But I had risen in great wrath against him. Flushed and indignant I retorted, "You mistake, sir! I shall use my silver again! I shall not live humbly always," and left the store.
But once again on the sidewalk with the sharp November wind blowing in my face I remembered my dear invalid. I remembered my cold house, in which there had been provided no furnace, no stove, nothing but open grates for heating. I knew then as well as I know now that the firm was in no wise responsible for the discourteous language of its representative. I had only happened to encounter a fanatic, a hater of the South,—and it was not the first time. Possibly should I return and seek another one of the corps of clerks I might fare better. But no! I would perish first.
Just at this moment I recollected that my dear old chaplain-father had said, in bidding me good-by, "If you ever need a friend, you may advise with my friend in New York—Henry Corning."
This sent me to a directory in a near-by drug store, where I found "Corning" and an address to a bank on Broadway. I repaired thither, and was directed to a private room, where a venerable gentleman rose to greet me and offer me a seat. I was very tired and miserable, but I told my errand as best I could.
"I have not the pleasure of knowing your father," said the gentleman, looking at me kindly through his spectacles (and down went the mercury of all my courage), "but," he added, "I think my nephew, Henry Corning, is your man. I have heard him speak of the Rev. Dr. Pryor. I will give you his address. My name is Jasper Corning."
I am sure there were tears in my eyes when he looked up, as he handed me a slip of paper, for he added kindly: "I feel certain Henry will not fail you. Don't despair! God is good."
Another omnibus ride brought my heavy heart to the door of Mr. Henry Corning, in Madison Avenue. He was sitting at his desk on the ground floor—and without one word of response to my simply told story turned to his desk and wrote his check for $500!
"I will send you the silver immediately," I said—but he only bowed, and with "My regards to your father," he allowed me to take leave.
I called at Tiffany's on my return, gave an order at the desk, paid the cartage, and ordered the silver to be addressed to Mr. Corning.
When the time came, a year afterwards, for me to redeem it, I saw Mr. Corning again, thanked him for his kindness, and said, "I am now ready to redeem the silver." He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and asked, "What silver?" "Surely," I exclaimed in great alarm, "surely you received it."