Still, when we purpose to enjoy ourselves,
To try our valor fortune sends a foe,
To try our equanimity a friend.
GOETHE.
Floyd Grandon resolves upon two steps the next morning, and puts them
into execution immediately. The first is a visit to Mr. Connery. The
lawyer is a rather elderly, pleasant-looking man, with a mouth and eyes
that impress you at once as being quite capable of a certain reserve,
trust, secrecy. The ordinary courtesies of the day pass between the
two, and Mr. Grandon can well believe Mr. Connery when he says
emphatically that he is glad of Mr. Grandon's return.
Floyd proceeds at once to business, and asks his questions in a
straightforward manner.
"When I drew up your father's will, Mr. Grandon," replies the lawyer,
"according to his showing it seemed a very fair one. To take out actual
money would have destroyed the business at once, and that was what he
counted on for Eugene. Perhaps it was not the wisest plan----"
"I am afraid Eugene cares very little for the business. Still, he is
nothing of a student----" and Floyd pauses.
"Simply a young man of pleasure, who has always had plenty of money and
an indulgent father. We may as well look at the facts, and you must
pardon my plain speaking. He keeps two fast horses, and is at Rockwood
a good deal. There is a race-course and a kind of gentlemen's
club-house. It is an excellent place to spend money, if one has it to
throw away," Mr. Connery adds dryly.
Floyd flushes and a little chill speeds along his nerves. "Did you know
exactly what the claims against the estate were at the time of my
father's death?" he asks, getting away from the subject.
"The factory your father owns alone. There is a mortgage of three
thousand dollars on it. One half-share of the business, stock,
machinery, etc., was his, and this is subject to a note of seven
thousand dollars, incurred when the new machinery was put in. Why, it
must be about due," and Mr. Connery goes to his safe. "The expectation
was that the business could pay this and then begin with the legacies.
But--I am afraid all has not been clear sailing."
"How long has this Wilmarth been with my father?" Floyd asks abruptly.
"Four or five years. You see your father hoped very much from some new
process of manufacture. I wish he could have lived. Wilmarth is not a
prepossessing man, yet I have never heard him spoken of in any but the
highest terms. He is a bachelor, lives plainly, and has no vices,
though he may have a desire to amass a fortune. I think, indeed, he
rather urged your father to this new undertaking. St. Vincent I really
know nothing about. He is an inventor and an enthusiast. Your place,
Mr. Grandon, will be a hard one to fill, and you can count on me for
any assistance."
"Thank you," returns Floyd, warmly. "I shall see St. Vincent and
arrange for a meeting. I neither understand business nor like it, and
have some matters of my own demanding my attention, but I must see this
placed on a proper basis. I shall be glad to come to you."
Floyd feels as if he had gained one friend. Then he pursues his way to
the little nest among the cliffs. The greyhound comes to greet him
first, snuffs him critically, then puts his nose in Grandon's hand. By
this time the housekeeper has come out, who is a veritable Norman
woman.
A great disappointment awaits Floyd. Mr. St. Vincent started an hour
ago for Canada, to bring his daughter home, who has been educated in a
convent. "But ma'm'selle is a Protestant, like her father," says the
old lady, with a sigh.
Then Floyd Grandon betakes himself to the factory. Eugene is out. He
has no fancy for discussing matters with Wilmarth at present, so he
returns home and busies himself in fitting up a study in one of the
tower rooms. Rummaging through the attic he finds an old secretary of
Aunt Marcia's, and unearths other treasures that quite stir his
sister's envy.
"For those old things are all coming back," she says in a tone of
poignant regret, whether at this fact or at the realization of the loss
of them he is not quite certain.
The house is quiet and delightful. Marcia amuses him with her artistic
flights and wild fancies. Floyd thinks if she would confine herself to
the work she could do really well she would be a success, but her
ambition is so tinctured with every new view that she never quite
settles, but flutters continually.
That evening Floyd resolves to bring Eugene to a sense of what lies
actually before him. He evades at first, fidgets, and grows
unmistakably cross.
"The family expenses, Eugene,--how have they been met?" questions the
elder steadily.
"They haven't been met at all," says Eugene. "There has only been money
enough to pay the men and all that. I told you Laura couldn't have her
money. But there was no use breaking up the family,--where could they
have gone?"
"I think, then, there has been a good deal of extravagance," is Floyd's
decisive comment. "There are five horses in the stable, and four
servants. I cannot afford such an establishment."
