FANNY MORAIN.
For a rising young man, Mr. James Elwell did not appear to be a very
happy young man for some time after his call on his friend Peter
Coleman.
Mr. Elwell was not a bad man at heart; perhaps his worst fault, after
his variable temper, was his over-bearing selfishness. He had thought
himself hampered by what he termed his incumbrance. But now when he was
practically free from this incumbrance, he was angry with himself for
what he had done.
It was not remorse; he was too selfish to feel that emotion with any
poignancy. It was simply that he was throwing away what others might
covet; and although he was not willing to endure the irksome restraint
of possession, he was almost as unwilling that others should find
enjoyment in what he considered his property.
Of course, there was some genuine sorrow mixed with this
feeling--sorrow for the young wife who mourned his loss. But more for
the child, from whom he felt he had cut himself off forever.
His love for his offspring was genuine and sincere, and he considered
himself greatly injured that circumstances--as he termed it--should
forever debar him from showing all his paternal affection.
He even made plans for the future, whereby he--unknown to his son--was
to be the means of advancing that young gentleman’s prospects in life.
But these plans were all for the future, and required no exertion from
him in the present, beyond the labor of building those castles in the
air. Even this labor was somewhat diminished as time went on; and by
the time he had received his coveted decree, which was stamped with a
very large seal, and had every appearance of being genuine, his emotion
had subsided into a feeling of pity for himself, and he felt himself to
be quite an injured individual.
His friend Coleman had been disposed to celebrate the delivery of the
divorce, and had even gone to the extent of ordering a quiet supper for
two at a swell restaurant.
But as Mr. Elwell had morosely declined to celebrate, Mr. Coleman was
obliged to countermand the order. But he was a good-humored fellow,
Peter was; and instead of getting offended at his friend’s conduct, as
some folks might have done, he simply added another hundred to his bill
against his friend, and went off to celebrate the event alone.
Elwell was undoubtedly miserable, and might have been much more so, but
that another god had arisen to demand his worship. This was the God
of Gain; and Elwell, in his worship of this foul god, speculated and
worried and labored, and consequently prospered to such an extent that
he got to be a very rising young man indeed.
“Elwell,” said one of the old heads one day, “have you ever met Pat
Morain?”
“No; I think not,” replied Elwell. “Who is Pat Morain?”
“He is one of the best fellows in creation, begad,” responded the old
head. “Rich as mud, ignorant as a day laborer, and one of the fastest,
jolliest, most liberal dogs that ever lived. He wants to take a shy at
wheat, and I mentioned you as being the fellow he wanted to deal with.
So you had better drop around to the office after board, and I will
introduce you. And remember what I say, begad: It will pay you to stand
in with old Pat.”
And with a wise shake of his head to imply that great things were to
follow, the old man went on ’Change to buy a few thousand bushels of
wheat--just to stir up the animals--as he expressed it.
Pat Morain proved on introduction to be all the broker had described
him to be, and something more. He was a fat, jolly old fellow, whose
wide mouth was constantly expanded in a grin of satisfaction.
He was satisfied with himself and everybody else, and felt as young at
sixty as does many a man at twenty-five. He had been a day laborer in
his time, had Pat; had started in life as a log-driver on one of the
many lumbering streams up north. He almost owned that stream now, for
he owned the land on either side of it for many a mile, and his rafts
of logs--driven by others now--almost covered the stream from sight.
He was very rich, and enjoyed his riches as well as a man of his
antecedents could be expected to enjoy wealth.
He was very proud of the fact that he, ignorant and unaided, had
accumulated so much money; yet he was altogether unspoiled by his
prosperity; and by his own description, which was probably right, he
was just a jolly old Irishman who wanted all the fun he could get.
Just now he wanted to speculate a little in wheat, less for the
probable profits of the speculation than for the excitement engendered
in the operation.
Elwell was soon on very easy terms with the old gentleman; showed him
around town, and altogether made himself so agreeable as to captivate
the lumberman completely.
They made their shy at wheat, and luckily were on the right side of the
market, so old Pat got a handsome return for his investment.
“I like you,” he said bluntly, one day, “and I want you to do me a
favor.”
“What is it?” inquired Elwell.
“I want you to go home with me,” replied Morain. “You are a clever
fellow, and we need clever fellows up there. You just come up with me
and look things over, and if you don’t see a better chance than you
have got here, why, you won’t be any the worse for the trip, anyhow.”
“But what can I do there? I wouldn’t mind changing if I could change
for the better. But I don’t see what chance there is in a small place.”
“You come along,” insisted the old man. “I’ll look after the chances
for you. Tell you what: You come home with me for a visit. You’ll get
heaps of fun, and you needn’t stay any longer than you like. You’ll
see Fanny, anyhow, and that will please her. I expect she will scold
about my spree down here, so you had better come along and get your
share.”
“Who is Fanny?” inquired Elwell.
“Fanny! Why, she’s my girl--the only thing the old woman left me to
remember her by--not that I’ll ever forget her, though,” and the old
man’s face softened. “Fanny is not much like her mother,” continued
Morain, with a dissatisfied look on his face. “The old woman was just
as plain and simple as I am. Worked hard while we had to work, and
tried to enjoy herself afterward. But Fanny! Well, the girl went to
a high-toned school, and that spoiled her. She’s been trying to be
fashionable ever since.”
This was all news to Elwell, and perhaps influenced him in his
decision. An only child, and that child a girl, with aspirations for a
fashionable life, he thought, might be worth going to see. He made his
living by speculation, and this might turn out to be a more successful
speculation than any he had yet made.
Thinking thus, he decided to accept the kindly offer; but he would
not cheapen himself any. So, when at last he promised to go, he did
so with an air of accommodating his friend--not a pleasant way of
accepting an invitation, as a rule. But as old Pat looked upon it as an
accommodation, there was no harm done in this case.