XXXII
Ships had gone down a-plenty, and merchants had lost their goods, and drowned sailormen were numbered in hundreds. New tidings came in with each up-river sloop, and with each coach that crossed Jersey. But there was no news that traveled so fast as that of the sinking of the Rufus Stevens; for with her had gone down the house of that name, and there had perished the fine mind of its master.
The exchanges roared with the intelligence; merchants wagged their heads and said they were sorry; agents said there had never been such a house and never would again; brokers regretfully put the concern out of their reckoning; bankers looked closely to their accounts and their securities.
"A new ship," said a portly trader, from his favorite vantage-place behind a measure of ale. "A new ship, and gone down. It's a pity; it's a great pity. I looked to see that vessel do rare things in the trade."
"And why?" asked a blunt-nosed man, who was drinking Cuban rum with hot water and brown sugar. "Because she was built like a whale's belly, and had masts that raked the sky? For me," and he stirred his drink with much positiveness, "I like a ship with reasonable stowage, and a spread of sail that's within the activities of human men. Give more than that and you court peril; your great vessels will always be floating coffins; they will be beyond management in any sort of stiff weather."
"Well," said the trader, "she's gone down, whatever the reason for it; and I'm told a fine cargo has gone with her."
"Stevens set much store by that cargo," said Mr. Stroude, who was one of the group. "He counted upon it to set matters aright with his creditors."
The snub-nosed man tossed off an equal half of his rum and hot water and regarded the remainder with appreciative eyes.
"Stevens was always the sort to build upon things to come. He never gave his mind to the day at hand," said he. "For me, I like a man that stands with his feet on the ground and with his eyes on things within common view. I can understand a merchant like that. And with one I can't understand," and the snub-nosed man shook his head, "I'll have no dealings whatever."
"Ah, well," said Mr. Stroude sadly, "you'll have no need to worry about Charles Stevens hereafter, if you've ever done so before."
"What's the news of him now?" asked the portly trader. "What do the doctors say?"
Mr. Stroude inhaled the fumes of his apple-toddy; then he tasted it; finding it to his satisfaction, he set it down.
"King is his physician," he said. "A very able, learned, and ready man. They tell me he has made a study of men's brains and what they are like to do in times when they are much bothered. I've heard it said by those who should know that he had expected what's come about, that he'd been awaiting it these months past. Ah!" shaking his head in vast admiration, "science is a wonderful thing. The rest of us could go our ways days without end and never expect the half of that."
The snub-nosed man seemed not convinced.
"I've heard men say years ago that they thought Charles Stevens mad," he said. "And, for my part, I never gain-said them; for his ways of looking at things, or doing them, were not customary."
The portly trader cleared his throat, and the sound was plainly one of dissent.
"You may say what you like," spoke he, "but you'll never get public sanction for clapping a man into a madhouse because he's different from his neighbors. For," and he shook a thick forefinger, "if the world were filled with only people who thought in the customary way, and went their ways as others do, how should we go forward, I'd like to know?"
"I have heard it reasoned that way before," said the snub-nosed man stubbornly. "Nevertheless, I am for ways that I understand. There's the nephew, now; he's the kind of man for my liking, a straight-forward, open-dealing young chap. A body can make something of him."
"Well," said the trader, "I'll say nothing against him, for I've seen no doings of his that I'd protest. An upstanding, candid dealer, and I'm sorry things have gone as they have, if only for his sake."
"Have you heard the news of him?" asked Stroude, who had been sipping his apple-toddy. He shook his head forebodingly. "He's taken to his bed."
"No," said the trader.
"He'd seen what was coming to the firm before the ship was lost, and worked day and night to waste the blow," said Mr. Stroude. "No one, so I'm told, will know how hard he worked."
"I wouldn't have thought a little extra labor would do hurt to a tough-built one like him," said the snub-nosed man.
"Nor I," agreed Stroude. "But 'tis the strain on the feelings and the nerves that does it. Thews are not much help against such things. Also, he had a hurt, a year ago, a knock on the head; and then he didn't spare himself during the plague. These things come home to us when we are not expecting them."
The trader finished his ale.
"There never was a time," said he, "when he'd be of more service if he were up and about. The rats from Harmony Court and other holes and corners are gathered to loot what's left of the house; and, given their ways, they'll not leave a pick on its bones."
Anthony would have stood upon his feet if this dark thing had not come to Charles; he would have stood toughly on his feet despite everything else and would have dourly demanded the right of every man who sought to put hand on what remained of the business. But this unlooked-for turn of matters had sapped his reserve; he tottered; there was no ground to fight upon. And Dr. King sternly told him to go to bed and to stay there.
Captain Weir, calm, set of face, stood beside the young man, in his lodgings in Sassafras Street and told him of some of the things that were going forward.
"The Bulfinch bills fall due directly," he said, "and no doubt our misfortunes will double the clamoring from the others."
"You will do what can be done, I know," said Anthony gratefully, as Weir was leaving. "For the honor of the house, for its credit, and for its survival, do your utmost."
