CHAPTER XVIII.
John Fletcher sat by his fireside, reading the evening papers. The failures of the day, of course, engaged his attention; among them, those of Sandford and his associates were not unexpected. His little wife sat by him, fondling the weakly baby.
"Old Sandford has gone by the board, ducky. Good enough for him! He's come to grief, as he deserved. He'll never trouble me any more."
"I'm afraid a good many more'll come to grief, as you say, before this panic is over."
"Some, of course; the dead trees, and the worm-eaten, powder-posted ones, will fall in the high winds, naturally. But old Bullion is safe. No rotten hollow in his old white-oak trunk;—sound as a ship's mainmast."
"Is it Bullion who owes you?"
"Yes. I have his notes for ten thousand dollars; and our next settlement, I calculate, will give me as much more."
"Why don't you get your pay?"
"What should I do with it, my duck? I couldn't lend it to anybody safer. If I deposit, the bank is as likely to fail as he. As long as he has the whole capital to swing, he will make the more for us both."
"I would rather have the money."
"That shows how little you know about it."
"I know, if you had it, and didn't lend it nor speculate with it, you couldn't lose it."
"Now, ducky, don't interfere. You take care of babies nicely. Let me manage my own affairs."
"You always treat me like a child that has to be petted with sugar-plums."
"That's because you are a child. What the devil does a woman know about business?"
The "ducky" cried a little, and was quite sure that John would go on and risk what he had, till he lost all.
"Little woman, none of your blubbering! It annoys me. Am I to be harassed by business all day, and have no peace when I come home?"
He settled himself to read the papers, once more, and the wife picked up the fretful, puny infant, and retreated to the kitchen, where she could indulge her sorrow without rebuke or interruption.
Presently, Bullion entered, though not unexpected; for he had given Fletcher an intimation, that, in order to have a private interview, he would endeavor to see him at home.
"Nice little box," said the capitalist, looking around. "Any babies?"
"One," said Fletcher.
"Boy or girl?"
"A girl."
"Bad. Girls always an expense. Dress, piano, parties, and d—d nonsense. Boys, you put 'em into harness and work 'em till they're willing to eat their wild oats; he! he!"
The eyebrow flourished over the jocose idea; the stony eye glittered a moment like a revolving light, and then relapsed into darkness.
"However, I have but one, and I think I can make her comfortable."
"Yes, my boy, quite comfortable. Let me see, I owe you ten thousand. How does the new account stand?"
"Here are the figures, taken from Tonsor's book," said Fletcher. "Seventy-nine thousand eight hundred and forty-three. Ten per cent. to me is seven thousand nine hundred and eighty-four."
"A big pile of money, Fletcher."
"Yours, you mean? Yes, seventy thousand and odd is a big pile."
"Yours,—I meant yours."
"Why, yes," replied Fletcher, indifferently, "a good fair sum, for a man that hadn't any before."
"Don't you think, now, Fletcher, that the ten thousand pays you for all you've done? Isn't it enough for a month or two's work?"
"I think I am paid when I get what was agreed on," replied Fletcher, stoutly.
The eyebrow was raised with a deprecatory, inquiring look.
"Why, Fletcher, sharp's the word, is it?"
"That's what you said, when we started."
"Suppose I pay you the notes and a thousand or two more, and we call it square? Then you salt down what you got."
"And you propose to haul off from operating?"
"Well, no, I can't say I do. I may try the bulls another fall or two. But you haven't anything else. If we lose, you are smashed. I have other property to fall back on."
"So it's merely to do me a kindness and make me safe and snug that you propose to keep back the six thousand that belong to me?"
"You put it rather strong, youngster. I didn't agree to pay till the scheme was carried out. But we've done better than we 'xpected, and, to take you out of danger, I offered to pay part down. In a business as ticklish as stocks, you don't expect a man to come down with the ready without a consideration?"
"You know you could never have kept the run of the market, if it hadn't been for me; and the ten per cent. is no more than a fair share. This isn't a matter of dollars altogether, though dollars are useful, but of information, activity, brains."
"Well, remember, young man, I offer you now twelve thousand. If anything happens, don't squawk nor play baby."
"Why, you're not going to fail?"
"No,—not if the world don't tip over."
"And you're going on with your operations?"
"Yes,—till the wind shifts. It's due east yet."
"Well, I think the ship that carries you is safe enough for me. Make me the notes, and let the operations go on another week."
With an increased respect for his agent, when he found that he could neither humbug nor frighten him, Bullion filled out and signed the notes. Next they reviewed the stock-market, and decided upon the course to be pursued. Bullion then fell into a profound meditation, and did not speak for five minutes, though the busy eyebrow showed that his mind was not lost in vacancy. At last he started up, saying,—
"I must go. But, Fletcher, any reason why you particularly wanted to pay Sandford that thousand, to-day?"
Fletcher turned pale, and his heart rose in his mouth.
"No,—no reason,—that is—he wanted it—I—I was willing to oblige"—
"No matter about reasons," said Bullion, with a quiet air. "I never tread on people's corns. Only when it's wanted let me know. You see he went by the board. He begged me to save him. How could I? I've done enough for other people. Must take care of number one, now. Kerbstone, he begs, too. I shan't help him."
Fletcher felt relieved; at the same time he determined without delay to make a new effort to get the fatal evidence of his former crime into his own possession.
"Oh," said Bullion, as if he had forgotten something, "the wife and baby, let's see 'em."
Fletcher called his wife, who came in timidly, and shrank from the fierce look of the man of money.
"How d'e do, Ma'am? Your servant, Ma'am. Glad to see you. But the baby?"
"Fetch the baby, lovey," said Fletcher.
Baby was brought, smiling with as little reason as possible, and winking very hard in the light.
"Pretty dear!" said Bullion, chucking her under the chin.
"I wonder what the devil this means," thought Fletcher.
How was his surprise increased when, after a moment, Bullion inquired,—
"Teeth cut yet? Some of 'em, I see. More to come. Want something to bite, little one?"
He pulled out his purse and gave the child three or four large gold pieces. The little hands could not hold them, and they fell on the carpet, rolling in different directions. Bullion left hastily, with a quick nod and a clipped "Good-bye."
"Well, I vow!" said Fletcher, with a long breath. "It's well he didn't stay to pick 'em up; they'd 'ave stuck to his fingers like wax. He couldn't have let 'em alone."
"What a good man he is!" said the overjoyed little woman.
"Good man! He's crazy. Old Bullion giving away gold pieces to a baby! He's lost his wits, sure. He never gave away a sixpence before in his life. Oh, he's cracked, without a doubt. I must keep watch of him. When he grows generous, there's something wrong."
[To be continued.]