the pledge didn't hold when you were away from home?'

'Oh, yes it does; our minister says it holds everywhere. Still, I wouldn't mind taking some soda and sarsaparilla, though Dr. Stevens says there's alcohol in the sarsaparilla.'

Hiram was impracticable. Hill could not induce him even to take a little wine. He was so much chagrined that he poured out for himself a double portion of brandy, and, before he had finished it, regained his good humor.

'Well, what do you say to another glass? I think I can stand the brandy, if you can the lemonade.'

Hiram had no objections.

Hill lighted a segar. Hiram did not smoke.

'I hope you are not going to refuse my next invitation,' said Hill. 'I have got tickets for the theatre: what do you say?'

Hiram had often discussed the theatre question, both at the lyceum and on other occasions. It was to be condemned—no doubt about it. But the Rev. Mr. Goddard had once remarked in his hearing that he thought if a good opportunity was presented for a young man to visit the theatre, he had perhaps better do so, than feel an irritating curiosity all his life about it.

Seeing Hiram hesitate, Hill proceeded to urge him. 'You had better go,' he said. 'Lots to be seen. You don't know what you are losing, I tell you.'

Hiram was not influenced by his companion's importunity, but he decided to go, nevertheless. The elder Kean was then in New York, and the old Park Theatre in all its glory. That evening Kean was to play Shylock in the 'Merchant of Venice.' Hill, greatly pleased that at last he had made some headway, took another glass of brandy and water, and the young men proceeded to the theatre. The house was crowded from galleries to pit. The orchestra was playing when they entered.

Hiram was blinded by the brilliancy of the gaslights. His heart beat fast in spite of his effort to be composed.

The play began with some second-rate actors, who went through the first scene with the usual affected stage strut and tone. Hiram thought he never witnessed anything more unnatural and ridiculous. Even in the second, where Portia and Nerissa hold a dialogue, he was rather disgusted than otherwise. The machinery had scarcely been adjusted for the third scene, when a storm of applause burst from all parts of the house; clapping of hands, stamping of feet, bravos, and various noises of welcome commingled, and Hiram beheld an old man enter, somewhat bent, dressed in a Hebrew cap and tunic, having a short cane, which would serve either for support or as a means of defence. As he advanced, he cast sidelong, suspicious, and sinister glances from beneath bushy, beetling eyebrows.

At first Hiram was inclined to believe it was a real personage, so natural was his entrance—so destitute of all trick, or of anything got up.

'That's Kean,' whispered Hill.

Hiram held his breath as the words of the Jew broke distinctly on the house:

'Three thousand ducats—well.'

He entered at once with the deepest interest into the play. With head leaning forward, eyes open wide and fixed on the speaker, he drank in every word. From the first he sympathized with the main character. When Shylock went on to say: 'Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tipolis, another to the Indies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England; and other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men. There be land rats and water rats, land thieves and water thieves—I mean pirates; and there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is notwithstanding sufficient:'—Hiram unconsciously shook his head, as if he doubted it.

His whole soul was now centred in the performance. When it came to the trial, in the fourth act, he turned and twisted his body, as if he could with difficulty abstain from advising Shylock to accept the offer of Bassanio: 'For the three thousand ducats here is six.'

It does not appear that Hiram felt any sympathy for the merchant who was to lose the pound of flesh; but for Shylock, when turned out of court stripped of all he had, it was intense. When at last he exclaims:

 
'Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:
You take my house when you do take the prop
That doth sustain my house; you take my life
When you do take the means whereby I live:'
 

Hiram leaned back, and exclaimed audibly: 'It's too bad, I declare!'

All this time, Hill sat as quietly as he could. He laughed whenever Launcelot Gobbo appeared; and tried hard to get Hiram to go out and take more lemonade between the acts. Hiram would not move. He offered to introduce him to lots of pretty girls whom he pointed out in the distance; but it was useless. Hill began to think he would not make much of Hiram, after all. The evening was past, and he had as yet accomplished just nothing.

