CHAPTER XV.
On the morning of the day which brought the downfall of Stearine and his indorsers, Sandford and Fayerweather, with the Vortex, whose funds they had misappropriated, Monroe came to the counting-room unusually cheerful. His anxiety respecting his little property was relieved, for he thought the monetary crisis was past, and that thenceforth affairs would improve. He had reasoned with himself that such a pressure could not last always, and that this had certainly reached its limit. The clear, bracing air of the morning had its full influence over his sensitive nature. All Nature seemed to rejoice, and he, for the time, forgot the universal distress, and sympathized with it. But the thermometer fell rapidly as he caught the expression which the face of his employer wore. Mr. Lindsay, of the house of Lindsay & Co., was usually a reserved, silent man—in business almost a machine, honest both from instinct and habit, and proud, in his quiet way, of his position and his stainless name. He had a wife and daughter, and therefore was presumed to have affections; but those whom he met in the market never thought of him, save as the systematic merchant. Well as Monroe knew him, being his confidential clerk, he never had seen more than the case in which the buying, selling, and note-paying machinery was inclosed. He respected the evident integrity and worth of the head of the house, but never dreamed of a different feeling; he could as easily have persuaded himself into cherishing an affection for the counting-house clock.
This morning, Mr. Lindsay's face wore an unusually sleepless, anxious look. The man of routine was but a man, after all, and, in his distress, he longed for some intelligent, friendly sympathy. Monroe recognized the mute appeal, but, from long habits of reticence, he was at a loss how to approach his stately chief. Determined, however, to give him an opportunity to speak, if he chose, Monroe asked after the news, the day's failures, and the prospects of business. The merchant needed only a word, and broke out at once,—
"Prospect? there is no prospect but ruin. If a whirlwind would bury the city, or a conflagration leave it a heap of ashes, it would be better for all of us."
"But don't you think the darkest time has past?"
"Not at all; the pressure will continue until scores more are brought down. Better fail at once than live in dread of it."
"You surprise me! Why, you are not in danger?"
"Did you ever consider? Look at the bales of goods in our lofts,—goods which nobody will buy and nobody can pay for. And our acceptances have been given to the manufacturers for them,—acceptances that are maturing daily. Up to this time I have taken up all our paper, as it became due; but God knows how the next payments are to be made."
"I had not thought of that."
"The house of Lindsay & Co. has never known dishonor"—
The merchant wiped his spectacles,—but it was the eyes that were dim, not the glasses. His lips quivered and his breath came hard, as he continued,—
"But the time has come; the house must go down."
"I hope not," said Monroe, fervently. "Can nothing be done?"
"Nothing. Every resource has been used. The banks won't discount; and I suppose they can't; they are fully as weak as their customers."
"I don't know but the offer may be useless, contemptible, even; but I have a small sum, in good notes, that may be available."
The merchant shook his head.
"Whatever it is, you are welcome to it. Perhaps ten thousand dollars"—
"Ten thousand dollars!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsay,—"you have that sum?"
"Yes,—the little property that was my father's. Let me go and get the notes, and see if I can't get some money upon them."
Mr. Lindsay rose and took the clerk's hand with a heartiness that astonished him.
"God bless you, Monroe," he said. "I may be saved, after all. Ten thousand dollars will be enough for the present pinch, and before the next acceptance is due some relief may come."
"Don't speak of thanks. I'll get the notes in a moment."
Tears stole silently down the unaccustomed furrows; the gateway of feeling was open, but the tremulous lips refused to speak. Before he could recover his self-possession, Monroe was gone. Mr. Lindsay tried to read the newspapers, but the print before his eyes conveyed no idea to his preoccupied brain. Then his thoughts turned to his beautiful villa in Brookline, and he remembered how that morning his daughter stepped lightly into the brougham with him at the back piazza, rode down the winding path between the evergreen-hedges, and, after giving him a kiss, sprang out when they reached the gate. He knew, that, when he returned in the evening, he should find her in her place under the great horse-chestnut, at the foot of the hill, ready to ride to the house. How could he meet her with the news he would have to carry? how crush the spirits of his invalid wife? Humiliating as the idea of failure was when considered in his relations with the mercantile world, the thought of home, with its changed feelings and circumstances, and the probable deprivation of habitual indulgences, was far more poignant.
It was not long before Monroe returned, but with a less buoyant air. Mr. Lindsay's spirits fell instantly. "I see it all," said he, "you can't do anything."
"Perhaps I may, yet. The notes I spoke of, though due to me, are in the hands of Mr. Sandford, Secretary of the Vortex Insurance Company. I have been there, and cannot see him. His shutting himself up, I am afraid, bodes me no good. However, I'll go again an hour hence."
"No harm in trying. Did you indorse the notes to him?"
"No. They were merely left with him for convenience' sake, as he was my agent in loaning the money."
