Pay day was on the fifth of the month. On the night of the thirteenth,
when the Club met at the usual hour for supper, Miller was not present.
He was never as regular as the others, so the rest did not wait supper
for him. After supper the Club settled down to their pipes, the
Professor, the Colonel and Alex came in, and the usual discussion about
stocks was indulged in for some minutes, the chief matter dwelt upon
being the steady and unaccountable rise in Sierra Nevada. At length it
was noticed that Carlin did not join as usual in the conversation, and
Ashley asked him what he seemed so cast down about.
At this Carlin shook himself together and said: "I will be glad if you
will all give me your attention for a moment." He took a letter from his
pocket and read as follows:
CARLIN: When you receive this I shall be on my way, by
horseback (overland), to Eastern Nevada. I am going to Austin,
and if I do not obtain employment there, shall continue on to
Eureka. You can find me in one place or the other by Sunday.
The evening of pay day, with the money which the Club had
placed in my hands to pay the bills, I went down town to carry
out the wishes of the Club, when I met a friend, who is in the
close confidence of the "big ring" of operators. He called me
aside and told me that he had inside information that within
three days Silver Hill would commence to jump, that within a
week the present value would be multiplied by five or six and
more likely by ten. That there would be an immediate and great
advance he assured me was absolutely certain. He told me how he
had received his information, and it seemed to me to be
conclusive.
I found a broker, unloaded my pockets, and bade him buy Silver
Hill; to buy on a margin all he could afford to. The stock has
fallen thirty per cent., and the indications are that it will
go still lower. Yesterday I suppose it was sold out, for on the
previous day I received a notice from the broker to please call
at his office at once. My courage, that never failed me before,
broke down. I could not go. The amount of money belonging to
the Club which I had was altogether $575.00. Of course it in
lost. It is a clear case of breach of trust, if not of
embezzlement. You can make me smart for it, if you feel
disposed to, or if you can give me the time, I can pay the
money in about eight months after I get to work. That is, I can
send you about eighty dollars per month. If wanted I will be in
Austin or Eureka.
I might make this letter much longer, but I suspect by the time
you will have read this much, you will think it long enough.
Believe me none of you can think meaner of me than I do of
myself.
JOE MILLER.
After the reading of the letter, Wright was the first to find his voice.
Said he: "It is too bad. I knew Miller was reckless, but I believed his
recklessness never could go beyond his own affairs. I had implicit faith
in him."
"Had he only told us," said Ashley, "that he wanted to use the money, he
could have had five times the sum."
"What I hate about it, is the want of courage and the lack of faith in
the rist of us," said Corrigan. "Why did he not come loike a mon and
say, 'Boys, I have lost a trifle of your money in the malstroom of
stocks; be patient and I will work out?'"
"It is a pitiable business," said Carlin. "The money--that is the loss
of it--does not hurt at all. But it was Miller who proposed the forming
of this Club, and he is the one who first betrays us, and then lacks the
sand to tell us about it frankly. But no matter. Jesus Christ failed to
secure twelve men who were all true. What do you think of it, Brewster?"
"What Miller has done," said Brewster, "is but a natural result when a
working man goes down into the pit of stock gambling. The hope in that
business is to obtain money without earning it. It is a kind of lunacy.
In a few months, men so engaged lose everything like a steady poise to
their minds. They take on all the attributes which distinguish the
gambler. Their ideas are either up in the clouds or down in the depths.
Worst of all, they forget that a dollar means so many blows, so many
drops of sweat, that a dollar, when we see it, means that sometime,
somewhere, to produce that dollar, an honest dollar's worth of work was
performed, that when that dollar is transferred to another, another
dollar's worth of work in some form must be given in return, or the
eternal balance of Justice will be disarranged. Miller reached the point
where he did not prize his own dollars at their true value. It ought not
to be expected that he would be more careful of ours."
"Colonel, what is your judgment about the business?" Carlin asked.
"It seems to me," was the reply, "that when he went away Miller insulted
all of you--all of us, for that matter. His conduct assumes that we are
all pawnbrokers who would go into mourning over a few dollars lost."
"Oh, no, I think not," said Strong. "Miller is a sensitive, high-strung
man. He has been in all sorts of dangers and difficulties and has never
faltered. At last he found himself in a place where, for the first time,
he felt his honor wounded, and his courage failed him. He is not running
away from us, he is trying to run away from himself."
"What is your judgment, Professor?" asked Carlin.
