Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/richmansrelative02clel
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES
PRESS NOTICES
OF
"INCHBRACKEN,"
A NOVEL BY R. CLELAND
* * *
_Westminster Review, October_, 1883.
"Inchbracken" is a clever sketch of Scottish life and manners at the
time of the "Disruption," or great secession from the Established
Church of Scotland, which resulted in the formation of the Free
Church. The scene of the story is a remote country parish in the north
of Scotland, within a few miles of the highland line. The main
interest centres in the young Free Church minister and his sister and
their relations, on the one hand, with the enthusiastic supporters of
the Disruption movement, mostly of the peasant or small tradesmen
class, with a sprinkling of the smaller landowners; and, on the other
hand, with the zealous supporters of the Established Church,
represented by the Drysdales of Inchbracken, the great family of the
neighbourhood. The story is well and simply told, with many a quiet
touch of humour, founded on no inconsiderable knowledge of human
nature.
_Academy, 27th October_, 1883.
There is a great deal of solid writing in "Inchbracken," and they who
read it will hardly do so in vain. It is a story of the Disruption;
and it sets forth, with much pains and not a little spirit, the
humours and scandals of one of the communities affected by the event.
The main incident of the story has nothing to do with the Disruption,
it is true; but its personages are those of the time, and the uses to
which they are put are such as the Disruption made possible. Roderick
Brown, the enthusiastic young Free Church minister, finds on the
sea-shore after wreck and storm, a poor little human waif which the
sea has spared. He takes the baby home, and does his best for it. One
of his parishioners has lost her character, however; and as Roderick,
at the instigation of his beadle, the real author of her ruin, is good
enough to give her money and help, it soon becomes evident to
Inchbracken that he is the villain, and that the baby of the wreck is
the fruit of an illicit amour. How it ends I shall not say. I shall do
no more than note that the story of the minister's trials and the
portraitures--of elders and gossips, hags and maids and village
notables--with which it is enriched are (especially if you are not
afraid of the broadest Scotch, written with the most uncompromising
regard for the national honour) amusing and natural in no mean degree.
W. E. HENLEY.
_Athenæum, 17th November_, 1883.
"Inchbracken" will be found amusing by those who are familiar with
Scotch country life. The period chosen, the "Disruption time," is an
epoch in the religious and social life of Scotland, marking a revival,
in an extremely modified and not altogether genuine form, of the
polemic Puritanism of the early Presbyterians, and so furnishing a
subject which lends itself better to literary treatment than most
sides of Scottish life in this prosaic century. The author has a good
descriptive gift, and makes the most of the picturesque side of the
early Free Church meetings at which declaimers against Erastian
patronage posed in the attitude of the Covenanters of old. The story
opens on a stormy night when Roderick Brown, the young Free Church
minister of Kilrundle, is summoned on a ten-mile expedition to attend
a dying woman, an expedition which involves him in all the troubles
which form the subject of the book. The patient has nothing on her
mind of an urgent character. "No, mem! na!" says the messenger.
"My granny's a godly auld wife, tho' maybe she's gye fraxious whiles,
an' money's the sair paikin' she's gi'en me; gin there was ocht to
confess she kens the road to the Throne better nor maist. But ye see
there's a maggit gotten intil her heid an' she says she bent to
testifee afore she gangs hence."
The example of Jenny Geddes has been too much for the poor old
woman:--
"Ay, an' I'm thinkin' it's that auld carline, Jenny Geddes, 'at's
raised a' the fash! My granny gaed to hear Mester Dowlas whan he
preached among the whins down by the shore, an' oh, but he was bonny!
