"Yes, that's a fact. I'm glad you have found it out. The cash has
been over about two hundred dollars for several days, and I have
tried in vain to find where the error lay. Strange, after adding up
these columns for some twenty times or more, I should have still
been wrong in these figures. Let me strike a balance for you now, so
that you can count the cash, and see that there is just this amount
over."
This dispelled all suspicions from the mind of Millard, if any had
found a place there.
"No," he replied, "I hav n't time now. I have no doubt of it being
right. Make the corrections required."
And as he thus remarked, he turned away from the desk.
Sanford trembled from head to foot the moment his employer left him.
He tried to make the corrections, but his hand shook so that he
could not hold the pen. In a little while he mastered this agitation
so far as to be externally composed. He then changed the erroneous
figures. But this did not make the matter straight. The cash account
now called for two hundred dollars more than the funds on hand would
show. If the money should be counted before he could make other
false entries, he would be discovered and disgraced. And now that
errors had been discovered, it was but natural to suppose that Mr.
Millard would glance less casually at the account than he had been
in the habit of doing. At last, he determined to erase a few pages
back certain figures, and insert others in their places, and carry
down from thence the error by a regular series of erasures and new
entries. This he did so skilfully, that none but the eye of
suspicion could have detected it. It was some weeks before he again
ventured to repeat these acts. When he did so, he permitted the
surplus cash to remain in the drawer for eight or ten days, so that
if a discovery happened to be made, the balance on hand would show
that it was an error. But Mr. Millard thought no more about the
matter, and the dishonest clerk was permitted to prosecute his base
conduct undetected. In this way month after month passed, until the
defalcation rose to over a thousand dollars. Nightly Sanford
attended places of public amusement, usually accompanied by a young
lady, the daughter of some respectable citizen, who knew as little
of the habits and character of the young man as did his employer
himself. Among those with whom he had become intimate was Harriet
Meadows, the daughter of a merchant possessing a high sense of honor
and considerable wealth. Mr. Meadows, so soon as the young man began
to visit at his house, gave him to understand by his manner that he
was not welcome. This was so plainly done that there was no room for
mistake in the matter. Piqued at this, Sanford determined that he
would keep the daughter's company in spite of her crusty old father.
Harriet was gay and thoughtless, and had been flattered by the
attentions of Sanford. She met him a few times after his repulse, at
balls, and hesitated not to dance with him. These meetings afforded
full opportunity for the young man to push himself still farther
into her good opinion, and to prevail upon her at length to meet him
clandestinely, which she frequently did on Sunday afternoons, when,
as has already been seen, she would ride out in his company. This
kind of intimacy soon led to a declaration of love on the part of
Sanford, which was fully responded to by the foolish girl. The
former had much, he thought, to hope for in in a union with Miss
Meadows. Her father was well off, and in a very excellent business.
His fortune would be made if he could rise to the position of his
son-in-law. He did not hope to do this by a fair and open offer for
Harriet's hand. The character of Meadows, which was decided,
precluded all hope of gaining his consent after he had once frowned
upon his approaches. The only road to success was a secret marriage,
and to that he was gradually inclining the mind of the daughter at
the time our story opened.
It is not always that a villain remains such alone. He generally, by
a kind of intuition, perceives who are like him in interiors, and he
associates with these on the principle that birds of a feather flock
together. He was particularly intimate with one of Larkin's clerks,
a young man named Hatfield, who had no higher views of life than
himself, and who was governed by no sounder principles. Hatfield
found it necessary to be more guarded than Sanford, from the fact
that his employer was gifted with much closer observation than was
Millard. He, too, rode a fast trotting horse on Sunday, but he knew
pretty well the round taken by Larkin on that day, and the hours
when he attended church, and was very careful never to meet him. At
some place of public resort, a few miles from the city, he would
join Sanford, and together they would spend the afternoon.
On Jane Larkin, his employer's only daughter, Hatfield had for some
time looked with a favourable eye. But he felt very certain that
neither her father nor mother would favor his addresses.