"As they say out here, Miller got off wrong," said the Professor; "and
he seems blinded by the mistake so much that he cannot see his best way
back."
"Harding, why are you so still?" asked Carlin.
"I am sorry for Miller," said Harding. "He is the best-hearted man in
the world."
"It is a most unpleasant business. What shall we do about it?" asked
Carlin. "I wish all would express an opinion."
"What ought to be done, Carlin?" asked Wright.
Carlin answered: "The business way would be to formally expel him from
the Club, and to write him that, without waiving any legal rights, we
will give him the time he requires in which to settle."
"That would no doubt be just," said Wright.
"There would be no injustice in it, from a business standpoint," said
Ashley.
"He certainly," said Brewster, "would have no right to complain of such
treatment."
Said Corrigan: "The verdict of the worreld would be that we had acted
fairly."
"No one," said the Colonel, "could blame you for firing him out. He has
not only wronged you directly, but at the same moment has attacked your
credit in the city where you are owing bills."
"That is true," said the Professor.
"It is only a matter of discretion what to do," said Alex. "All the
direct equities are against Miller."
"There is no decision so fair as by a secret ballot," said Harding. "Let
us take a vote on the proposition of Miller's expulsion, and all must
take part."
This was agreed to. Nine slips of paper were prepared, all of one size
and length, one was given to each man to write "expulsion, yes," or
"expulsion, no," as he pleased. A hat was placed on the table for a
ballot-box; each in turn deposited his ballot and resumed his seat.
The silence was growing painful when Brewster said: "Carlin, Miller
wrote back to you; you will have to write to him. Suppose you be the
returning board to count the votes and make up the returns."
Carlin arose and went to the table. There he paused, and his face wore a
look of extreme trouble; but he shook off the influence, whatever it
was, stretched out his hand in an absent-minded way, picked up a ballot
and slowly brought it before his eyes. He looked at it, turned it over
and looked on the other side, then with a foolish laugh he said: "Why,
the ballot is blank."
He transferred it to his left hand, picked up another ballot with his
right hand; looked at it; it, too, was blank.
So in turn he took up one after another. They all were blank.
As he called the last one and started to resume his seat, Harding, in a
low voice, as to himself, said: "Thank God!"
All looked a little foolish for a moment, and then the Colonel said:
"Why, Carlin, you are not much of a returning board, after all."
Said Corrigan: "It sames the convintion moved to make it unanimous."
Said Carlin: "I could not vote to expel Miller. He has long been my
friend. I know how sensitive he is. He wronged us a little, but I just
could not do it."
Said Brewster: "I could not do it, because that would be the quickest
way to cause a man, when on the down grade, to keep on. To make him feel
that those who have been most intimate with him, despise him, may be
exact justice, but it seldom brings reformation."
Said the Colonel: "I could not do it in his absence. It would have had a
look of assassination from behind."
"I could not do it," said the Professor. "The news would have got out
and the Club would have been disgraced."
"It was not much more than an error of judgment, on Miller's part," said
Wright. "He never intended to wrong us out of a penny. Crime is measured
only by the intention."
"That is the true inwardness of the whole business, Wright, and that
thought kept my ballot blank," was Alex's suggestion.
"I could not do it," said Ashley. "His expulsion would have looked as
though we measured friendship by dollars. If a man ever needs friends,
it is when he is in trouble."
"I could not do it," chimed in Corrigan. "Suppose all our mistakes shall
be remimbered against us, how will we iver git admitted to the great
Club above?"
"I could not do it, because I love him," said Harding.
"I feared," said Brewster, "that things were going wrong with Miller a
week ago, when I noticed that in lieu of the costly chair which he first
brought to the Club, he was using that old, second-hand cheap affair."
"I think," said Harding, "that I have a right to tell now what has been
a secret. You know Miller and myself worked together. We were coming up
from the mine one evening, ten days ago, when we chanced to pass old man
Arnold's cabin--Arnold, who was crippled by a fall in the Curry some
months ago. The old man was sitting outside his cabin and resting his
crippled limb on a crutch. Miller stopped and asked him how he was
getting on, and talked pleasantly with him for a few minutes, when an
express wagon came by. Miller left the old man with a pleasant word,
asked me if I would not wait there a few minutes, hailed the expressman,
jumped upon his wagon, said something to the man which I did not
understand, and the wagon was driven rapidly away.
