RUINED.
Frank Maynard and his wife had finished breakfast. Frank was reading the
“Times,” and Kate had just brought down baby to play with. Frank
suddenly gave a sharp exclamation as of sudden pain.
“What is it, Frank? What is the matter?”
Frank did not answer, his face had a look of utter dismay. “Send baby
away.” His wife rang the bell, and baby was sent up to the nursery.
“What is it, Frank dear? Something very bad? Tell me, dearest.”
“Katie,” Frank said, “if this is true, and there can be no doubt of it,
we are ruined,—ruined, little woman.”
“How, Frank?” his wife asked, unable to realise the misfortune, “how
ruined, dear?”
“The great Indian Bank is broken, Katie—a complete smash.”
“But, Frank, that is not altogether ruin; I have heard you say half your
money was in the shares of that Bank, and the other half in the Bank of
England, so only half is gone.”
“No, Katie; the Bank has failed, the notice says, for an immense amount.
Not one-third of the amount of the shares is called in; they will call
up the rest now, and every farthing we have in the world will go, Katie.
Oh, my poor little wife, my poor little wife!”
“My dearest, I have you left, so I am rich still. Do not give way,
Frank, my own boy, you must not do that; we shall do very well somehow.
Don’t give way, Frank.”
“My darling, I am only thinking of you. My little tender wife! To think
how different your life will be.”
“My dear Frank, I am not a hothouse flower—I am a little wild Irish
girl; do you think I can’t rough it as well as you? Why, Frank, I have
been wondering lately whether I was always to lead such an idle, useless
life as I have lately, with only baby to work for. I am sure I shall be
happier, Frank, and you know, dear, I can be useful, and perhaps earn
money. I am sure I could give singing lessons.”
“No, no, don’t talk of it, Katie. I am not a man to give way. I was
upset when I thought of you, dear, but I shall be only too proud and too
glad to work for you; and as long as I have a pair of hands you may be
sure, Katie, there is no need for you to talk of doing anything. Why,
you little goose, have you no faith in me? I can do all sorts of
things.”
“Can you, Frank?” Kate said doubtfully; “well, we shall see, only let us
trust each other, dear, and we can look the worst in the face.”
“You are a darling, Katie, and I did not know what a treasure I had got.
There, I feel all right again now, so I will go up to the city, perhaps
things may not be as bad as they seem.”
Frank, however, derived but little comfort from what he heard in town.
The city was in a state of consternation. The break down of the Bank had
been quite unexpected. The “Indian” had been looked upon as one of the
most stable of the banks, and no one knew which might go next. The
liabilities were described as tremendous. It was certain that the
shareholders would have to pay up to their last penny, and that even
then the depositors would suffer greatly. Frank went back again to
Thurloe Square greatly depressed.
“It is as bad as it can be, Katie,” he said, in answer to his wife’s
questioning look when he entered. “It is no use deceiving ourselves. We
shall be called upon to pay up every penny we have.”
“Well, Frank,” Kate said, simply, “we have the consolation that it is no
fault of ours, and I am sure, dear, we shall be very happy wherever we
are.”
“I am sure we shall, Katie.”
“I suppose we shall not have to turn out just yet, Frank?”
“Oh, no; there will be receivers appointed, and then the calls will be
made. I should think it will be a couple of months before anything is
settled.”
“Ah! then, Frank, we need not worry ourselves; we shall have plenty of
time to think over our plans.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Prescott entered.
“My dear Frank! My dear Kate”—for Frank and his wife had long since
insisted that their friend should so call her—“I am sorry for this. I
only heard it this afternoon, for I never look at the money article; so
directly I could get away from court, I ran down to see you. This is,
indeed, a bad affair.”
“It can’t be helped, Arthur,” Kate said, cheerfully; “it’s no use crying
over spilt milk.”
“Is it very bad, Frank?”
“Every penny we have in the world, Prescott. It’s no use mincing
matters.”
Prescott sat down in consternation.
“Don’t take it to heart, Arthur,” Kate said; “you see we are very
comfortable over it.”
Prescott could not answer for some time. At last he said,—
“At least, Frank has one treasure left him.”