An' a graand screed o' doctrine he gae us. For twa hale hours he
preached an expundet an' never drew breath for a' the wind was
skirlin', an' the renn whiles skelpin' like wild. An' I'm thinkin' my
granny's gotten her death o' ta'. But oh! an' he was grand on Jenny
Geddes! an' hoo she up wi' the creepie am' heved it a the Erastian's
heid. An' my granny was just fairly ta'en wi't a', an' she vooed she
beut to be a mither in Israel tae, an' whan she gaed hame she out wi'
the auld hugger 'at she keeps the bawbees in, aneath the hearthstane,
for to buy a creepie o' her ain,--she thocht a new ane wad be best for
the Lord's wark,--an' she coupet the chair whaur hung her grave
claes,' at she airs fonent the fire ilika Saturday at e'en, 'an out
there cam a lowe, an' scorched a hole i' the windin' sheet, an' noo,
puir body, we'll hae to hap her in her muckle tartan plaid. An'
aiblins she'll be a' the warmer e'y moulds for that. But, however, she
says the sheet was weel waur'd, for the guid cause. An' syne she took
til her bed, wi' a sair host, an' sma' winder, for there was a weet
daub whaur she had been sittin' amang the whins. An' noo the host's
settled on her that sair, she whiles canna draw her breath. Sae she
says she maun let the creepie birlin' slide, but she beut to testifee
afore some godly minister or she gangs hence. An' I'm fear'd, sir, ye
maun hurry, for she's real far through."
The excuse for this long extract must be its excellence as a specimen
of a long-winded statement, just such as a Scotch fisher boy would
make when once the ice was broken. Not less idiomatic is the interview
between Mrs. Boague, the shepherd's wife, and Mrs. Sangster "of
Auchlippie," the great lady of the congregation, when the latter has
had her painful experience of mountain climbing, till rescued by the
"lug and the horn" at the hands of her spiritual pastor. Other good
scenes are the meeting of the two old wives in mutches an the brae
side, and the final discomfiture of the hypocritical scamp Joseph
Smiley by his mother-in-law, Tibbie Tirpie, who rights her daughter's
wrongs and the minister's reputation by a capital _coup de main_. Of
more serious interest, though full of humour, are the trials the
excellent Roderick endures at the hands of his kirk session. Ebenezer
Prittie and Peter Malloch are types of many an elder minister and
ministers' wives have had to groan under, and the race is not extinct.
But all who are interested in such specimens of human nature should
refer to Mr. Cleland, who knows his countrymen as well as he can
describe his country.
* * * * *
Select Novels by Popular Authors.
_Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. each_.
By Florence Marryat.
MY SISTER THE ACTRESS.
A BROKEN BLOSSOM.
PHYLLIDA.
THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL.
FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS.
By Annie Thomas.
ALLERTON TOWERS.
FRIENDS AND LOVERS.
EYRE OF BLENDON.
By Mrs. Eiloart.
THE DEAN'S WIFE.
SOME OF OUR GIRLS.
By Lady Constance Howard.
SWEETHEART AND WIFE.
MOLLIE DARLING.
By the Author of "Recommended to Mercy."
BARBARA'S WARNING.
By Mrs. Alexander Fraser.
A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY.
By Harriett Jay.
TWO MEN AND A MAID.
A
RICH MAN'S RELATIVES.
BY
R. CLELAND,
AUTHOR OF "INCHBRACKEN."
_IN THREE VOLUMES_.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
F. V. WHITE AND CO.,
31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1885.
PRINTED BY
KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS;
AND MIDDLE MILL KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
CONTENTS
* * *
CHAP.
I.--Finance.
II.--Mary Selby meets her Daughter.
III.--Considine.
IV.--Betsey en Fete.
V.--Randolph's Tribulations.
VI.--A Benevolent Spider.
VII.--In the Rue des Borgnes.
VIII.--The Tie of Kindred.
IX.--Tobogganing.
X.--Annette.
XI.--Bluff.
XII.--A Board Meeting.
A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES.
CHAPTER I.
FINANCE.
The sunshine and the glow faded slowly out of the air, the world fell
into shadow, and the heavens changed their sunset glory for the blue
transparency of summer twilight. Evening spread wings of soothing calm
over the drowsy land, worn out, as a child might be, with its day-long
revel in the garish light. The air grew softened and refreshed with
falling dews which gathered unnoticed on the leaves and grass blades.
The winds were still, and only fire-flies, blinking among the herbage
or pursuing aimless flights across the deepening dimness, disturbed
the perfect rest.
Along the dusty road came sounds of wheels, the wheels of the Misses
Stanleys' home-going guests. The sound spread far and wide across the
humid air which sublimated it into something above the common daylight
noise, rasping and jarring against stones and gravel, into a rumbling
half musical with suggestive echoes reverberating through the
stillness.