The play was over. The farce had been performed. It did not interest Hiram. He thought everything over-strained and unnatural. It was now late, Hiram had declined various seductive invitations of Hill, when the latter finally insisted they should have some oysters. Hiram assented, and the two descended into Windust's.

'Well, old fellow, what are you doing here?' was Hill's exclamation to a young man with notebook and pencil, seated at one of the small tables, on which already smoked an oyster stew and some brandy toddy.

'Hallo, Hill, is that you? Sit down. What will you have?' was the reply.

Hiram regarded the speaker curiously. He was twenty-two or three years old—serious looking, with black hair, dark eyes, and pale, bony features. He had the easy, indifferent air of one careless of opinion, or independent of it.

'My friend, Mr. Meeker, from Connecticut.'

'Mr. Meeker, Mr. Innis.'

After these salutations, the parties sat down, and orders were given.

'Excuse me,' said Innis; 'I am not quite through my work.'

'Go ahead,' replied Hill; whereat the other proceeded with his pencil and notebook, scratching away in a most rapid manner.

Seeing Hiram look as if he did not exactly comprehend the employment, Hill remarked, 'Innis is item man and reporter for the Clarion, and you will see his notice of Kean's performance, which he is just finishing, in to-morrow morning's paper.'

This struck Hiram as rapid work, considerably increasing his respect for the stranger, and led him to regard Innis still more critically. His appearance had impressed him favorably from the first.

Suddenly he exclaimed, 'Wern't you at Newton Academy?'

'Yes; and so were you. I remember now. You were a little fellow. You took the first prize in bookkeeping.'

'And you learned shorthand of Chellis.'

'Which counts now, at any rate. I should starve without it.'

During this colloquy Hill sat in utter amazement.

'You a Newton boy?' he exclaimed at last.

'Yes,' said Hiram.

'And you know him, and no mistake?' to Innis.

Innis nodded.

'Then old Joslin may go to the devil. I—'

'He'll go soon enough, and without your permission; and if you are not careful, you'll go with him,' interrupted Innis, rising. 'I am all right now,' he continued. 'I've but to step a block and a half and back. I will be with you again in three minutes;' and he darted off to hand in his evening's report.

Hill sat looking at Hiram, who, with all his impenetrability wore a surprised and puzzled expression.

'You don't remember me,' he said.

'No.'

'Why, I am Deacon Hill's son, of Newton. I quit the academy, I guess, just about the time you came. Innis and I were there together. Well, I declare, your innocent look threw me off the track; but I have seen you many a time in Hampton. You used to be with Jessup, didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'You've been coming possum over Joslin; isn't it so?'

'I don't understand you.'

'Oh, never mind; he's a cursed knave, anyway. I shall quit him first of January—keeps me on promises and the lowest kind of a salary, and no end of the dirty work—'

'Such as sham sales of my employer's paper sold A.H. Hill,' interrupted Hiram, dryly.

'Hallo! where did you get hold of that?' said Hill, laughing.

Hiram made no reply; and Innis entering at this moment, the subject was changed.

Hill, who had already imbibed more than was good for him, ordered a brandy toddy; and Hiram, true to his temperance principles, partook of a cup of hot coffee. Before the toddy was half finished, Hill, who was already illustrating the proverb that 'children, fools, and drunken men speak truth,' commenced again about his employer, Joslin.

'Really, Mr. Hill, I don't think you ought to refer to your confidential relations with your principal,' said Hiram, gravely. He knew, cunning fellow, it would only be adding fuel to the fire.

'You be–,' said Hill. 'I tell you what it is, Innis: here's a sell. I'm fairly come over. He is on Joslin's track—I know it, and I'll own up.' He thereupon proceeded to give a general account of Joslin, and how he did business, and what a cowardly, lying knave he was.

Innis laughed. Hiram was quiet, but he did not miss a word. The little supper was finished, and the trio rose to depart.