“No nonsense, Arthur, else I shall be angry with you. Now please let us
say no more about it till after dinner, and then we will hold a council.
We will all go into Frank’s snuggery, and Frank shall smoke his big
meerschaum; that always puts him in a good temper if he’s ever so
cross.”
“You are an impudent puss, Katie; you know I never am cross.”
“Oh, what fibs, Frank! You know you are a perfect bear sometimes. There,
it is time for you to go upstairs, dinner will be ready in five
minutes.”
Kate left the room, her husband remaining behind to say to his friend,—
“Isn’t she a brick, Prescott? Isn’t she a downright little trump? I tell
you what, Prescott, I never was sharp, but I managed somehow to choose
the very best little woman in the world.” And then he went upstairs
after his wife.
At dinner, Prescott was the most silent of the party. Frank, in his
pleasure and pride at his wife’s stout-heartedness, was in really high
spirits; and Katie having wisely turned the subject to travels, Frank
rattled on about some adventures of his in Albania, and never came back
again to England until the cloth was removed. Then Kate said,—
“Evan, put the wine and glasses in your master’s study. Now, Frank, let
us go there. I have ordered a fire to be lighted; it is more cheerful.”
It was not until they had been seated for some minutes in Frank’s
smoking-room, and until Frank’s meerschaum was fairly alight, that
Prescott brought the conversation to present matters by asking,—
“Have you thought at all of going abroad, Frank?”
“Well, no,” Frank said. “I have not thought about it, but I should be
open to any good appointment. Wolf killer to his Majesty the Czar of all
the Russias, that would suit me capitally; or, if I could not get that,
say ambassador to Madrid.”
“No, no, Frank; I am speaking seriously. I mean are you thinking of
going at once? Hundreds of men in your position will go. The calls
cannot be made for another month or six weeks; and there is nothing in
the world to prevent your selling out of the Funds, and you would still
have a good income for the Continent.”
Frank was silent. After a pause his wife spoke.
“But that would be cheating, would it not, Arthur?”
Prescott hesitated; he was too straightforward to equivocate.
“I don’t know that it would be absolutely cheating, Kate. Frank, you
see, has lost a large sum by the fall of the Bank, and he may consider
that he has a perfect right to save the rest if he can. Hundreds will do
so, no doubt.”
“Still, I suppose it is cheating all the same, Arthur?” Kate said
quietly. “If Frank’s money properly belongs to the creditors of the
Bank, it must be cheating if he goes off without paying it.”
“Look here, Prescott,” Frank said gravely; “the interest and sympathy of
the public will in this, as in all cases, be with the depositor, and not
with the shareholder. In this case more than ordinarily so; for the
depositors in the ‘Indian’ were old Indian officers, and their widows
and children. The distress this smash will cause will be terrible; and
by what I hear, even after the greatest amount possible is wrung out of
the shareholders, there will not be nearly enough to pay the depositors
in full. Now, Prescott, I could stand a good deal of hardship and trial,
but I could not stand being pointed at as a man who had swindled—that
would be the word, old man; there is no use mincing it—the widows and
orphans who have been brought to want by the failure of the Bank. Even
for Katie’s sake I could not do that.”
“You never thought we would, did you, Arthur?”
“No, I did not,” Prescott answered. “I thought you would not, still I
thought it right to suggest the thing before it is too late to be
carried out. There is no doubt that a vast number of the unfortunate
shareholders of the ‘Indian’ are preparing to spend the rest of their
time on the Continent.”
“It is very wicked of them,” Katie said, earnestly.
“You are too hard, little woman,” Frank said. “We must not judge other
people by ourselves. There are circumstances under which I might myself
do what they are doing. For me there would be no excuse for choosing a
life of dishonest ease to setting-to at hard work of some sort. I am not
yet seven-and-twenty; it is comparatively easy for me to begin life; but
suppose I were an old man, with no possible kind of work to turn to to
earn a living, and with a wife of my own age, and a grown-up daughter or
two, what then? What could I possibly do? You must remember our case is
just as hard as that of the depositors. We bought shares at prices which
paid five or six per cent.—no extraordinary interest—and we imagined
that the money was absolutely safe. The depositors put their money in
the Bank, and received interest for it. The Bank goes, from no fault of
ours any more than of theirs. We lose every penny invested; they will
receive, at any rate, some part of what they put in. I think, then, that
an old man, in the case I have spoken of, would be morally justified in
trying to save anything which may remain to him; but I do not think a
young man would be.”