Out of the gate they came, those vehicles, along the road, around the
corner where Bruneau's cottage stood, and down towards the village
shrouded in gathering obscurity, with the twinkle of a candle
scattered through it here and there in rivalry of the fire-flies in
the bushes nearer hand, but far less brilliant. The vehicles rumbled
and disappeared, and the echoes of their wheels died out as ripples
die on the surface of a stagnant pool; and the road was left alone to
night and silence.
But not for long. Two passengers on foot came forward by-and-by, their
footsteps audible in the sensitive quiet, while yet themselves were
scarce visible in the gloom, and the fumes of their cigars tainting
the sweetness of the clover-scented air. It was Considine and Jordan,
who had preferred to walk while the rest drove on, and were enjoying
their tobacco in the coolness on their leisurely way.
"Fine lad that ward of ours is growing up. Healthy, handsome, and well
conditioned, I should say by his looks. Likely to do credit to his
good fortune." It was Jordan who spoke.
"To whom do you allude, sir?" answered the other, with the prim
formality of print, and of his native land--a formality which
continued residence among Her Majesty's more easy-spoken subjects was
little likely to relax at his time of life. "I am not aware of any lad
to whom I stand in the relation of guardian to a ward."
"I mean Ralph Herkimer's boy, of course. No! You are right enough! He
is not our ward in the legal sense. We can have no voice in his
education. But, really, if we had, I do not think we could have
brought him up better."
"Ha! Ralph's boy? Yes. He seems what we would class as 'good
ordin_ai_ry,' down my way, in the Cotton States--a shade better than
'fair to middlin'.' He ain't just real peart, I should say, but then
he is not a poor man's son, so that is natural. It takes hard work,
and hard feed, and not too much of the feed either, to make a lad
truly peart. But he seems high-toned, and that's the main point with a
young man of his prospects. But I would expect no less from Mrs.
Herkimer's son. Ah, sir! She's Noo Hampshire, 'tis true, and I don't
hold with Noo Hampshire and its notions; but, sir, she is a
high-souled, clear-seeing, honourable and accomplished--lady."
Strange--is it not?--how every female American resents being called a
_woman!_ and no male American dare apply that most simple and
dignified title to the sex. Let us hope that eventually the coloured
lady who condescends to do the washing for white women--_she_ calls
them so--will succeed in disgusting them with the frippery
pretentiousness of the title she usurps, and educate them into
adopting the gracious style of their illustrious mother Eve.
"Oh, yes," answered Jordan, "Mrs. Ralph is an excellent person. My
wife thinks all the world of her, and I like her too; though, perhaps,
as you say, there is a little more New Hampshire than there need have
been. Yes! no doubt, young Gerald is most happy in having such a
mother. And then his father! Think of him! An extremely good fellow is
Ralph Herkimer. So wealthy! Such talent! _Must_ have it, you
know--though that kind of cleverness does not show much in society--to
make such a fortune. The practical talent which amasses a fortune
never _does_ shine in society, though we are ready enough to give it
every credit whenever it gives us the chance, which it never does but
when it invites us to dinner, and that, somehow, is not often.
However, Ralph is indisputably smart, as well as rich, and of course
high principled. How could he have made such a fortune otherwise? Our
young friend Gerald is most fortunate in his parents as well as in the
old uncle."
"Ah! Gerald. Yes. I am with you there. A high-toned, whole-souled
gentleman. I knew him well. Had much to do in assisting him to manage
his affairs after he came to Canady. Very handsome affairs they were.
And I feel proud at having arranged all to his satisfaction, and
realized the whole before our unfort'nate unpleasantness, and the
depreciation of values in the South."
"Yes, that was most fortunate. The old gentleman had time to make his
Canadian investments before his demise, and so saved you and me,
friend Considine"--this was an unwonted familiarity in Jordan's
reserved manner of speech, betraying a desire to grow intimate, which
implied something in his mind requiring a confidential mood for its
reception. "Saved you and me from a power of responsibility."