"In a few minutes it returned; Miller sprang down; the expressman handed
him the great easy chair; he carried it into the door of the cabin,
setting it just inside; then lifted the old man in his arms from his
hard chair, placed him in the soft cushions of the other, moved it
gently until it was in just the position where the old man could best
enjoy looking at the descending night; then, picking up the old battered
chair, he said, cheerily: 'Arnold, I want to trade chairs with you,' and
walked so rapidly away that the old man could not recover from his
surprise enough to thank him. This old chair is the one he brought away.
"Coming home he said to me: 'Harding, don't give me away on this
business, please. We are all liable to be crippled some time, and to
need comforts which we do not half appreciate now. I would have given
the old man the chair two weeks ago, but I did not have it quite paid
for at that time.'
"I tell you the story now because I do not think there is any obligation
to keep it a secret any longer."
When Harding had finished there was not one man present who was not glad
that the vote had resulted unanimously against the generous man's
expulsion.
The next question was as to the form of the letter that should be sent
Miller. This awakened a good deal of discussion. It was finally decided
that each should write a letter, and that the one which should strike
the Club most favorably should be sent, or that from the whole a new
letter should be prepared. Writing materials were brought out and all
went to work on their letters. For several minutes nothing but the
scratching of pens broke the silence.
When the letters were all completed, Carlin was called upon to read
first. He proceeded as follows:
VIRGINIA CITY, August 13th, 1878.
Friend Miller:--The Club has talked everything over. All think
you made a great mistake in going away, and that it would be
better for you to return to your work. Your old place in the
Club will be kept open for you.
Sincerely yours,
TOM CARLIN.
Wright read next as follows:
VIRGINIA CITY, August 13th, 1878.
JOE:--I make a poor hand at writing. I have been banging
hammers too many years. But what I want to say is, you had
better, so soon as your visit is over, come along back. There
wasn't a bit of sense in your going away. Your absence breaks
up the equilibrium of the Club amazingly. The whole outfit is
becoming demoralized, and the members are growing more
garrulous than so many magpies. We shall look for you within a
week. We all want to see you.
Your sincere friend,
ADRIAN WRIGHT.
The Colonel responded next.
VIRGINIA CITY, August 13th, 1878.
MILLER:--You made a precious old fool of yourself, rushing off
as you did. Are you the first man who has ever been deceived by
Comstock "dead points?" If you think you are, try and explain
how it is that while some thousands of bright fellows have
devotedly pursued the business during the past fifteen years,
you can, in five minutes, count on your fingers all that have
saved a quarter of a dollar at the business.
The whole Club join me in saying that you ought to return
without delay.
Yours truly,
SAVAGE.
The Professor's letter, which was next read, was as follows:
VIRGINIA CITY, August 13th, 1878.
DEAR MILLER:--We do not like your going away. The act was
deficient in candor, and seems to have a look as though you
estimated yourself or the Club at too low a figure. Suppose you
did get a little off; the true business would have been to have
told us all about it. We would have "put up the mud" and
carried the thing along until it came your way. But what is
done is done. The thing to decide now is what it is best for
you to do. Austin is no place for you. The mines there are
rich, but the veins are small and the district restricted. In
that camp the formation makes impossible the creation of a big
body of ore; the fissures are necessarily small. You would die
of asphyxia within a month or go blind searching for a place
where an ore body "could make." Eureka is open to other
objections. It would require six months for you to become
acclimated there, and the chances are that within that time you
would be tied up in a knot with lead colic. The proper course
to pursue is to come back. The Club are all agreed on that
proposition.
Yours truly,
STONEMAN.
Ashley's letter, in these words, followed:
VIRGINIA CITY, August 13th, 1878.
DEAR FRIEND JOE:--Your going away has caused us ever so much
trouble. It was foolish and cruel of you to imagine--even when
you were in trouble--that any of the Club weighed friendship on
old-fashioned placer diggings gold scales. We are sorry for
your misfortune, but it is on _your_ account that we are sorry.
It is not so serious that it cannot be made up in a little
while, if you do not persist in remaining in some place where
there are no opportunities to do any good for yourself. It may
be a long time, among strangers, before you can obtain
employment. Because you have made one mistake, do not make
another, but without delay come back. This is Tuesday. It will
take you until about Saturday next to get to Austin. You will
be pretty badly used up and will have to rest a day. But on
Sunday evening you ought to start back by stage and rail. That
will bring you home a week from to-day. A week from to-night
then, we shall expect your account of how big the mosquitoes
are at the sink of the Carson, and what your opinion is of
Churchill County as a location for a country residence.