"You may depend upon me," said Weir. "You may depend upon me in every way. The temper of the creditors is yet to be seen; much may be possible, or little. But I will do all that may be done, so compose yourself to that."
Mr. Sparhawk visited Anthony later in the same day to ask how he did. The perky little man talked pleasantly and rightly; the good spring weather was all out on them; it would be a time of freshening and renewing.
"You will mend," said he, to Anthony, "and begin to flourish with it."
Mr. Sparhawk was full of hope and cheer; but when the young man spoke of the affairs of Rufus Stevens' Sons he said as little as possible in answer.
"Take your mind from it," he advised. "What you could do you have done. Nothing more is possible. Banish it straight, and set yourself to getting well. The affairs of the house will be seen to."
"Of course," said Anthony. "Weir is still able. He will look to matters."
Mr. Sparhawk cocked his head sidewise and regarded Anthony with a mild look, curiously mixed with unbelief.
"Yes, of course," said he. "Weir. An excellent man of business; he has a keen mind and an adaptable way."
Mr. Sparhawk went to Dr. King's, but the physician was not in; and then he dropped in at Christopher Dent's and found the little apothecary very pleased to see him, indeed. Was Anthony progressing? Yes! Well, that was excellent news, indeed. But, of course, he would be. He needed rest, that was all,—a rest of both body and mind,—and then he'd be in wonderful health. And wasn't it quite amazing the way things turned out? Matters might not be so bad, after all, with Rufus Stevens' Sons. There was a chance for the house to recover. A good chance. He had been present during a conversation between Monsieur and Mademoiselle Lafargue. There were papers, it seems,—a deal of papers,—with which much might be done. And mademoiselle was going to take them to Captain Weir that very day.
"To Captain Weir!" said Mr. Sparhawk, and he compressed his lips and raised his brows.
"Ah!" said Christopher, "you knew, then, that she had not regarded the captain favorably?" He smiled and rubbed his bald crown. "But she has safely recovered from that state of mind. Oh, yes, some time since. Indeed, there's more than one of late concerning whom she's altered her mind. It must be she was confused at first; she could not have looked at things clearly. When we are in a strange place and feel friendless, we are apt to be like that. But things are better with her now," with great satisfaction. "And she has a deal more confidence."
Of course that would be so! Time and usage, said Mr. Sparhawk, work many things out for us. The perky little man exchanged nods with Christopher over this, and smiled and took snuff. But that he was astonished he carefully put by; gently, then, he shaped the talk and delicately he pressed his questions. No, to be sure, she had not favored the captain. Quite the reverse, indeed. She had—could one go so far?—detested him. Christopher was of the opinion that it was not going too far. For some reason she had detested him; more than that, she had feared him. He had come to know that from her father, poor man, who'd occasionally step in for a chat of an afternoon.
"In coming across the sea, her father must have had an unrequited journey," said Mr. Sparhawk; "there have been little returns, I should say, in profits or ease." He shook his head sadly; and then he said: "It is fortunate that he had you for an occasional gossip. He came in often, I have no doubt?"
Oh, yes; quite often. And it seemed to ease his mind. He regarded Christopher, so it seemed, as a scholar and a scientist, which pleased the herbalist much; and they discussed many problems which had long vexed the world. Christopher was on the point of enumerating these questions; but Mr. Sparhawk gently diverted him to a more immediate thing. It was odd how the daughter had so suddenly reversed her opinion of Captain Weir. Of course there were no reasons for it, and Mr. Sparhawk smiled as he said this. When women changed their minds, there seldom were.
Mademoiselle was not like that! Christopher was up at once in her defense. No, no! She always had reasons, and good ones, too. You could be assured of that. And it happened that he knew of what had changed her toward Captain Weir. Her father had spoken of it. And then the little apothecary told the tale of the visit to Nevens, the money-broker, as it had filtered through Monsieur Lafargue's mind to his own. Mr. Sparhawk listened appreciatively.
"Very good," said he. "Very good. That was like Captain Weir; it's quite like him. Each time I hear one of these little things told of him I am more convinced than ever that he is a clever man. An able man."
"And kind-hearted," said Christopher.
"Oh, no doubt," said Mr. Sparhawk; "there's no doubt of that in the world."
When Mr. Sparhawk left the apothecary shop he did not go home directly. First he paused at the side door, knocked circumspectly, and then inquired of the maid if mademoiselle was at home; she was, so it chanced, and he went up and in a few minutes was engaged in talk with her.
"I trust," said he, "that your father is quite well."
"Not altogether so," replied Mademoiselle Lafargue. "There have been so many disquieting things of late; he is cast down, and so his health suffers."
Mr. Sparhawk clicked his tongue pityingly. It was too bad, indeed. So many were incapacitated just then. Let the mind become fatigued by over-anxiety and harm was sure to result. Of course the Rufus Stevens' Sons affair must have added a deal to her father's disquiet. A most regrettable state of affairs, it was, too; to have a fine commercial house in such a state was deplorable.