Considine puffed his cigar in silence. If this _rapprochement_ was
meant to lead up to something behind, let it do so, he would give it
no assistance. He knew of nothing connected with the Herkimer estate
requiring confidential talk just then, and his thoughts were disposed
to linger on other themes. The soothing air and the fragrance of his
weed brought pleasanter fancies to his mind than could spring from the
contemplation of a dead man's money. He had spent a pleasant
afternoon, in what, to an old bachelor of his retiring habits, was a
scene of unwonted gaiety. The low soft hum of women's voices, the
rustle of their silks, the garden scents, and a vague impression of
gentle sweetness and pretty behaviour, so different from the tone at
his hotel and the club smoking-room, where so many of his evenings
were spent, hung like a rosy mist over his memory; and he would fain
have let it hang, so unaccustomed was it, and so pleasant. There was
something, too, like the wave of falling tresses before his eyes, and
a sound of pleasant laughter, not loud or much prolonged, as he
recalled his talk with Mrs. Ralph, and another talk which followed, in
which Miss Matilda was a third at first, and by-and-by sole auditor
and interlocutor, which had lasted long and been extremely pleasant.
"Bless my soul!" said this sober elder to himself. "How deuced
agreeable I must have been! She really liked it--I could see
that--looked interested, no end, when I was explaining to her. And she
understood it all at once! Intelligent, very--cultured, too, and well
read--one knew that by the neat remark she made about Seringapatam.
And a _fine_ woman. What hair! Well-rounded bust, too, and what dainty
slippers. Neat ankle--that time it showed when she kicked the puppy
from under the tea-table. She looked as if she saw that I admired it
when she was drawing it back. She coloured, I think. But not a bit
offended--they never are, to see that a fellow appreciates their
'points.' How archly she smiled, too, at my little sally! What was it
again? But I made several, now I think of it, and she smiled at them
all--not sure, but she laughed. Yes, she did laugh once--laughed right
out. I believe she appreciates me! A woman of discernment. Not one to
be taken in by a sleek young puppy, fitted out by his tailor and his
barber, and nothing inside but his dinner. No, she appreciates a man
who knows something of life! Yes, I do believe she really did
appreciate me;" and he stroked his chin complacently, blowing his
smoke in a long thin tail of satisfaction into the night, and feeling
that the world with its cakes and ale was not all over for him yet, as
he pushed out his chest and stepped springily forward.
Jordan had received no answer to his last observation. He had more to
say, but was waiting for a lead, such as his last remark should have
called forth, but no lead came. He gnawed the end of his cigar
impatiently; the thread of his discourse was being cut. Worse, it was
being allowed to trail idly on the mind and be forgot; like a
purposeless gossamer, which no one troubles to catch hold on, and
which, though its length has been nicely calculated for the gulf it
was meant to span, will never be caught on the further shore, and the
ingenious spider who spun it must wait bridgeless and in vain, or else
he must begin his labour over again, and try anew. Inwardly fuming,
pishing and pshawing under his breath, and gnawing his cigar, the
smoke grew turbulent and lost its way among the passages and recesses
of his system. It got in his eyes, first, and made them smart, it got
into his nostrils and made him snort; finally it made a solid charge
backwards for his throat, like a trapped animal struggling to escape.
Then at last he threw the vexatious thing away, and stood in the
middle of the highway, coughing, gasping and holding his sides, while
his eyes ran water, and his companion wondered if anything ought to be
done. Considine's day-dream after dark was dissipated utterly, and by
the time the other had composed himself he was ready enough to attend
to whatever his companion might choose to say.
"Horrid cigar, that," Jordan was at last able to utter, as they
resumed their walk. "They _will_ always slip a few bad ones into each
box, however good. I wish the _con_founded tobacconist had had the
smoking of that one himself, and coughed his head off, it would have
served him right. But let me see--what was it we were talking about?
Hm--ha. Ah, yes! Old Herkimer's investments. Most judicious they were.
Oh, yes, very much so. Could not have done better--at the time, that
is. But times change. Circumstances have altered since '59. This is
'73, and no one can see fourteen years ahead."
"The stocks all stand higher to-day than they did then," observed
Considine. "Let me see"--and he began to count off on his finger
tips--"Banque d'Orval, that's one. A very large block of stock we hold
there. That has gone up mightily since the surrender. How it stood in
'59 I can't say."
"Oh, yes. It is higher than in '59, of course."