'I had no idea it was so late,' said Innis.

'Have you far to go?' said Hiram.

'Yes, to Chelsea; and the omnibuses have stopped.'

'Come and stay with me: I have a very nice room.'

Innis saw Hiram was in earnest, and after a little hesitation he assented. Hill bid them good night, and hiccoughed off toward his own quarters; and Hiram with Innis went to the Franklin House.

When these young men reached their room, they did not go to bed. They sat up for an hour or two. What this conference led to we shall see by-and-by.

CHAPTER XII

Hiram rose early, notwithstanding the late hours of the previous night. Innis breakfasted with him and then took his departure. On going to the post office, Hiram found a letter from Mr. Burns, enclosing a full power of attorney, as he had requested. He then went to H. Bennett & Co., where he took up at least an hour of that gentleman's time, apparently quite to that gentleman's satisfaction. Thence Hiram proceeded to the office of a well-known counsellor at law, who had been recommended to him by Mr. Bennett.

The day was spent in preparing certain ominous-looking documents. I am told that on the occasion Hiram exhibited a breadth and clearness of comprehension which astonished the counsellor, who could not help suggesting to the young man that he would make an excellent lawyer, which compliment Hiram received with something very like a sneer. That evening Hiram went to bed early. He slept well. His plans were perfected—his troops in order of battle, only waiting for the signal to be given.

He awoke about sunrise, and rang his bell. A sleepy servant at length replied to it.

'Bring me a Clarion,' said Hiram.

'The papers won't be along, sir, for half an hour.'

'Well, let me have one the moment they come. Here's a quarter; bring a Clarion quick, and I shall ask no change.'

I record this instance of an impatient spirit in Hiram, as probably the last he ever exhibited through his whole life. What could cause it?

Presently the waiter came back. The Clarion was in his hand. Hiram took it eagerly, turned swiftly to the 'City Items,' and nodded with intense satisfaction as his eye rested on one paragraph.

At ten o'clock precisely, Hiram presented himself at the counting room of Elihu Joslin. Again he was forced to wait some time, and again he waited most patiently.

[I ought to state that Hill, in order to keep up his credit with his employer, his bravado being sensibly cooled the following morning, had made up all sorts of stories about Mr. Burns's affairs, which, as he reported, had been pumped from Hiram, whom he professed to have left in a most dilapidated state at the hotel.]

At length Mr. Joslin would see Hiram. The latter entered and sat down.

'Well, my young friend,' said the merchant, 'what do you think of New York? Equal to Burnsville, eh? Did Hill do the polite thing by you?'

'Mr. Joslin,' said Hiram, seriously, and quite in his natural manner, while he fixed his quiet but strangely searching eyes on him, 'I have an important communication to make to you?'

'Well?'

'I am not what I appear to be!'

'No? What the devil are you then?'

'I am the CONFIDENTIAL CLERK of Joel Burns, sent here by him to ferret out and punish your rascalities. Stay,' continued Hiram—perceiving Joslin was about to break forth in some violent demonstrations. 'Sit down, sir, and hear me through quietly. It is your best course. It is your ONLY course. Now listen. You have undertaken to cheat my employer. You have rendered false accounts of sales, using your own clerks for sham purchasers, and employing stool-pigeon auctioneers. You have attempted to swindle him generally. I have the whole story here. You are in my power.'

'By–! that's more than I'll stand,' shouted Joslin, 'from any d–d Connecticut Yankee.'

'Stop,' said Hiram, authoritatively. 'A word more, and you are ruined past all redemption. Read that,' and he handed him the Clarion, placing his finger on a particular paragraph. Joslin took the paper. His hand trembled, but he managed to read as follows:

'Some extraordinary disclosures have reached us, involving a wholesale paper house in Nassau street in large swindling transactions. We forbear to give the name of the party implicated, but understand that the police to-morrow will be in possession of the facts.'

