CHAPTER I.
THE MERCHANT-PRINCE.
In the private office of a first-class store sat two individuals, each thoroughly absorbed in his present employment, but with very different feelings for the work. One—it was the head of the establishment, the great Mr. Granite, the millionaire merchant—was simply amusing himself, as was his usual custom at least once a day, figuring up, by rough calculation, the probable amount of his worldly possessions, they having arrived at that point when the fructifying power of wealth made hourly addition to the grand total; while the other, his old and confidential clerk, Sterling, bent assiduously over a great ledger, mechanically adding up its long columns, which constant use had enabled him to do without the possibility of mistake. With a profound sigh of relief, he laid down his pen, and rubbing his cramped fingers, quietly remarked:
"Accounts made up, sir."
"Ah, very good, Sterling," replied the stately principal, with a smile, for his arithmetical amusement was very satisfactory, "how do we stand?"
"Balance in our favor, two hundred and fifty-seven thousand eight hundred and forty-seven dollars, and twenty-three cents," slowly responded the old clerk, reading from his abstract.
"You're certain that is correct, Mr. Sterling?" inquired the merchant-prince, in a clear, loud voice, which indicated that the old, time-worn machine was wearing out. He was so deaf that it was only by using his hand as a conductor of the sound, that he could hear sufficiently to carry on a conversation.
"Correct to a cypher, sir," he replied. "I have been up and down the columns a dozen times."
"Good."
"Did you speak, sir?"
"No."
"Ah! my poor old ears," the old clerk whispered, half aside. "Five and forty years in this quiet office has put them to sleep. They'll never wake up again, never, never."
"You have been a careful and useful assistant and friend, Sterling," said the merchant, in a kindly tone, touching him on the shoulder with unaccustomed familiarity, "and I thank you for the great good your services have done the house."
"Bless you, sir, bless you—you are too good. I don't deserve it," replied Sterling, unable to restrain the tears which this unusual display of good feeling, had forced up from the poor old man's heart.
"I shall have no further need of you to-day, Sterling, if you have any business of your own to transact."
"I have, I have, my good, kind friend, and thank you for granting me the opportunity," said Sterling, descending with difficulty from his place of torture.—Why will they not abolish those inflexible horrors, those relics of barbarism, those inquisitorial chattels—office-stools? "I'll go now, and mingle my happiness with the sweet breath of Heaven—and yet, if I dared to say what I want—I"——
"Well, speak out, old friend." The merchant went on, with an encouraging look: "If your salary be insufficient"——
"Oh! no, no!" interposed the other, suddenly, "I am profusely paid—too much, indeed—but"—and he cast down his eyes hesitatingly.
"This reserve with me is foolish, Sterling. What have you to say?"
"Nothing much, sir; indeed, I hardly know how to bring it out, knowing, as I well do, your strange antipathy"—— Granite turned abruptly away. He now knew what was coming, and it was with a dark frown upon his brow he paced the office, as Sterling continued:
"I saw him to-day."
"Travers?"
"Yes," replied the other, "Travers. But don't speak his name as though it stung you. I was his father's clerk before I was yours."
"You know what I have already done for him," moodily rejoined the merchant.
"Yes, yes—I know it was kind, very kind of you—you helped him once; but he was unsuccessful. He is young—pray, pray, spare him some assistance. You won't miss it—indeed you won't," pleaded the clerk.
"Sterling, you are a fool," Granite replied, sternly. "Every dollar lent or lost is a backward step that must be crawled up to again by inches. But I am inclined to liberality to-day. What amount do you think will satisfy this spendthrift?"
"Well, since your kindness emboldens me to speak—it's no use patching up a worn coat, so even let him have a new one—give him another chance—a few hundred dollars, more or less, can't injure you, and may be his salvation. About five thousand dollars will suffice."
"Five thousand dollars! are you mad, Sterling?" cried the merchant, starting to his feet in a paroxysm of anger.
"Your son will have his half a million to begin with," quietly suggested Sterling.
"He will, he will!" cried the other, with a strange, proud light in his eye, for upon that son all his earthly hopes, and haply those beyond the earth, were centered. "Wealth is power, and he will have sufficient; he can lift his head amongst the best and proudest; he can wag his tongue amongst the highest in the land—eh, my old friend?"
"That can he, indeed, sir, and be ashamed of neither head nor tongue, for he's a noble youth," replied the clerk.
"Here, take this check, Sterling. I'll do as you wish this time; but mind it is the last. I have no right to injure, even in the remotest degree, my son's interests, of which I am simply the guardian. You can give it to—to—him, and with this positive assurance."
"Bless you—this is like you—this is noble, princely," murmured the old clerk, through his tears, which now were flowing unrestrainedly; "when I tell"——
"Hold! repeat his name again, and I recall the loan. I repent already of having been entrapped into this act of folly."
"You wrong your own liberal nature," said Sterling, mildly. "You are goodness itself, and fear not but you will receive your reward four-fold for all you have done for"——
"Away, you prating fool," cried Granite, in a tone that hurried the old clerk out of the office, full of gratitude for the service done, and of unaffected joy, that Providence had selected him to be the bearer of such happy intelligence to the son of his old employer.
Meantime, the merchant-prince flung himself into his comfortable easy-chair, a spasm of agony passing across his harsh features. "Oh! Travers, Travers!" he inly ejaculated, "must that black thought ever thrust itself like a grim shadow across the golden sun-ray of my prosperity?"