"But," said mademoiselle, "all hope for it is not lost."
No, he felt that, too. He agreed with her; all hope was not lost. The house was in a bad way, to be sure, but actual practice showed it was most difficult to destroy a concern built up as solidly as this one had been.
"Only the most barbarous mercantile methods will do it," said Mr. Sparhawk; "for, you see, the place it has made for itself is so well settled and so customary that all usual processes favor it. Even now, confused as this house is," said Mr. Sparhawk, nodding with much vehemence, "there is fixed in my mind a sense of its potential strength. With considerate usage it will lift its head; it will resume and flourish."
The fine eyes of Mademoiselle Lafargue glowed. She went to a cabinet and, opening a drawer, took out some papers.
"But," said Mr. Sparhawk, "what chance is there for decent usage? Consider the cormorants gathered to stuff themselves; how can their greed be controlled?"
"I had thought of a way," said the girl. She sat down on the sofa beside Mr. Sparhawk, the papers in her hand. The perky little manner of that gentleman became much magnified; he put his finger-tips together, cocked his head sidewise, and pursed up his mouth. "My father," she said, "is a creditor of Rufus Stevens' Sons,—in a large way, I'm afraid,—representing his own name and those of other people in Brest. There are also certain bankers and citizens of that city who also possess credits."
"Am I to understand," asked Mr. Sparhawk carefully, "that these are the instruments of their claims?" and he nodded toward the documents.
"Yes," she said, and gave the papers into his hand. He examined each of them minutely, and when he had finished there was a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. But he merely said:
"Well?"
"Is it not a commercial usage in this country, when one has credits with a firm that has fallen into disorder, to strive to bring regularity into its affairs?"
Mr. Sparhawk nodded.
"If one hopes to save any fair share of one's due, yes," said he. "It is the method of honest and sensible men. But, in this matter, I'm sorry to say, you have to deal with many who are neither; there are some who always hope to come by greater gain if permitted to pillage."
"But not all are of that kind," said the girl.
"No," Mr. Sparhawk agreed to this, but cautiously. "Not all."
"Some honest men, also, hold claims against the house," she said; "could not these," and she pointed to the papers, "be joined with them? And would not such a combining be able to hold much ground against dishonesty? Could it not," and her eyes flashed, "make the looting of this old house such a thing of open shame that even the hardiest of them would not dare attempt it?"
Mr. Sparhawk was regarding her steadfastly.
"How," he asked, "would you lay your plans to procure such a result?"
"I had thought," said she, "to put the matter in the hands of Captain Weir."
"An excellent man," said Mr. Sparhawk. "Respected by all in the port; a person of known principle, proven integrity, and marked ability."
"I am glad you agree with me," she said, and there was relief in her face. "I have had no one with whom to consult but my father."
"You could not have selected a better man than Weir," said Mr. Sparhawk. "A fine choice, indeed." The little gentleman's finger-tips were most carefully joined, his silk-stockinged legs were crossed, and he dandled one foot before him. "For most matters, that is. But, for the one you have in mind, I'm afraid he would not do at all."
Her eyes opened wide; distress came plainly into them.
"A little reflection along the line of commercial usage will make my meaning plain to you," said Mr. Sparhawk. "Weir has been with Rufus Stevens' Sons for many years; he is deeply imbedded in the firm's affairs; and that is against him here. For those who have claims upon the firm should be approached by one who is a creditor himself. Or, failing that," said Mr. Sparhawk, "by one who is quite disinterested."
"What, then, shall I do?" said Mademoiselle Lafargue. "To whom shall I apply?"
"Do not distress yourself," said Mr. Sparhawk. "There is no need to do so. Your plan," and he nodded encouragingly, "is a very serviceable one. Indeed, to speak the truth, some such thing came to my own thoughts in the last few days. But, I had no claim upon the house, and so it was not for me to come forward. With these, however," and he rustled the papers which she had given him, "any person with the proper authority could make a beginning which might lead to a creditable ending."
She looked at him, and there was a new hope in her face.
"I have heard it said," and her voice had a slight quaver in it, "that you have a feeling of friendliness toward Mr. Anthony Stevens."
Mr. Sparhawk bent forward a little.
"There is no young man in the city," said he, "indeed, there is no man of any age anywhere, for whom I have a larger respect, or whom I would strive more to please."
"I, too, have a—a great respect for him," said the French girl. "It is because of that, and because I once did him an injustice in my thoughts, that I want so to help him now. He is ill; he is unable to face the things he would face so well; are you strong enough in your friendship for him to take these papers and make all the good use you can of them?"
"Mademoiselle," and the little gentleman regarded her, his head to one side, and a thing like victory in his eye, "my friendship is strong enough for that, and for more than that."
He talked with her earnestly for some time; then, at his bidding, she made herself ready for the street. He took his hat when she returned, and they went out together, he with the papers buttoned up in his pocket and stepping briskly along at her side.