One cold, dreary, windy evening, the tall, dark, bearded man left the
office on the East side, where he was known as “Scar-faced Charlie,” and
turned his face in the direction of the fine mansion in the upper part
of the city, where he was known to the servants, the tradespeople, and a
few of the neighbors as “Samuel Dexter,” a relative of the kindly old
gentleman who owned the house. Passing through the broad gate and along
the winding road, he emerged into an open space in front of the mansion,
and saw to his surprise that lights were gleaming through the windows of
the elder Mr. Dexter’s library, a room which was seldom opened during
the owner’s absence.
The bearded man had been away for two or three days, and, thinking that
the servants had taken advantage of his absence, to make use of an
apartment into which he seldom penetrated himself, he quietly let
himself in at the front door, and stepping across the hall, threw open
the door of his uncle’s study, intending to administer a severe rebuke
to whomever he might find within.
But the angry words died away unuttered on his lips, and he started back
with a look of amazement and chagrin, as Mr. Dexter, Senior, rose from
an easy chair by the fire and came forward to greet him.
“Why, my dear uncle, I had no idea that you were in this country,”
exclaimed the new comer, as he recovered himself sufficiently to grasp
the hand that was extended to him, and assume something that resembled
at least a pleased expression of countenance.
“I only arrived this morning,” replied the other, “and so I thought I
would treat you to a pleasant surprise.”
That his coming had proved a surprise, if not an altogether pleasant
one, was quite apparent to the elder Mr. Dexter, who had narrowly
watched his nephew’s face and noted the quick change of expression that
passed across it as he entered the room. Since that evening in Paris,
when he had addressed to him a letter of inquiry, several things had
occurred to convince the old gentleman that his kinsman was not treating
him in a straightforward manner. He had replied to the letter, it is
true, but in such a way as to make it apparent that he either had not
troubled himself to fulfill his uncle’s request, or else that he was
concealing from him the information which he possessed. It was partly
because of these suspicions which had taken possession of his mind, and
partly because he was extremely anxious to learn more about Bruce
Decker, that Mr. Dexter, Senior, determined to cut short his stay in
Europe, and return at once to New York.
He had landed early that morning, and one of his first duties had been
to go and see Ann Crehan, the old woman who had once been a nurse in the
Van Kuren family, and who was supported now by them and by himself. The
poor old creature poured into his sympathetic ear a sad tale of
destitution. One of her remittances had failed to reach her, and in
order to tide over a brief period, she had applied to the younger Mr.
Dexter for a loan, but without success. Then, not wishing to have her
true condition made known to her neighbors—for the poor are far more
sensitive than the rich,—she had made up a little package of a few old
pieces of silver-ware and the gold watch she cherished above all her
earthly possessions, and taken them down to Eldridge Street, where “an
ould blood-letting scoundrel” had loaned her a few dollars on them.
The old creature had but one anxiety now, and that was to recover her
lost trinkets, and her benefactor readily promised to come the very next
day—for his foreign money was not then exchanged—and bring her the funds
that would enable her to do so.
On his way up-town that night, Mr. Dexter thought with bitterness and
regret of the in-gratitude shown him by the nephew, whom he had intended
to make his heir.
“He might have spared a few dollars for old Ann Crehan, if not on my
account on his own, for it was she who saved his life when he was merely
a boy, and a man must be hard hearted indeed, who can forget such a
service.”
But despite his feelings he said nothing to his nephew about the old
nurse, nor did he allude to the evasive reply which had been sent to him
in Paris. On the contrary, he greeted his kinsman pleasantly, and
chatted with him in his usual easy and amiable fashion until the time
had come for them to separate for the night.
When the old gentleman descended to the breakfast-room the next morning,
he found that his nephew had gone down-town, leaving word with the
servant that he might be detained that night until a late hour.
