I consented to stay, and I did stay. My father went home that night, and I applied myself diligently to the work of opening a new set of books for Collingsby and Faxon. I was treated with a great deal of consideration by the senior and his father; but I never alluded to my relationship to them. I was sure of a storm if I did so.
Mr. Whippleton was discharged from custody after he had fully indemnified the firm for its losses. There were too many legal doubts in the way of his prosecution to render it advisable to proceed against him, even if the Collingsbys had been disposed to do so. But he was a ruined man. He could not even obtain a situation as a clerk in Chicago. His mother set him up in business in Cincinnati; but he failed, and lost all she had loaned him. His reputation followed him wherever he went. He finally obtained all his mother's property, and both of them were reduced to poverty. The last time I saw the old lady, I am sure she was a better woman, and was willing to confess that worldly wisdom did not insure either success or happiness.
Mr. Waterford was not seen in Chicago again. I afterwards met him in New York. Before his boat was sold, I made an excursion in her to the lagoon where the Florina was moored. Marian and other ladies went with me, and I sailed them home in the yacht, which was now my property. I found time to sail in her occasionally, and the Collingsbys were often passengers. I changed her name, and called her the Ella Gracewood.
I had a week's vacation in the summer, and visited St. Louis. Mrs. Greenough was delighted to see me, and treated me like a son. When I returned, I carried with me the relics of my childhood. One afternoon, on board of the Ella Gracewood, I showed them to Marian and her mother. Mrs. Collingsby recognized the portrait of my mother, and I think she was convinced that I was her nephew; but she was more prudent than Marian, and refused to commit herself.
I was no nearer my mother than when I came to Chicago; but I had a lively hope of the future. I still looked forward with glowing anticipations to the time when our little family should be reunited under the same roof.
I have told my story, and related all the catastrophes of a clerk. I staid in the counting-room of Collingsby and Faxon a year and a half, when the business was again closed by the death of the junior partner. Mr. Richard decided to retire, as he might have done years before. The new firm, to whom the business was sold, offered me a salary of twelve hundred a year; but I declined it, and was again free from any engagement.
My mother had not yet returned. At the last accounts she was living at Nice, with her brother, whose wife was very feeble. I was eighteen, and I determined to go to her. I could no longer endure the separation; and with this resolve I bade farewell to Desk and Debit.
OLIVER OPTIC'S