Yours fraternally,
HERBERT ASHLEY.
Alex's letter was very brief, as follows:
VIRGINIA CITY, August 13th, 1878.
Come back, Joe. Were your precedent to be strictly followed, we
should suddenly lose a majority of our most respected citizens.
In the interest of society and of the Club come.
ALEX.
TO MR. JOE MILLER, Austin.
Corrigan did not like to read his letter, but the Club insisted, and
after declaring that the Club would get "a dale the worst of it," he
proceeded as follows:
VIRGINIA CITY, Nevada, August 13th, 1878.
DEAR AULD JO:--It's murthered yees ought to be for doing
onything phat compills me to write you a lether. Whin I
commince to write I fale as though all the air pipes were shut
off intirely. I would sooner pick up a thousand dollars in the
strate, ony day, than to have to hould a pin in me hand and
make sinse in my head at the same moment. You know that same,
too, and hince phy did yees go away and force all this work
upon me? Is it in love wid horseback exercise that ye are? We
have been talkin' your case over, quiet loike, in the Club, and
we have unanimously rached the irresistible conclusion that it
was an unpatriotic thing for yees to do--to propose this Club
business and thin dezart it just whin our habits had become
fixed, so to spake; and it would become a mather of sarious
inconvanience for us to change. In this wurreld a man can shirk
onything excipt his duty, and it is a plain proposition that it
is your duty immejitely to come back. My poor fingers are
cramped to near brakin' by this writin', and it is your falt,
the whole of it, ond I pray yees don't let it happen ony more.
Faithfully,
B. CORRIGAN.
P. S.--Should you nade a bit of coin to return comfortably draw
on me through W. F. & Co.
BARNEY.
Harding read next.
VIRGINIA, August 13th, 1878.
DEAR FRIEND MILLER:--Enclosed I send certificate of deposit for
$100. The Club desire, unanimously, that you return without a
moment's unnecessary delay. All agree that this is the best
field for you. I will see the foreman in the morning, tell him
you have been called away for a week and get him to hold your
place for you. It was very wicked of you to go away. You can
only get forgiveness by hurrying back.
Lovingly,
HARDING.
Brewster's was the final letter, and was in these words:
VIRGINIA CITY, Nevada. }
8th month, 13th day, A. D. 1878. }
MR. JOSEPH MILLER:
DEAR SIR AND FRIEND:--I have this evening, with great pain,
learned that you have left this place, and, moreover, have
heard explained the reasons which prompted that course on your
part. It would be a lack of candor on my part not to inform you
that I sincerely deplore the wrong which you have done yourself
and us. At the same time I believe that the real date of the
wrong was when you permitted yourself first to engage in stock
gambling. This world is framed on a foundation of perfect
justice. The books of the Infinite always exactly balance. In
the beginning it was decreed that man should have nothing
except what he earned. It was meant that the world's
accumulations of treasures--in money, in brain, in love, or in
any other material that man holds dear--should, from day to
day, and from year to year, represent simply the honest effort
put forth to produce the treasure.
Men have changed this in form. Some men get what they have not
earned; but the rule is inexorable and cannot be changed. The
books must balance.
So when one man gets more than his share, the amount has to be
made up by the toil of some other man or men. This last is what
you have been called upon to do, and, naturally, you suffer.
But I acquit you of any sinister intention toward us. So do we
all. Your fault was when you first attempted to set aside God's
law. You may recall what was said a few nights ago. "The decree
which was read at Eden's gate is still in full force, and
behind it, just as of old, flashes the flaming sword."
We have thoughtfully considered your case. The unanimous
conclusion is that you should at once return; that here among
friends and acquaintances, with the heavy work which is going
on, you have a far better opportunity to recover your lost
ground than you possibly could among strangers.
Moreover, you are familiar with this lode and the manner of
working these mines. You are likewise accustomed to this
climate, hence I conclude that your chances against accident or
disease would be from fifteen to twenty per cent. in favor of
your returning.
In conclusion, I beg, without meaning any offense, but on the
other hand, with a sincere desire to serve you, to say that I
have a few hundred dollars on hand, enough perhaps to cover all
your indebtedness here. If you would care to use it, it shall
be yours, _in hearty welcome_, until such time as you can
conveniently return it.
I beg, sir, to subscribe myself your friend and servant,
JAMES BREWSTER.