"Oh, I say, Floyd, don't turn a miserable hunks of a miser the first
thing, when you have such a splendid fortune! I wouldn't grudge
anything with all that money in my hand."
"Some of it will go rapidly enough. I shall pay Gertrude and Marcia
their first instalment, as I have Laura, and my mother must have
something. Then, the house debts; do you know where the bills are?"
With Mrs. Grandon's help they get the bills together, and there are
some still to come in.
"Of course the house is yours," says his mother in a sharp tone. "You
may wish to marry again----"
That is so far from Floyd's thoughts that he shakes his head
impatiently and replies,--
"The thing to be considered is _who_ is to provide for the family. If
the business cannot do it at present, I shall. But it will have to be
done within _my_ income. My own habits are not extravagant----"
"Well, I should say!" and Eugene laughs immoderately. "A man who
travels round the world like a prince, who buys everything he chooses,
joins exploring expeditions with lords and marquises, keeps a maid for
his daughter,--you have not arrived at that dignity, mother mine?"
"I do not think the maid for my daughter will cost more than one fast
horse, Eugene."
"O boys, do not quarrel!" entreats their mother.
"I hope I shall never quarrel," says Floyd, in a steadfast, reassuring
tone. "I could lay down my father's charge, he gives me that privilege
if I find I cannot save the business without spending my private
fortune. If you would rather have me withdraw----"
"Oh, no! no!" cries his mother. She has felt for some time that they
were steadily going to ruin under Eugene's _régime_, but he is her idol
and she loves him with a curious pride that could deny him nothing;
would not even blame him, and wishes him to be prosperous. "I really
think you would have no right, Floyd."
"Then if I must work, if I must give my time, interest, and money, I
shall have to know how everything stands. I shall have to provide to
the best of _my_ judgment. You _must_ all trust in me, and believe that
I am acting for your welfare."
There is no affirmative to this, and Floyd feels really hurt. Eugene
sits rolling the corner of the rug under his foot with a kind of
vicious force, and is sulkily silent.
"Your father expected, Floyd----" and Mrs. Grandon buries her face in
her hands, giving way to tears.
"My dear mother, I shall do everything my father desired, if it is in
my power. Eugene," suddenly, "how does Mr. Wilmarth propose to meet
this note?"
"Don't worry about the note. You must admit that he knows more about
the business than you."
"Very well," Floyd returns, with ominous calmness. "I will pay up the
house bills to-morrow, and there will be no change until after Laura's
marriage. Let us remember that our interests are identical, that one
cannot suffer without the other. Good night."
He bends over to kiss his mother, and leaves the room. He had never
mistrusted before that his soul was unduly sensitive, his temper bad,
his patience of a poor quality. He is tempted to make a rush back to
the old, free, wandering life. But if he does, the family portion will
be ruin. He cannot be indifferent to their welfare, nor to the fact
that if events go wrongly he will be blamed.
He goes at the business promptly the next morning. With Mr. Conner's
assistance he pays Marcia's and Gertrude's portion, and reinvests it.
They can have the interest or squander the principal. He calls on
several tradesmen and takes their receipts. The note is still a matter
of perplexity, and Mr. Connery is appointed to confer with the holder
and ask him to meet Mr. Floyd Grandon. Then he settles about a strip of
land for which he has been offered a fabulous sum, it seems to him.
This will give him all the ready money he will need at present.
Marcia is effusively grateful. "You dear, dear Floyd!" And she kisses
him with the ardor of sixteen. "_Now_ I can have a glorious summer. A
party of us planned an artistic tour, camping out, living with Nature,
and wresting her secrets of tone and color from her, studying in the
dim, cathedral like recesses of the woods, apart from the glare and
conventionalism of the heartless world----"
"I want you to understand this matter," interrupts Grandon. "It is an
excellent investment. Very few sure things pay eight per cent. You will
have just four hundred dollars a year for pin money," laughingly. "I
think I had better lend you a little at present, so that you will not
need to break into your principal. How much will this summering cost?"
"Oh," says Marcia, airily, "two hundred, perhaps. We shall be simple
and frugal."
"Then I will write a check for that." He smiles a little to himself.
Has any member of the family the least idea of the value of money?
Gertrude is surprised and frightened. "I'm sure, Floyd," and she is
half crying, "that I don't want to go away. If you _did_ marry I should
never meddle or make trouble, but I would like to stay. Any room would
do for me, and a few books----"
"I'm not married yet," he replies, rather brusquely. Do they suppose he
means to turn them all out of the house the very first thing?