"The Proletarian Loan and Mortgage Co. Don't know a better
mark on the share list at present than that. Pike and Steel Money
Co.--good--Bank of Progress--would be glad to hold some of its stock
myself--Tuscarora Roads--Consolidated Drainage. And--and three or four
more which I do not recall at present. As for the Provincial
Debentures, and Railroad and Municipal Bonds, we went over them
together last time we cut the _coupons_--could not be better, and I
reckon our friend bought them all at a discount. The estate will
realize a handsome profit."
"Quite true, General!"--Jordan did not often lubricate his lips with
American titles of honour--"just what I observed. Our client could not
have acted with a sounder judgment when he made his investments. But
it is years since then, and the business world has had its
vicissitudes, like other institutions. Now--_entre nous_, and strictly
in confidence--are there no whispers afloat in financial circles? has
no--well, no breath--shall I call it? no tone of depreciation come to
your ears? No? You surprise me. But to be sure, it is not so very
unusual for signs and circumstances to leek out and become known in
our profession. Not to be _talked_ about, of course--that would
_never_ do. Betray the necessary confidence between lawyer and client?
Oh, no! Not for a moment! But we do get to know things _at times_,
while you men of the world are still in the dark, and going forward in
the blindest confidence. As to the Banque d'Orval, now. Has nothing
transpired to raise the--what shall I call it?--the shadow of a
misgiving?"
"Misgiving?--Banque d'Orval?--I believe it stands as strong as the
Bank of Commerce of Noo York! Certainly, nairy one! You cannot have
looked into its last statement. Reserve of specie, circulation,
discounts, all O.K. Never made a better showing since it was
chartered."
"I confess I never muddle myself with unnecessary figures. And as to
bank statements in general, the only reliable one of their affairs
ever issued is the one put out by the assignee when they go into
liquidation; and that comes too late to be of much use, except to sue
the old directors upon. No, I did not look into the statement. I have
always felt that that institution suffered an irreparable injury in
the death of Truepenny, the old president."
"The shares are higher now than ever they were in his time."
"No doubt. But what does that prove? Is there any limit to the
wrongheadedness and gullability of investors?--I know of none."
"But Pennywise is manager still. Think of his long experience in the
bank, and how many years he acted under Truepenny. Pennywise is the
most cautious and circumspect bank manager going."
"He is slow enough, if that is what you mean; and that slowness is the
foundation of his high repute. It has been worth a fortune to him. You
submit your proposal and he lets you talk, and when you have talked
yourself into a belief that he will never let so good a thing go past
him, he says 'hum,' and coughs--he has always a cough when he ought to
speak, and gains time by eating a lozenge. When that is over he clears
his voice with a long breath, and promises to submit the matter to his
board. Truepenny, now, was gruff, but he was quick, and he did not
waste time. He might cut you short in the middle of your story--he
always cut Pennywise short when he began to wheeze and ask more
questions--but it was because he knew what you were going to say, and
he gave you your answer. It was always the best answer for the bank's
interest, and generally it was the kindest for the customer. His
successor, Sacavent, is rarely to be seen in the bank parlour now, and
Pennywise does as he pleases, that is, makes people wait, till his
mind is satisfied, and their opportunity is past."
"But the bank's business has not fallen off. The profits are larger
than ever this year."
"On paper, at least. But we must wait to test the reality. It takes
time to weaken a made reputation. Sacavent, now! Do you think that was
a judicious choice?"
"One of our most distinguished merchants--Why, of course!--Rich,
popular, doing an immense business of his own. Who can understand the
wants of the business community better?"
"That is just it. I fear he understands the _wants_ of the business
community too well--knows them from personal experience. What would
you say, now, if I were to tell you that his fine house on the
mountain was mortgaged up to the gold weather cocks? and that the bank
has had to be content with a second mortgage, as collateral, which is
just worth the paper it is written on, for the first will cover
everything."
"Hm. That sounds serious. Is it really so?"
"I hear so, and more. They tell me his wife, who has her own
property--'_separée des biens_,' we call it in our law--has had to
give security for a large sum."
"Indeed? But after all it is a big institootion. If Sacavent were to
bleed it for all he is worth it would be only a pin-prick to the
Banque d'Orval."