"God bless you, Brewster," said Harding impetuously.
"That is a boss lether," said Corrigan.
"I could not do better than that myself," was Ashley's comment.
"It is a diamond drill, and strikes a bonanza on the lower level," said
Carlin.
"The formation is good, the pay chute large, the trend of the lode most
regular, the grade of the ore splendid," said the Professor.
Wright said: "It is a good letter, sure."
"It reads as I fancy the photographs of the Angels of Mercy and Justice
look when taken together," suggested Alex.
The Colonel remarked that the letter established the fact that Brewster
was not so bad a man as he looked to be.
What should be sent to Miller was next discussed again. It was finally
determined that all the letters should be sent except Harding's; that he
should rewrite his, and instead of sending the certificate of deposit,
should, like Corrigan, instruct Miller to draw on him if he needed
money, and that any such drafts should be shared by the whole Club.
Then the money to pay the bills was raised among the old members of the
Club, and placed in Carlin's hands to be paid out next day.
When all was finished a sort of heaviness came upon the company. There
was an impression of sorrow upon them. They had been happy in their
innocent enjoyment, but suddenly one who was a favorite, who was at
heart the most generous one of the company, had failed them, and they
brooded over the change.
At length Harding roused himself and said: "Miller must be sleeping
somewhere down in the desert to-night. I wish I could call to him by
telephone and bring him back."
"That reminds me," said Alex, "of something that I heard of yesterday.
Down at the Sisters' Academy there is a telephone. There is a little
miss attending that school, and every morning at a certain hour there is
a ring at a certain house down town. The response goes back, 'Who is
it?' and then the conversation goes on as follows: 'Is that you, papa?'
'Yes!' 'Good morning, papa!' 'Good morning, little one.' 'Is mamma
there?' 'Yes.' 'Say good morning and give my love to mamma.' 'Yes.'
'Goodbye.' 'Good bye.'
"In the evening the same call is made; the same answer; and then from
the still convent on noiseless pinions these words go out through the
night, and pulsate on the father's ear: 'Good night, papa! Good night,
mamma! a kiss for each of you!' and then the weird instrument
materializes two kisses for the father's ear.
"He is a rough fellow, but he declares that since he commenced to
receive those kisses, he knows that an answer to prayer is not
impossible; that if that child's voice can come to him, stealing past
the night patrol unheard, stealing in clear and distinct and like a
benediction, while the winds and the city are roaring outside, there is
nothing wonderful in believing that on the invisible wire of faith the
same voice could send its music to the furthest star, and that the Great
Father would bend His ear to listen."
"It is a pretty story," said Brewster. "The telephone is the most
poetical of inventions. There is a metallic sound to the click of the
telegraph, as though its chief use was to further the work and the worry
of mankind. There is something like a sob to the perfecting press, as
though saddened by the very thought of the abuses it must reform. There
is a something about a steam engine which reminds one of the heavy
respirations of the slave, toiling on his chain, but the telephone has a
voice for but one ear at a time, and when it is a voice that we love its
messages come like caresses.
"Not the least of its triumphs is that it has broken the silence of the
convent.
"At last voices from the outer world thrill through the thick walls, and
the patient women who are immured there hear the good nights and the
kisses which by loving lips are sent away to loving homes. How their
starved hearts must be thrilled by those messages! Sometimes, too, they
must realize that the course of Nature cannot be changed; that the
beginning of heaven is in the love which canopies true homes on earth.
But with that thought there comes another, that from the Infinite, to
palace, convent and humble homes alike, celestial wires, too fine for
mortal eyes to discern, stretch down, and all alike are held in one
sheltering hand. Sometime all these wires will work in accord, and the
good-nights and the kisses in the souls of men will materialize into
harmony and fill the world with music."
"That is, Brewster," said Corrigan, "supposin' the wires do not get
crossed and the girls do not kiss the wrong papas."
"Suppose, Brewster," said the Colonel, "that at the final concert it
shall be discovered that certain gentlemen have not settled their
monthly rents for a long time, and their connection has been cut off?"
"There is no music where there are no ears to hear," said Wright. "What
if some souls are born deaf and dumb?"
"Suppose," said the Professor, "that there are souls which have no ear
for music?"
"I do not know," said Brewster, "but I fancy that the fairest final
prizes may not be to the best musicians, but to those who made the
sorest sacrifices in order to get a ticket to the concert."
With this the good nights were repeated.