Occasionally, with her parents' knowledge, he would attend her to
places of public amusement. But both himself and the young lady saw
that even this was not a thing that fully met their approbation.
Hatfield would, on such occasions, ingeniously allude to this fact,
and thus gather from Jane how she regarded their coldness. It was
not agreeable to her, he quickly perceived. This encouraged him to
push matters further.
Soon the two understood each other fully, and soon after the tacit
opposition of the parents to their intimacy was a matter of
conversation between them, whenever they could get an opportunity of
talking together without awakening suspicion.
Harriet Meadows and Jane Larkin were particular friends, and soon
became confidants. They were both quite young, and, we need not say,
weak and thoughtless. Sanford and Hatfield, as the reader has seen,
were also intimate. In a short time after the latter had made up
their minds to secure the hands of these two young ladies, if
possible, there was a mutual confession of the fact. This was
followed by the putting of their heads together for the contrivance
of such plans as would best lead to the effectuation of the end each
had proposed to himself. It is a curious fact, that on the very
Sunday afternoon on which we have seen Mr. and Mrs. Larkin
conversing about the danger and impropriety of Harriet Meadows
keeping company with a man like Sanford, their own daughter was
actually riding out with Hatfield. In this ride they passed the
residence of Mr. Meadows, who, in turn, commented upon the fact with
some severity of censure towards Mr. Larkin and his wife for not
looking more carefully after their only child.
"They certainly cannot know it," finally remarked Mr. Meadows.
"No, I should think not. It would be a real charity for some one
just to mention it to them."
"It certainly would."
"Suppose you speak to Mr. Larkin about it," said Mrs. Meadows.
"Me? Oh no!" was the reply. "It is none of my business. I never
meddle with family affairs. It is their duty to look after their
daughter. If they don't, and she rides about with Tom, Dick and
Harry on Sundays, they have no one to blame but themselves for the
consequences."
Thus their responsibility in the affair was dismissed. It was no
business of theirs.
In the mean time the two clerks were laying their plans for carrying
off the young ladies, and marrying them secretly.
"Have you sounded Jane on this subject?" asked Sanford of his friend
one evening, when the matter had come up for serious discussion.
"I have."
"How does she stand?"
"I think there is no doubt of her. But how is Harriet?"
"All right. That point we settled last night. She is ready to go at
any time that Jane is willing to take a similar step. She would
rather not go all alone."
"If she will only second me in urging the absolute necessity of the
thing upon Jane, there can be no doubt of the result. And she will
do that of course."
"Oh yes--all her influence can be calculated upon. But how do you
think Larkin will stand affected after all is over?"
"It's hard to tell. At first he will be as mad as a March hare. But
Jane is his only child, and he loves her too well to cast her off.
All will settle down quietly after a few weeks' ebullition and I
shall be as cosily fixed in the family as I could wish. After that,
my fortune is made. Larkin is worth, to my certain knowledge, fifty
or sixty thousand dollars, every cent of which will in the end come
into my hands. And, besides, Larkin's son-in-law will have to be set
up in business. Give me a fair chance, and I'll turn a bright penny
for myself."
"How are you off for funds at this present time?"
"Low, very low. The old fellow don't pay me half a salary. I'm in
debt three or four hundred dollars, and dunned almost to death
whenever I am in the way of duns. All the people I owe know better
than to send their bills to the store, for if they were to do so,
and by thus exposing me cause me to lose my situation, they are well
aware that they might have to whistle for their money."
"Can't you make a raise some how? We must both have money to carry
out this matter. In the first place, we must go off a hundred or two
miles and spend a week. After we return we may have to board for
weeks at pretty high charges before a reconciliation can be brought
about. During this time you will be out of a situation, for old
Larkin won't take you back into the store until the matter is made
up. You ought at least to have a couple of hundred dollars."
"And I have n't twenty."
