THE VIAL OF WRATH.
I was both amazed and confounded when it was ascertained that the pocket-book did not contain the money. From the depth of despair my father and myself had gone up to the pinnacle of hope, when the treasure was supposed to be found; and now we fell back into a deeper gulf than that into which we had first fallen. Those with whom money is plenty cannot understand the greatness of my father’s loss. For years he had toiled and saved in order to clear the house in which we lived. He had struggled with, and conquered, the appetite for intoxicating drinks, in order to accomplish his great purpose.
He had been successful. He had kept away from the drunkard’s bowl, he had lived prudently, he had carefully husbanded all his resources, and, at the time my story begins, he felt that the pretty little place where we lived actually belonged to him. It was always to be the home of his family, and it was all the more loved and prized because it had been won by constant toil and careful saving. This was the feeling of my father, as it was my own, when we started for Ucayga to draw the money from the bank. We felt like the king and the prince who had won a great victory, and were to march in triumph into the conquered possession.
My father was elated by what he had accomplished. The mortgage note for two thousand dollars would be due the next week, and he had the money to pay it, with enough to make the coveted improvements. It would have been better if he had not been elated; for this feeling led him to believe that, as the battle had been won, there was no longer any need of the vigilance with which he had guarded himself. He had raised the cup to his lips, and in a moment, as it were, his brilliant fortune deserted him; the savings of years were wrenched from his relaxed grasp.
I do not wonder, as I consider how prudent and careful he had been, that he sank into the depths of despair when he found the money was really gone. The struggle had been long and severe, the victory sublime and precious; and now the defeat, in the moment of conquest, was terrible in the extreme. I trembled for my father while I gazed into his pale face, and observed the sweep of his torturing emotions, as they were displayed in his expression.
For my own part, I was intensely mortified at the result of my efforts. I felt cheap and mean, as I sank down from the height to which I had lifted myself, and realized that all my grand deeds had been but a farce. If I had only looked into the pocket-book when Christy returned it to me, I might have saved this terrible fall. The villain had probably taken the money from it while he was crouching down by the fire-box. He had played a trick upon me, and I had been an easy victim. I was but a boy, while I had felt myself to be a man, and had behaved like a boy. If I had been smart in one respect, I had been stupid in another. I blamed myself severely for permitting myself to be duped by Christy at the moment when he was in my power. I almost wished that I had shot him; but I am sure now that I should have felt ten times worse if I had killed him, even if I had obtained the money by doing so.
“I am ruined, Wolf,” groaned my father, as he dropped upon the seat in the engine-room. “I shall never get the money now.”
“I think you will, father,” I replied, trying to be hopeful rather than confident.
“No; I shall never see a dollar of it again.”
“Don’t give it up yet, father. Christy has gone off in his every-day clothes, and left his family at Ucayga. He will come back again, or you will get some clew to him.”