What is wrong here, Carper?" said William Harris, as he shut the door
behind him. "I expected to find a corpse from the tone of your note.
What's up?"
The commission merchant was a short heavy young man with a big square
jaw and keen gray eyes. His face indicated bull-dog tenacity and
unlimited courage of the sterner sort.
Carper Harris arose when his brother entered. He was as white as the
dead. "William," he said, "I wish I were a corpse!"
"Ho! ho!" cried the cattle-man, dropping into a chair. "There is a big
smash-up on the track, that is evident. Which is gone, your girl or your
job?"
"Brother," continued Carper Harris, "I am in a more horrible position
than you can imagine. I don't know whether you will believe me or not,
but if you don't, no one will."
"You may be a fool, Carper," answered the commission merchant, closing
his hands, on the arms of his chair, "but you are not a liar. Go on,
tell me the whole thing."
Carper Harris drew up a chair to the table and began to go over the
whole affair from the beginning to the end. As he proceeded, the muscles
of his brother's face grew more and more rigid, until they looked as
hard and as firm as a cast. When he finally finished and dropped back
into his chair, the cattle-man arose and without a word went over to the
window, and stood looking out over the city, with his hands behind
his back. There was no indication by which one could have known of
the bitter struggle going on in the man's bosom, unless one could
have looked deep into his eyes; there the danger and despair which he
realized as attendant upon this matter shone through in a kind of fierce
glare.
Finally he turned round and looked down half smilingly at his brother.
"Well, Carper," he said, "is that all the trouble? We can fix that all
right."
"How?" almost screamed young Harris, bounding to his feet, "how?"
The commission merchant came back leisurely to his chair and sat down.
His features were composed and wore an air of pleasant assurance. "My
boy," he began, "this is tough lines, to be sure, but you are worth
a car-load of convicts yet. Sit down then, and I will straighten this
thing out in a jiffy. I have been devilish lucky this season, and I now
have about sixteen thousand dollars in bank. You have, I happen to
know, some five thousand dollars in securities which came to you out of
father's estate when it was settled. Turn these securities over to
me and go right on to Europe as you intended. I will realize on the
securities, and with the money I now have will be enabled to
purchase the exchange which you require, and will have it sent to you
immediately, so there will be no delay. You can go right on with your
business as you intended, and neither old Beaumont nor any other living
skinflint will ever know of this robbery."
Carper Harris could not speak. His emotion choked him. He seized his
brother's hand and wrung it in silence, while the tears streamed down
his face.
"Come, come," said the cattle-man, "this won't do! Brace up! I am simply
lending you the money. You can return it if you ever get able. If you
don't, why, it came easy, and I won't ever miss the loss of it."
"May God bless you, brother!" stammered Carper Harris. "You have saved
me from the very grave, and what is more--from the stigma of a felon.
You shall not lose this money by me. I will repay it if Heaven spares my
life."
"Don't go on like a play-actor, Carper," said the cattle-man, rising and
turning to the door. "Pull yourself together, gather up your duds, and
skip out to London. The stuff will be there by the time you are ready
for it." Then he went out and closed the door behind him.