Laura and madame come home that evening, and the young girl is in a
whirl of delight. Madame Lepelletier is the incarnation of all the
virtues and graces. They have done wonders in shopping. Such robes,
such marvels, such satins and laces and delights dear to the feminine
eye, and not half the money spent! Laura's joy raises the depressing
atmosphere of the house. Then madame has offered to supervise the
workwomen at home, and altogether Laura will be a gorgeous bride.
Floyd hunts up his trinkets. There is an elegant lapis-lazuli necklace,
there are some curious Egyptian bracelets, with scarabæi that will
render her the envy of her little world. There are some unset emeralds,
opals, and various curious gems of more value to a cabinet than to a
woman of fashion. A few diamonds and sapphires, but these he shall save
for Cecil.
Laura helps herself plentifully, and Marcia is tempted by a few. Madame
Lepelletier would like to check this lavish generosity; there may be
some one beside Cecil, one day. Floyd Grandon puzzles her. As a general
thing she has found men quite ready to go down to her, sometimes when
they had no right. But she decides within herself that his affairs need
a mistress at their head, that his child will be quite spoiled by the
exclusive attention he gives her, and that she could minister wisely
and well. She is a prudent and ambitious woman. She does not sow money
broadcast like the Grandon girls, but gets the full worth of it
everywhere. More than all, Floyd Grandon has stirred her very being. In
those old days she might have liked him, now she could love him with
all the depth of a woman's soul. Her French marriage never touched her
very deeply, so she seems quite heart-free, ready to begin from the
very first of love and sound the notes through the whole octave.
But Floyd keeps so curiously out of the way. His study is so apart, he
is writing, or out on business, or walking with Cecil. There is a good
deal of company in the evening, but he manages to be engaged. At times
she fairly hates this wedding fuss over which she smiles so serenely.
"Eugene," Floyd begins, one morning, "I have just had a note from
Briggs & Co. One member of the firm will be here to-morrow. I have
advised them that their money is in Mr. Connery's hands, and I pay the
note for Grandon & Co. When Mr. St. Vincent returns we will go over
matters thoroughly and see what state the business really is in."
Eugene has turned red and pale, and now his face is very white and his
eyes flash with anger.
"I told you to let that alone!" he flings out. "All the arrangements
have been made. Wilmarth has the money."
"I prefer to loan it, instead of having Wilmarth."
"You can't, you shall not," declares Eugene. "I have--the thing is
settled. You have no real business with the firm's affairs."
"You are mistaken there. You have admitted that there was barely enough
coming in to pay current expenses, and nothing toward meeting the note.
You cannot mortgage or dispose of any part without my advice or
consent. I can offer this loan, which I do for a number of years, then
there will be no pressing demand----"
Eugene looks thunderstruck; no other word expresses the surprise and
alarm.
"You cannot do it!" he says hoarsely, "because--because--well, I hate
the whole thing! I've no head for it! You will have to know to-morrow;
I have sold half my share to Wilmarth."
"For what amount?" quietly asks the elder brother.
"Twelve thousand dollars."
Floyd has had one talk with Wilmarth of an extremely discouraging
nature. Now it seems to him if Wilmarth is willing to invest more
deeply, he cannot consider it quite hopeless. He _does_ distrust the
man.
"You cannot do this, Eugene. In the first place, the half-share is not
yours, until the legacies have been paid."
"They never can be! I would take Wilmarth's word as soon as yours.
There is no use worrying and scrimping and going without everything for
the sake of the others."
"For shame, Eugene. But fortunately the law has to settle this, not any
individual preference. Let us go to Mr. Connery at once."
"I shall keep to my bargain, to my word," says Eugene, with sullen
persistence. "I don't want any advice, and the thing _is_ done."
"Then it will have to be undone, that is all."
Eugene rushes out of the room. Floyd immediately starts for the
lawyer's, and after a discussion they seek an interview with Mr.
Wilmarth. The whole transaction is a fraudulent one, and Mr. Connery
will invoke the aid of the law if there is no other way out.
Mr. Wilmarth is taken very much by surprise, that they can both see.
His first attitude looks like battle. Mr. Connery makes a brief and
succinct statement, explaining what he puts very graciously as a
mistake or an informality, and Wilmarth listens attentively.
"Gentlemen," he says, with a great effort at suavity, "this was young
Mr. Grandon's offer. I may as well explain to you," with a stinging
emphasis, "that _he_ is a good deal in debt and needs money. I should
have held this share subject to some demands, of course. Three thousand
five hundred was to go to his share of the note, and the rest was to be
subject to his call at any time."