"Perhaps; but who can be sure that he is the only blood-sucker on the
board? One cannot suppose the others would pass over his overdrafts if
they did not get something for themselves. Why, even Pennywise will
have to get something to keep him quiet. If it should turn out that
there is a whole nest of needy ones, who can tell how far the queer
transactions may extend? If anything should leak out--you see
something _is_ known, though not to the public--it would raise a
panic."
"The Banque d'Orval can stand a run. Look at the specie reserve! It
_must_ stand. The government must come to its rescue in case of need."
"No doubt. But think of the shares! If they fall back to par--and it
is not so many years since they were only a few per cents above--the
present value of an investment would be reduced one-half. And
everything else on the share list would be affected by the distrust it
would create. Many smaller institutions would go, and all would
suffer. It is a serious consideration. There is the Proletarian Loan,
now."
"That is sound at any rate. Mortgaged properties cannot be wiped out
like the '_rest_' in a bank ledger."
"But you must recollect the Proletarian receives deposits. They had
quite a flourish in their last statement over the increased amount,
and the smaller interest they have to pay on such moneys than on the
bonds they issue; which is all very well, but in case of a run by
their depositors, how are they to realize the long-time mortgages in
which their funds are tied up? They cannot look for much help from the
banks, who naturally would not be sorry to see a competitor for the
public savings in a tight place. Again, are you perfectly confident
that the affairs of the Proletarian would stand a close audit? I
confess I have a feeling myself which is not one of security,
notwithstanding the high quotations of the shares. It has always been
a mystery to me how old Weevil, the managing director, made his
fortune. When he went in there he appeared to have nothing but his
salary from the company of three thousand dollars. Now the man is
undeniably wealthy. Owns blocks of valuable city property, is director
in several companies where he must have a large interest, and lives in
a style which his salary could not keep up for a couple of months, far
less a year--houses for his sons, who, by-the-way, do nothing for
themselves, and English schools for his daughters, which a thousand
dollars a-piece do not begin to pay for. I would be the very last man
to say everything was not as it should be there, but at the same time
it is hard to understand."
"Hm! These are new lights to me, friend Jordan. I must take time to
comprehend them. Meanwhile what is your own opinion? And have you any
suggestion to make as to what we should do?"
"Candidly, then, General--and with all deference in discussing a
matter of finance with you, a member of the Stock Exchange, who make
the subject your profession--I believe that you financiers have
squally times before you. Confidence will be disturbed and quotations
will fall. The investments of our late highly valued friend stand now
at higher prices than ever before. The full value of the property is
vastly greater than when he purchased, and I hate to think of its
shrinking back to the sum, insignificant by comparison, which it
amounted to when it came under our care."
"But I do not see that we can help that, even if it should occur. It
has not occurred as yet. The investments were made by Gerald himself,
and if, in the fluctuations of the market, the property becomes less
valuable, we are not responsible."
"Not legally, even if morally. Still, we would like to do our best for
our worthy friend. For myself, I confess I am proud to be guardian of
so handsome a property; and, seeing we are not asked to work
gratuitously, it appears to me we should do our best for it."
"All very true; but suppose it should turn out that our investments do
not prove profitable--that, after we have sold, the old investments
improve--what then? The estate will have suffered a loss, and the heir
may hold us to account."
"My dear sir, present prices cannot rise any higher. Take my word for
it. How could they? Unless the rate of interest falls materially, how
could investors afford to pay higher prices? Consider that, and then
discount those circumstances, not generally known, which I have
mentioned to you--in confidence--and you cannot but agree with me.
Besides, our friend Ralph--he is your friend more than he is mine--is
a business man, prompt and off-hand. He knows. He is in big operations
every day; and he will not haggle over the odd cents like a _habitant_
farmer."
"But Ralph is not the heir. Gerald hated him, and would have thrown
his money into the St. Lawrence sooner than Ralph should get it."
"Quite so. It is Ralph's boy, a fine lad, too. But he will do just as
his father thinks best. Any young fellow would be like wax in the
hands of so keen a practitioner as friend Ralph."
"I think not. Mrs. Selby's child is the heir. She was to have had the
property herself if she had not married against her brother's wish."