Mr. Dexter accordingly breakfasted alone, and then called his carriage,
and was driven to the elevated railroad station, where he took a train
to the lower part of the city. It was twelve o’clock when, having
attended to several matters of business, he betook himself to the East
side tenement house, in which Ann Crehan lived. The old woman shed tears
of joy when he told her he had come to redeem her little package of
valuables, and, having taken from her the receipt and the address of the
money-lender, he set out for Eldridge Street. Picking his way through
the crowd of children who swarmed in that thickly settled part of the
town, and sniffing the air, which was redolent of garbage and garlic and
decaying fish, the old gentleman shook his head and sighed to think of
the stern necessities which compelled the poor to live in such a quarter
and in such a fashion.
“And what sort of a man must this money-lender be?” he said to himself.
“I cannot see how a man, with any feelings at all in his heart, can
deliberately establish himself in this quarter and devote his life to
loaning money to these unfortunate creatures at rates of interest which,
I doubt not, are exorbitant. Well, he will receive no exorbitant
interest from me on the ten dollars he loaned to poor old Ann, for I
know what the laws on usury are.”
It was with this feeling in his heart that Mr. Dexter entered the
shabby-looking office on Eldridge Street and, handing the receipt to the
bookkeeper behind the tall desk said “Mrs. Crehan wishes to repay her
loan and get back the package which she gave as security.”
The bookkeeper glanced sharply at the receipt and then at the
well-dressed, prosperous looking gentleman who presented it, and then
went into the inner office, took the package from the safe and brought
it out.
“Twelve dollars if you please” he remarked, in his brief business-like
way.
“You loaned ten dollars on these articles, less than a month ago, and
now you ask for twelve dollars. Do you charge twenty per cent. a month
interest?” said Mr. Dexter in firm, quiet tones.
“It’s twelve dollars or you don’t get the stuff,” retorted the
accountant in a surly voice.
“You had better be very careful, sir, or you may get into trouble,”
rejoined Mr. Dexter speaking very sternly, and looking the other
squarely in the face. “I am familiar with the usury laws of the State
and they are very explicit, in matters of this sort. I advise you to
hand me that package without a moment’s delay and accept the sum of ten
dollars and twenty-five cents, which is interest at the rate of two and
one-half per cent. a month and more than you are really entitled to.”
“I will do nothing of the sort!” said the old clerk raising his voice so
that it reached the ears of his employer in the inner office, “and if
you don’t care to pay the twelve dollars you may go about your business,
and I’ll put the package back in the safe.”
“I’ll not pay any such outrageous charge!” screamed Mr. Dexter, at the
very top of his voice, “and what’s more if you hesitate one minute
longer I’ll go out and make a complaint against you to the proper
authorities.”
But just at this moment the door of the inner office was thrown open and
the money-lender came out exclaiming “What does all this noise mean?
What do you mean, sir, by coming into my place of business——”
[Illustration: “And so this is the business you conduct, is it?”—_Page
317._]
“There’s the boss now himself. You can settle the matter with him,”
remarked the bookkeeper, triumphantly. But to his surprise his master
neither spoke nor stirred, and he was even more surprised to see Mr.
Dexter gaze fixedly at him for a moment or two and then exclaim in tones
of burning contempt, “And so this is the business that you conduct, is
it? Lending money to these poor people and then charging them the most
outrageous rates. I suppose you thought you could take advantage of this
poor old woman who saved your life at the risk of her own when you were
a mere child in arms! I believed in you Samuel in spite of the warnings
that I received. But now, I have done with you forever. My servants will
gather your effects together and send them to you, but I forbid you to
enter my premises again under any consideration whatever.”
Trembling with indignation, and with his face suffused with a high
color, the old gentleman picked up the package containing Ann Crehan’s
little treasures, laid the sum of ten dollars and twenty-five cents on
the desk and departed, slamming the door behind him as he went out with
such violence that every window-sash in the room rattled.
And then the tall, sinister looking man reentered his private den, threw
himself down upon a chair, and with his head bowed in an attitude of
hopeless dejection muttered: “Everything has slipped from me just as I
thought it was within my grasp. There is but one hope left, and that is
the boy.”