“Perhaps so,” Katie said, thoughtfully. “At any rate, I am glad you are
a young man.”
“So am I, Kate,” Frank laughed. “There, Prescott, now we have quite
decided upon that point, what is your next idea?”
“My dear Frank, I have no idea,” Prescott said; “it is for you to turn
over in your mind what you think would suit you.”
“I was thinking of that as I came down from town, Prescott,” Frank said,
disconsolately; “and upon my word I don’t see what I am fit for. I write
a rascally bad hand, and I am sure no one would take me as a clerk; I
couldn’t do anything in the literary line, to save my life, I can pull
an oar you know; but then, fellows must be apprenticed before they can
be watermen. Upon my word, the only thing I can see for myself,” he
said, ruefully, “is to go into the ring. I fancy there ain’t above one
or two men I couldn’t hold my own with.”
“A prizefighter, Frank! For shame! How dare you talk of such a thing?”
Katie said, indignantly.
“He is only joking, Kate,” Prescott said, although he saw that Frank had
been half in earnest. “He is laughing at himself and us.”
“Yes, I suppose it would not do,” Frank said, with half a sigh; “but
upon my word it is about all I am fit for.”
“You see, Arthur, if Frank could get any little thing to do here, I
could help. I could give lessons in, singing. Besides, I can work very
well. I am a wonderful hand at bonnets.”
“You are a wonderful goose,” Frank broke in, seizing her and taking her
from her chair on to his knees in his own easy chair, and checking her
remonstrances with “Do as you are told, Katie, Prescott won’t mind.”
“Frank, I am really ashamed of you. I shall go away. I will, Frank;
please let me go.”
“Not a bit of it, Katie. Here you are, and here you remain. Now,
Prescott, please go on. It is agreed Katie is to give singing lessons,
and I am to stay at home and nurse baby.”
“Frank, that is unkind,” Katie said, with the tears in her eyes. “Why
should I not have the pleasure of helping too?”
“My own Katie,” Frank said. “If the worst comes to the worst, you shall
help; but I hope that we shall hit on something better than that. Your
proper work will be quite as hard, my pet; what with baby and me you
will have quite enough to do. I am afraid I shall be the most
troublesome of the two. Now, Prescott, have you anything else to
propose?”
“Nothing definite, Frank; but if I were in your place, with your
strength and energy, and with such a brave-hearted wife to back me and
help me, I should emigrate. I am afraid there is no sort of profession
here for which you are fitted, but you are just the man to get on out
there. A man who is strong and active, and is willing to turn his hand
to anything, is safe to get on; and no kind of work is considered
dishonouring out there.”
“By Jove, Prescott, that would be just the thing for me, but it would be
a rough life for poor Kate.”
“Not rougher for me than for you, Frank. Besides, you know that I could
really help you out there.”
“I should think so, Kate; still I think if we really do make up our
minds to it, it would be better for me to go out first to make a home
for you, Katie—a rough home, dear, but still a home—and for you to stay
for a little while with the Drakes.”
“Look here, Frank,” his wife said, with a tear glistening in her eye
again, and a laugh that was nearly a cry, “I promise you solemnly, that
if you once leave me behind, you leave me behind for good. You don’t
mean it, do you, husband?”
“No, darling; that is, I don’t mean it, if you don’t want it. Well,
Prescott, and which of the colonies do you think would suit me best?”
“Ah, that is a matter for great consideration, Frank. You must do
nothing in a hurry. There are Canada, the Cape, the various Australian
colonies, and New Zealand. You must get up the subject, and settle a
little what line you mean to take up.”
“By Jove, Prescott, it is a great idea, and has taken a tremendous
weight off my mind. I did not see anything for it but the ring, you
know, and Kate does not seem to fancy that. Well, we may consider the
matter settled so far.”
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