"Bad, very bad. But don't you think you could borrow a couple of
hundred from Larkin, and pay him back after you become his
son-in-law?"
"Borrow from Larkin! Goodness! He'd clear me out in less than no
time, if I were to ask him to loan me even fifty dollars."
"No, but you don't understand me," remarked Sanford after a
thoughtful pause. "Can 't you borrow it without his knowledge, I
mean? No harm meant of course. You intend borrowing his daughter,
you know, for a little while, until he consents to give her to you."
Hatfield looked into the face of his tempter with a bewildered air
for some moments. He did not yet fully comprehend his drift.
"How am I to borrow without his knowing it? Figure me that out if
you please," he said.
"Who keeps the cash?"
"I do."
"Ah! so far so good. You keep the cash. Very well. Now is n't it
within the bounds of possibility for you to possess yourself of a
couple of hundred dollars in such a way that the deficit need not
appear? If you can, it will be the easiest thing in the world, after
you come back, and get the handling of a little more money in your
right than has heretofore been the case, to return the little loan."
"But suppose it possible for me thus to get possession of two
hundred dollars, and suppose I do not get back safely after our
adventure, and do not have the handling of more money in my own
right--what then?"
"You'll only be supporting his daughter out of his own money--that
is all."
"Humph! Quite a casuist."
"But is n't there reason in it?"
"I do n't know. I am not exactly in a state to see reasons clearly
just now."
"You can see the necessity of having a couple of hundred dollars, I
suppose?"
"Oh yes--as clear as mud."
"You must have that sum at least, or to proceed will be the height
of folly."
"I can see that too."
"It is owing to Larkin's mean pride that you are driven to this
extremity. He ought to pay for it."
"But how am I to get hold of two hundred dollars? That's the
question."
"Is there ordinarily much cash on hand?"
"Yes. We deposit some days as high as ten thousand dollars;
particularly at this season, when a good many merchants are in."
"The chance is fair enough. Two hundred won't be missed."
"No, not until the cash is settled, and then it will come to light."
"That does n't follow."
"I think it does."
"You may prevent it."
"How?"
"Miss a couple of tens in your additions on the debit side of the
cash book. Do you understand?"
"Not clearly."
"You are dull. Change a figure in footing up your cash book, so that
it will balance, notwithstanding a deficit of two hundred dollars.
After you come back, this can be set right again. No one will think
of adding up the back columns to see if there is any fraud."
"After Sanford ceased speaking, his friend cast his eyes to the
floor, and reflected for some time. There was in his mind a powerful
struggle between right and wrong. When the plan was first presented,
he felt an inward shrinking from it. It involved an act of fraud,
that, if found out, would blast his character. But the longer he
reflected, and the more fully he looked in the face of the fact that
without money he could not proceed to the consummation of his
wishes, the more favorable the plan seemed.
"But," he said, lifting his eyes and drawing a long breath, "if it
should be found out?"
"Larkin will not expose his son-in-law for his daughter's sake."
"True--there is something there to hope for. Well, I will think of
it. I must have two hundred dollars from some source."
And he did think of it to evil purpose. He found no very great
difficulty in getting Jane to consent to run away with him,
especially as her particular friend, Harriet Meadows, was to
accompany her on a like mad-cap expedition with Sanford.
Nothing occurred to prevent the acts proposed. By false entries,
Hatfield was enabled to abstract two hundred dollars in a way that
promised a perfect concealment of the fraud, although in doing it he
felt much reluctance and many compunctions of conscience.
About ten days after the conversation between the young men, just
given, Jane Larkin obtained her mother's consent to spend a few days
with a cousin who resided some miles from the city on a road along
which one of the omnibus lines passed. Harriet Meadows did not use
this precaution to elude suspicion. She left her father's house at
the time agreed upon, and joined young Sanford at an appointed
place, where a carriage was waiting, into which Hatfield and Jane
had already entered. The two couples then proceeded to the house of
an alderman, who united them in marriage bonds. From thence they
drove to a railroad depot, took passage for a neighboring city, and
were soon gliding away, a suspicion unawakened in the minds of the
young ladies' friends.