'Here,' said Hiram, showing a bundle of papers, 'are the documents. Outside there on the curbstone stands an officer. I mean to make short work of it. Will you behave rationally or not?'

Joslin sat down.

'What do you want?' he said at length.

'I want nothing but what is HONEST, sir—that I mean to have,' said Hiram, in a mild, but very firm tone. 'Here is the account as it ought to be rendered. Look it over, and put your name to it.'

'Really, this will take time—a good deal of time,' said Joslin, recovering from his stupor. 'I must consult my bookkeeper.'

'You will consult nobody, and you will settle this account before I leave the room.'

Joslin took the document. He trembled from head to foot. He saw himself completely circumvented.

Hiram proceeded to show him just how the account ought to stand. Very coolly and very accurately he went through the whole.

'I suppose you are right,' said Joslin, moodily, and he affixed his signature to the paper, and began to think he was getting off easy. 'Now, do you want anything more of me?'

'Yes,' said Hiram, 'considerably more. You own one half of the paper mill with Mr. Burns. You must sell out to him. Here is an agreement to sell, drawn ready for your signature.'

'D–d if I will do it for all Burnsville! You've settled with me, and you can't stir a peg farther. Outwitted yourself this time!' said Joslin, triumphantly.

'Not quite so fast. You have settled with Mr. Burns by signing that paper, which gives the lie to your other accounts, and is so much evidence for me before a police court; but Mr. Burns has not settled with you, and won't settle with you till you bind yourself, by signing this document, to sell out to him, on reasonable terms.'

Joslin was again struck dumb.

'You will receive,' continued Hiram, 'just what you paid for it, less my expenses, and charges for my time and trouble in coming to New York, counsel fees, and so forth; and you may think yourself fortunate in falling into conscientious hands!'

Not to pursue the interview farther, Hiram accomplished just exactly what he undertook to do before he entered Joslin's store that morning. The accounts were made right, and Hiram turned to leave the store with the agreement to sell in his pocket. He stopped before going out.

'Mark you,' he said; 'when Joel Burns gets a clean deed of your half the paper mill, according to this agreement, I will tear up these little documents'—exhibiting some law papers. 'Don't forget. You have undertaken to settle with me. I shan't have settled with you till I get the deed. Good morning.'

It was only twelve o'clock when all this was concluded. Hiram marched out of the store triumphant. His impulse on touching the pavement was to jump up and down, run, kick up his heels, and shout all sorts of huzzas. He did none of these, but walked up to the Park very quietly, and then into Broadway. But his heart beat exultantly. A glow of absolute satisfaction suffused his mental, moral, and physical system. It was just the happiest moment of his life. The day was fine—the air clear and bracing. Broadway was filled to overflowing. How he enjoyed the promenade! It was when turning to retrace his steps, after reaching the limits of fashionable resort, that his feelings became so buoyant that it seemed as if he must find some outlet for them. The exquisite beauty of the ladies, the richness of their dresses, and the air and style with which they glided along, put new excitement into his soul.

'One of these days I shall make their acquaintance. Oh! what a place this is,' he muttered.

Unconsciously he stopped quite still, almost in an ecstacy.

At that moment his attention was attracted by a hearse, which, having accomplished its task, was proceeding at a rapid rate up Broadway. Careening this way and that, it jolted swiftly over the pavement. The driver, either hardened by habit, or, it may be, a little tipsy, exhibited a rollicking, reckless air, as he urged his horse along. As he came opposite Hiram, their eyes met. Influenced by I know not what, perhaps for a joke, perhaps to give the young fellow who was so verdantly staring at him a start, he half checked the animal, as if about to pull up, and gesturing to Hiram in the style of an omnibus driver, motioned him to get inside!

Never before, never afterward, did Hiram receive such a shock. Dismay was so evident on his face, that the man gave vent to a coarse laugh at the success of his experiment, applied the lash to his brute, and dashed furiously on.