Floyd Grandon is so incensed that he shows his hand incautiously.
"Mr. Wilmarth, I offer you twelve thousand dollars for your
quarter-share," he says.
"Mr. Grandon, I beg leave to decline it."
The two men measure each other. They will always be antagonistic.
"What will you take to dispose of it?"
"It is not for sale."
"Then you must have faith in the ultimate recovery of the business."
"Not necessarily. If I choose to risk my money it is my own affair. I
have no family to impoverish. And all business is a risk, a species of
gambling. You stake your money against the demand for a certain line of
goods, red, we will say. The ball rises and lo, it is white, but you
whistle 'better luck next time.'"
Mr. Connery has been thinking. "So you expected to take half the amount
of the note out of Mr. Eugene's quarter-share?" he says.
Wilmarth starts, then puts on an air of surprise that is quite evident
to the others.
"That _is_ a mistake," he admits frankly. "No doubt we should have
found it out in the course of settlement. I trusted most of this matter
to Eugene, and he surely should not have wronged himself. But it is all
of no consequence now; as well tear up the memorandum. But, Mr. Grandon,
if you are to be your brother's banker, may I trouble you to settle
these?"
He hands Floyd three notes. They aggregate nearly two thousand dollars.
Floyd Grandon folds them without a motion of surprise, and promises to
attend to them to-morrow, when the note is taken up.
"Your brother has not your father's head for business," Wilmarth says,
with scarcely concealed contempt.
"No. It is quite a matter of regret, since it was to be his portion."
"To-morrow we will meet here for the settlement of the note," announces
Mr. Connery. Then they say good morning with outward politeness.
Wilmarth's eyes follow Grandon's retreating figure. He has mistaken his
man, a thing he seldom does; but Floyd's antecedents, his refinement,
and scholarly predilections have misled him into believing he could be
as easily managed as Eugene. Wilmarth has given his adversary one
advantage which he bitterly regrets. When Eugene named half for his
share of the note he had let it go, and in the two or three
after-references Eugene clearly had not seen it. Wilmarth had repeated
the statement carelessly, and now he would give much to recall it,
though otherwise it might have gone without a thought.
Eugene absents himself all day. Mrs. Grandon is much distressed, but
she is afraid to question Floyd. Even the next morning they merely nod
carelessly, and no word is said until Floyd brings home the notes.
"Have you any more debts?" Floyd asks in a quiet tone, which he means
to be kindly as well.
"No." Then curiosity gets the better of the young man. "Was there an
awful row, Floyd?"
"Mr. Wilmarth, of course, saw the utter impossibility of any such
agreement. Eugene," slowly, "is there anything you would like better
than the business?"
"No business at all," answers Eugene, with audacious frankness. "I
really haven't any head for it."
"But you understand--something, surely? You can--keep books, for
instance? What did you do in father's time?"
"Made myself generally useful. Wrote letters and carried messages and
went to the city," is the laconic reply.
Floyd is so weary and discouraged that something in his face touches
Eugene.
"I wish you wanted to take my mare, Beauty, for part of this," he says,
hesitatingly. "She cost me a thousand dollars, but I won back three
hundred on the first race. She's gentle, too, and a saddle horse, that
is, for a man. You would like her, I know."
Floyd considers a moment. "Yes," he makes answer, and hands Eugene the
largest note, which balances it. "Make me out a bill of sale," he adds.
"You're a good fellow, Floyd, and I'm obliged."
For a moment Floyd Grandon feels like giving his younger brother some
good advice, then he realizes the utter hopelessness of it. Nothing
will sink into Eugene's mind, it is all surface. It may be that
Wilmarth's influence is not a good thing for a young man. How has his
father been so blinded?
"That man is a villain," Connery had said when they left the factory.
"It will be war between you, and you had better get him out if it is
possible."
Floyd sighs now, thinking of all the perplexities. What is Mr. St.
Vincent like? Will there be trouble in this direction as well?
He has deputed Connery to find him some efficient mechanician to go
over the factory and see what can be done. Surely Wilmarth cannot
oppose anything for their united interest, unless, indeed, he means to
ruin if he cannot rule. There _is_ a misgiving in Floyd's mind that he
is purposely allowing everything to depreciate with a view of getting
it cheaply into his own hands. Floyd has the capacity of being roused,
"put on his mettle," and now he resolves, distasteful as it is, to
fight it through.