"Then he can't make way with them,—honestly."
Monroe seemed hurt by the implied suspicion, but did not reply, thinking it best, if possible, to change the subject of conversation.
Mr. Lindsay sat in silence, a silence that was broken only once or twice during the morning, and then by some friend or business acquaintance asking, in hurried or anxious tones, "Anything over to-day?" A mournful shake of the head was the only answer, and the merchant sunk into a deeper gloom.
Again Monroe went to see Mr. Sandford, but with no better success. The third time he naturally spoke in a peremptory tone, and, giving his name and business, said, that he must and would see Mr. Sandford, or get the notes. The weight of his employer's trouble rested on him, and gave an unwonted force to his usually kind and modest temper. The clerk, not daring to break his instructions, and seeing that it was not far from two o'clock, intimated, in a half-confidential tone, that he would do well to ask Mr. Tonsor, the broker, about them. Nervous with apprehension, Monroe walked swiftly to Tonsor's office. At the door he met Fletcher coming out with exultation in every feature. Within stood Bullion, his legs more astride than usual, his chin more confidently settled over his collar, and the head of his cane pressed against his mouth. As Monroe entered, Tonsor ceased the conversation, and, looking up, said, blandly, "My young friend, can I do anything for you?" Bullion at the same time turned the eyes that might have been only glittering petrifactions, and pointed the long eyebrow at him inquiringly.
"I hope so," was the reply. "Have you some notes in your possession payable to Walter Monroe?"
"Who asks the question?"—very civilly.
"My name is Monroe."
"Ah! Mr. Sandford is your agent, I presume?"
"Yes. I left the notes with him."
"And you wanted to raise some money on them?"
"Yes, that is what I wish."
"Then you'll be pleased to know that Mr. Sandford has anticipated you. I loaned him eight thousand dollars upon them this morning."
"Loaned him eight thousand dollars?"
"Certainly. Is it extraordinary that your agent has done what you desired?"
"I never asked him to borrow for me; and I never authorized him to transfer the notes."
"He hasn't transferred them; he has only pledged them."
"He couldn't pledge them; he had no legal right in them."
"But he has pledged them, and they are in my safe, subject to the repayment of the sum I loaned."
"If you have loaned Mr. Sandford money, that is your affair."
"And yours, too, my friend, you will find, if he doesn't pay it."
"You haven't a right to detain the notes a moment."
"I have the possession, which will answer as well as the right. And let
me advise you,—don't get excited and conclude that everything is wrong.
You are not so well posted as you might be. Go and see Mr. Sandford, and
I haven't a doubt you'll find the money ready for you."
"I shall go. But I wish you to understand, that, if I am not 'posted,' as you say, I do know my rights, and I shall take proper measures to get possession of my property. You have no more hold upon it than a pawnbroker has upon a stolen spoon."
Trembling with the unusual excitement, and despairing of being able to aid his employer, Monroe did not wait for a reply, but rushed to the Vortex again. Mr. Sandford had gone out on business, was the answer. He had not gone far, if the truth were known; for his position commanded the office-door, and he saw every visitor.
Time did not lag that eventful day; the hands seemed to sweep round the dial on the Old State House as though they had been swords in pursuit of some dilatory debtor. It now lacked only fifteen minutes of two, and Monroe, sick at heart, turned his steps towards Milk Street, to announce the utter failure of his plan. Mr. Lindsay received the intelligence with more firmness than might have been expected.
"Monroe, my friend,—for I can truly call you so,—you have done what you could. It was not your fault that your agent deceived and swindled you. You generously offered me your all. I shall never forget it. I can't say more now. Please stay and inform the notary, when he comes, that he must take the usual course. Tell John, when he comes with the brougham, that he may drive back. I shall take the cars to-day, and shall not be at home, probably, until after tea. I pray God, Monroe, that you may never go home as I do now. O Clara, my daisy, my darling! how can I tell you?"
Still murmuring to himself, Mr. Lindsay slowly walked out of the counting-room.
It was not strange, that, under the pressure of his own calamity, Mr. Lindsay had no thought for the losses of others. He forgot that Monroe was really in a far worse position, since, if the ten thousand dollars were lost, it was his all. Neither did Monroe, at first, reflect upon his own impending misfortune; he had been so intent upon preserving the credit of the house, that his own interest had been lost sight of.
Presently the notary came with the inevitable demand. He was a cheerful fellow in his sorry business, blithe as an old stager of an undertaker at a first-class funeral. He chatted about the crisis, and, as a matter of course, brought all the latest news from State Street. Monroe listened to one piece of news, but had ears for no more. "Sandford and Fayerweather had failed, and the old Vortex, which they had managed, was dead broke, cleaned out."
Mr. Lindsay was not the only heart-stricken man who left the counting-room that day.