What sent that hearse along just then and there? It gave you a ghostly reminder, Hiram. It made you recollect that you were not to lose sight of the other side.

That morning Hiram forgot, yes, forgot to say his prayers. So entirely was he carried away by the Joslin business, that for once he neglected this invariable duty. Now this was not singular under the circumstances. To a genuine spirit the omission would have been followed by no morbid recollections. As Hiram, after the affair of the hearse, took his way to the hotel, the fact that he had not sought God's blessing on his morning's work suddenly presented itself. He was persuaded the shock he received was providential. Arrived at the Franklin, he mounted to his room, and read three or four times the customary amount in the Bible, and prayed longer and more energetically than he ever did before in his life. He was now much more calm, but still a good deal depressed. It was not till after he had partaken of an excellent dinner that he felt entire equanimity.

That evening Hiram was to spend at Mr. Bennett's. True to his rule, which he applied with severity, not to let pleasure interfere with business, he had declined all his cousin's invitations. Now he was at liberty to go and enjoy himself. Mr. Bennett lived in a very handsome house in a fashionable street. His daughters were all older than Hiram, but still they were very pretty, and by no means passée. Mrs. Bennett was quite a grand lady. Mr. B. received Hiram very cordially, and asked immediately how he had got along. Hiram replied briefly. Mr. B. was delighted. Mrs. B. received Hiram very graciously, but with something of a patronizing manner, very different from what she exhibited when spending several weeks at Hampton. The two girls were more cordial. Hiram's country-bred politeness, which omitted not the least point required by books of etiquette, amused them much as the vigorous and very scientific dancing of a country belle amuses the city-bred girl who walks languidly through the measure. Notwithstanding, Hiram managed to make himself agreeable. It was not till two or three young gentlemen of the city came in that they showed slight signs of weariness, and Hiram was transferred to mamma. Our hero was not slow to perceive the disadvantage under which he labored. He was not one whit discouraged. He watched his rivals closely. He smiled occasionally in disdain while listening to some of the conversation. 'They are almost fools,' he said to himself. 'The tailor has done the whole.' Never mind, I can afford to wait.

The next morning Hiram took the boat for New Haven, and on the following morning reached Burnsville. He had written but a line to Mr. Burns, to acknowledge the receipt of the power of attorney, and had given his employer no inkling of what he was attempting to do.

As the stage, a little after sunrise, drove into that beautiful village, Hiram felt glad to get back to its quiet, charming repose. He thought of the glare and hustle and excitement of New York with no satisfaction, contrasted with the placid beauty of the scene he now witnessed. The idea of being welcomed by Louisa and Charlotte Hawkins filled his mind with pleasure, and Sarah Burns did not at that moment suffer in comparison with the Miss Bennetts.

'It is a happy spot!' said Hiram. 'Can I do better than stay in it?'

It was an instinct of his better nature which spoke. He had given way to it for a moment, but only for a moment. The next, the old sense returned and was triumphant.

The stage whirled on, and soon Hiram was driven up to the house of Mrs. Hawkins. How rejoiced they all were to see him! The widow Hawkins had missed him so much! As for Louisa and Charlotte, they were ready to devour him.

Hiram hurried through his breakfast, hastily adjusted his toilette, and walked over to Mr. Burns's house. He rang the bell. The door was opened by Mr. Burns himself. He greeted Hiram most cordially.

'I did not expect you back so soon. Come in; we are just sitting down to breakfast.'

'I have already breakfasted,' said Hiram, 'and am going to the office. Please look these papers over,' he continued. 'By them you will see precisely what I have been able to do.'

Mr. Burns took the papers and turned to go in. He thought Hiram had accomplished little, and he did not wish to mortify him by asking what.

Just then Sarah Burns came tripping down stairs, and, passing her father, extended her hand to Hiram, and said:

'Welcome back! What have you done?'

'Do not forget your promise,' replied Hiram, in a low, distinct tone. 'I have WON!'