At the end of two weeks Tom was again up and dressed. His struggle with the pneumonia had been a frightful one. It was turned in his favor largely by the aid of the best medical skill, and the untiring care given him by his mother and his two faithful friends, Herbert and Bob. The latter took turns in watching with him at night, while Mrs. Flannery slept, that she might renew her strength for the day watch.
But the disease, as is not infrequently the case, left Tom with a hard, dry cough, which threatened serious results. His lungs were weak, and his body was much emaciated. He was not the Tom Flannery of old, the Tom so full of boyish spirits and desire to push his paper trade. This change in their young companion caused Herbert and Bob keen anxiety. They had watched beside his bed through delirium and helplessness, when there seemed no hope of his recovery. How glad their young hearts were when he began to rally, and they could see him in imagination back with them again in their old pleasures and pastimes! His failure, therefore, to throw off the racking cough and regain his strength was a sore disappointment to them, but this was not their only source of apprehension.
How full these two weeks had been of bitter trouble—trouble that drew deeply upon their sympathy; that destroyed splendid prospects and forced one of them from a position of independence to one little better than beggary.
Disturbing elements had been gathering for days in Wall Street, which to a few wise old heads seemed ominous. They predicted danger, but their warnings were laughed at by the less cautious speculators, who operated with a reckless daring. At length, however, the storm struck almost without a moment’s notice. Wild reports filled the air, and men, strong, bold men, crushed by the tremendous force of the panic, fell prostrate here and there, and everywhere. Terror spread to all, and painted its sickly hue upon their faces. When the storm had subsided the street was full of wrecks. Among them was the daring firm of Breakwell & Co., who had failed for a million and a quarter of dollars.
Young Randolph was stunned at the exhibition he witnessed on that fatal day. House after house with whom his firm had done business, and who were supposed to be almost beyond the possibility of failure, had closed their doors. Breakwell & Co. were among the last to go under. They had been kept up by the splendid loyalty of Richard Goldwin, who put his bank account at their command, relying upon their assurance that they were all right, and would come out of the storm stronger than ever, if they could only receive temporary help. Mr. Goldwin, anxious to save them, stood heroically by them, and went down with them—a victim of noble generosity, of misplaced confidence. Yes, he had failed—Richard Goldwin, the banker and broker, yesterday a millionaire, today perhaps a pauper.
Herbert Randolph could not at first realize the awful fact, but the pain he saw in Mr. Goldwin’s face appealed so strongly to his sympathy that the tears forced themselves from his eyes, try however bravely he would to restrain them. The doors were closed, and all business with the house of Richard Goldwin was at an end.
Mr. Goldwin bore the misfortune like a hero. His face was white and firm as marble. Certain lines, however, told his distress, but never a word of complaint at the miserable treachery of Breakwell & Co. escaped his lips.
Herbert could not help thinking how severe the shock would be to Mrs. Goldwin and Ray, who could not bridle their emotions with an iron will like that of the ruined banker. The latter was accustomed, in his long career in Wall Street, to seeing others meet the disaster that had now overtaken him; but his wife and daughter—ah, how little they were prepared for such a shock.
The panic that ruined so many men added quite largely to the fortunes of young Bob Hunter. He had never before had such a trade. Papers sold beyond all imagination, and at double their usual price. The result was a profit of seven dollars and forty seven cents for his day’s work. He felt richer than ever before in his life, and so happy that he could hardly wait till the usual time for Herbert to join him, he wanted so much to make known his grand success. But when young Randolph came to him with the sad story of that day in Wall Street, his happiness gave place to a feeling of unusual sadness, and the sadness deepened on learning that his friend was now out of a position.
“But you can get another place, Herbert,” said he, reassuringly; “perhaps a better one than you have lost.”