"My dear sir, that child is dead. It must be. It is ten years since it
disappeared. In spite of every effort and inquiry, nothing has been
heard of it since the day it was lost. Ralph's boy is the heir in
default of Mrs. Selby's children. Failing the boy, Ralph would inherit
from his son."
"I have known so many instances in the South of the long-lost heir
turning up when he was least expected, that I never look on any one as
dead till I have seen the burial certificate. After a person has been
put underground, in the presence of witnesses, I feel that his claims
have been quieted, but not before. Twenty years from the date of Mrs.
Selby's marriage we will hand over the property to her child; failing
a child of hers we will pay it to Ralph's son; and, meanwhile, we need
not trouble our heads with questions of heirship."
"True; but we would not fulfil the duty our deceased friend expected
of us if we stood idly by while panics and fluctuations of the Stock
Market were eating away the value of the property. Man alive! our
allowances and commissions in selling out and re-investing would go a
long way to make up any loss which could be proved in a court to have
arisen from our error in judgment, even if our good intentions did not
weigh with the jury to absolve us. That is, supposing the heir should
be shabby enough to make such a claim. But the supposition is
preposterous. If you sell out that block of stock in the Banque
d'Orval and the Proletarian now, your brokerage will be quite a pretty
thing--makes a man wish himself a broker to think of it."
"And after the shares were sold, what would you do with the money?"
"Invest in first mortgages on good real property--never to more than
half or a third of the value. I can lay my hands on any quantity of
such security. It is safe beyond question; for, as you observed a
little while ago, the acres cannot run away and I will see to there
being the fullest powers of foreclosure and sale; so there can be no
possibility of loss."
"I do not understand your Canady laws about real property, and I would
be sure to get tripped up in some nicety about titles."
"But _I_ know, General. It is my business."
"Of course you do, and you would feel all safe. But what of me? One
man don't exactly like to shoulder a responsibility on the strength of
another man's knowledge--see? I would consult you myself, friend
Jordan, on my own affairs, and go by what you told me, but somehow
that seems different from going it blind in another man's business,
and making myself responsible for everything some one else may do."
"But, my dear sir, I am as ignorant of Stock Exchange matters as you
can possibly be of the law of real property. Suppose we were to divide
the proceeds of stocks sold into two parts; you to invest the one-half
in stocks and bonds, and I the other in mortgages, and each to furnish
the other with particulars of what he had done. You would make a very
pretty sum out of your share of the business, and I don't mean to say
that I would not do the same out of the other, only as it is the
borrower who pays the law costs, my profits would come mostly out of
the public, while yours would come out of the estate, so you cannot
but say I am well disposed towards you."
"But if we are to sell out the very strongest stocks on the list in
fear of a panic, it would be a foolish thing to buy into the weaker
ones at the same time."
"Buy American bonds then. You know all about them. So much of United
States bonds, as being strong, and so much in bonds of the better
individual States, which can be got at a discount now, and will be
about par by the time the heir is to receive them. Quite a pretty
transaction for you, I should think, general."
The "general" coughed and hummed, and cleared his voice as if about to
speak; but so many different words rushed to his lips at once--words
of doubt, words of inquiry, refusal and consent--that he could not
frame them into speech.
"Think over it, general," Jordan said as they shook hands at parting,
"and let me know as soon as you have made up your mind. Something
should be done at once."
Considine thought it would be mortifying if the estate left in his
charge should suffer diminution or loss simply on account of his own
want of enterprise. Of course there were chances both ways, but was it
not his business to make gain out of these chances? And had he not
secured for himself a snug little fortune by manipulating them for his
own advantage? And should he not risk something to save a friend, an
old and deceased friend, who would besides, pay brokerage on all he
did for him? Considine valued himself, and I doubt not, justly so, on
his "high tone;" but he was human, as we who contemplate his conduct
also are--and those brokerages _did_ range themselves in his mind
among the considerations for and against disturbing old Gerald's
investments, and eventually it was on the side with brokerages that
his decision fell; but we are not therefore justified in describing
Considine with his "tone" as a specious humbug. He meant well, as so
many of us do, only he was happy to combine his own advantage with
what he--therefore, perhaps--considered the advantage of his trust.