The absence of Harriet on the night following alarmed the fears and
awakened the suspicions of her father and mother. Early on the next
day, Mr. Meadows learned that his daughter had been seen entering
the ---- cars in company with young Sanford. Calling upon Millard, he
ascertained that Sanford had not been to the store on the previous
day, and was still absent. To merge suspicion and doubt into
certainty, the alderman who had married the couples was met
accidentally. He testified to the fact of his having united them.
Sick at heart, Mr. Meadows returned home to communicate the sad
intelligence to the mother of Harriet. When he again went out, he
was met by the startling rumor that a defalcation had been
discovered on the part of young Sanford to a large amount. Hurrying
to the store of Mr. Millard, he was shocked to find that the rumor
was but, alas! too true. Already false entries in the cash book had
been discovered to the amount of at least five thousand dollars. An
officer, he also learned, had been despatched to ----, for the
purpose of arresting the dishonest clerk and bringing him back to
justice.
"Quite an affair this," remarked Larkin to an acquaintance whom he
met some time during the day, in a half-serious, half-indifferent
tone.
"About Meadows' daughter and Sanford? Yes, and rather a melancholy
affair. The worst part of it is, that the foolish young man has been
embezzling the money of his employer."
"Yes, that is very bad. But Millard might have known that Sanford
could not dash about and spend money as he did upon his salary
alone."
"I do n't suppose he knew any thing about his habits. He is an
unsuspicious man, and keeps himself quietly at home when not in his
store."
"Well, I did then. I saw exactly how he was going on, and could have
told him; but it wasn't any of my business."
"I do n't care so much for Millard or his clerk as I do for the
foolish girl and her parents. Her happiness is gone and theirs with
it."
"Ah, yes--that is the worst part. But they might have known that
something of the kind would take place. They were together a good
deal, and were frequently to be seen riding out on Sunday
afternoons."
"This was not with the knowledge of her parents, I am sure."
"I do n't suppose it was. Still they should have looked more
carefully after their child. I knew it and could have told them how
things were going--but it was n't any of my business. I always keep
myself clear from these matters."
Just at this moment a third person came up. He looked serious.
"Mr. Larkin," he said, "I have just heard that your daughter and
Hatfield, your clerk, were married at the same time that Sanford
was, and went off with that young man and his bride. Alderman ----,
it is said, united them."
Larkin turned instantly pale. Hatfield had been away since the
morning of the day before, and his daughter was not at home, having
asked the privilege of going to see a cousin who resided a few miles
from the city. A call upon Alderman ---- confirmed the afflicting
intelligence. The father returned home to communicate the news to
his wife, on whom it fell with such a shock that she became quite
ill.
"He might have known that something of this kind would have
happened," remarked the person who had communicated the
intelligence, as soon as Larkin had left. "No man who does n't wish
his daughters to marry his clerks, ought to let them go to balls and
concerts together, and ride out when they please on Sunday
afternoons."
"Did Larkin permit this with Jane and Hatfield?"
"They were often thus together whether he permitted it or not."
"He could n't have known it."
"Perhaps not. I could have given him a hint on the subject, if I had
chosen--but it was none of my business."
On the next day all the parties came home--Sanford compulsorily, in
the hands of an officer; Hatfield voluntarily, and in terrible
alarm. The two brides were of course included. Sanford soon after
left the city, and has not since been heard of. His crime was
"breach of trust!" As for Hatfield, he was received on the principle
that, in such matters, the least said the soonest mended. In the
course of a few months he was able to restore the two hundred
dollars he had abstracted. After this was done he felt easier in
mind. He did not, however, make the foolish creature he had married
happy. Externally, or to the world, they seem united, but internally
they are not conjoined. Too plainly is this apparent to the father
and mother, who have many a heart-ache for their dearly loved child.