A Whim, and Its Consequences / Collection of British Authors Vol. CXIV

by G. P. R. James

Mr. Tracy suffered himself to be led back to the drawing-room; and there, by a great effort, so far conquered the busy and rebellious thoughts within, that his guests did not discover any difference of manner. His daughters did, indeed; and both Emily and Rose retired to bed that night thoughtful and sad; for they were well aware that their father's friendship for Lord Overton was not strong enough for the intelligence of his being wounded to cause the degree of agitation they beheld. Rose, too, had her own particular share of sorrow and anxiety, and her cheek was pale when she arose the next morning, as if she had known little rest during the night.

With Mr. Tracy, the effect of a night's consideration--for it certainly was not a night's sleep that he obtained--was to plunge him into despair. The first blow had been stunning. As not unfrequently happens with corporeal injuries, it had for a time crushed out the full perception of the wound; but when he thought of the immediate pressure, and the future beggary--when he looked all the difficulties and disgraces which surrounded him in the face, as they stared at him through his bed curtains, in the midst of the night, his heart sunk low, low; and his brain had well nigh given way under the anguish of mind he endured. He was up early the next morning, with the letters in his hand, and pen and ink beside him, calculating the full amount of his disaster. It would be tedious to the reader to enter into details or explanations on the subject--how it happened, or by what means it was brought about. Suffice it, that he found his ultimate loss would probably be so large, as to compel the sale of all his estates. That, if still willing to assist him, his brother must sell, or mortgage deeply, the family property; and--a matter of much more immediate concern--that the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds must be raised within a fortnight, to save him from disgrace. He had taken up money largely, which must be instantly repaid; and when he thought of all the tedious processes of the law--the impossibility of hurrying a transaction of such magnitude--the few persons who were capable, or would be willing to lend such a sum without full investigation of the security--the utter improbability of his obtaining it in time, his brain whirled, and in imagination he saw himself torn away from his luxurious home, a beggar, a bankrupt, and a prisoner.

He gazed wildly at the window; his daughter Emily passed across from one green-house to the other--a vision of loveliness. "Better die," muttered Mr. Tracy, with his thoughts all whirling; "better die at once!" and he reached out his hand to the pistols which lay upon the top of the scrutoire. He looked at them for a moment, laid them down beside him on the table, and pressed his hand upon his brow. Someone knocked, and, without waiting for an answer, came in. General Tracy looked at his brother, advanced to the table, put the pistols in his pocket, and rung the bell sharply. "Arthur," he said, "you are not well. We must have the doctor.--Go down immediately to Mr. Woodyard," he continued, when the servant appeared, "and tell him I should like to see him without a moment's delay."

In half an hour more, Mr. Tracy was bled copiously, and found instant relief.

"Good God!" he said, in a low tone, turning towards his brother, who was the only person in the room besides the surgeon and himself, "what was I going to do."

"Now what the devil is all this, Sir," said the surgeon, who had been perfectly quiet, and even tender with his old friend, till he saw that he was freed from the imminent danger which had menaced him, but then instantly resumed his rude familiarity. "You have been about some cursed folly, Tracy, and burnt your fingers. I know you--I know you! Every man has some point on which he is a fool; and the wiser he is on others, the greater the fool he is on that. I can guess what it is; so there is no use of denying it. That infernal blackguard Scriptolemus Bond, was not with you a whole morning for nothing, about a fortnight ago. He has gone to smash; all his bubbles have burst, and he is off to America with all he could collect. Thank God, he did not get a farthing from me, though he tried hard; but I know he took you in to the tune of many thousand pounds; for he told me so, and showed me some of the drafts."

"That is not the worst of it, my good friend," answered Mr. Tracy, in a low tone; "there is not one line in which I have taken shares--and I am sorry to say I have done so to a large extent--which has not fallen almost to the ground."

"Upon my word, you must be a very unlucky fellow, not to have one folly escape without punishment," answered the surgeon. But General Tracy interfered, saying, "There, there, let him alone, Woodyard. He is not in a fit state of health or mind to be railed at."

"Do you suppose you know better than I do?" asked Sandy Woodyard. "You are a conceited old gentleman, upon my word. Stick to your own tools, General. I am determined I will know all about this business; for I must, and will be informed of what is pressing on my patient's mind."

"It is," replied Mr. Tracy, in a slow, thoughtful tone, "that within one fortnight, my good friend, I have to pay nearly one hundred and fifty thousand pounds; and forty-nine thousand pounds thereof within four days, without time to make the necessary arrangements, almost without time for thought. I wrote up to sell shares, to meet the latter sum, at whatever might be the loss; and the answer was that letter, telling me that the shares I mentioned were a mere drug--worth nothing in the market. Is not that enough to press hard upon any man's mind, Woodyard."