THE STRUGGLE CONTINUED
At the commencement of 1897 it seemed as if everything was against
me. In the trade the fight for my customers was waged with renewed
vigor, and one after another names which had been on our books for
years were dropped from the lists of our supporters. We tried to
retain them and they tried to have us do so, giving us every possible
advantage, but it was useless.
We could not compete against the wealth of our competitors. In our
efforts to do this we made losses, small in individual instances,
but we knew if continued our little capital would soon be exhausted.
Our banking facilities since the liquidation of the old affairs had
been greatly restricted. The business was now too small to be of
any interest to the bankers and the commissions exacted cut into
the profits to such an extent there was nothing left for us.
With no capital, our London connection had entirely lost its value,
and this same lack of capital prevented us from doing business with
our old speculative clients.
With my mind harassed by the weight of my monthly obligations,
support of family, office expenses, payments to Mrs. Slater and Mr.
Pell, and the more or less constant inquiry from some of my moral
(as I call them) creditors as to how soon I could commence making
them monthly payments, my brain was well-nigh turned.
I was beginning to realize the true meaning of the word desperation.
Is it any wonder that in this condition of mind my judgment should
have failed me or that my operations should turn out badly? At all
events, such was the case. Whatever I did in the market it always
seemed as if a relentless fate pursued me.
I felt as if I must make money and I lost it.
Through this time of trial my wife was still the same loving,
cheerful helpmate. Nothing could daunt her courage nor depress her
spirits. If she had her hours of worry, she kept them from me.
We decided to move into a smaller house and sell our surplus
household appointments, works of art, and my library. It was hard
to part with all the beautiful things we had lived amongst so long,
and when it came to the library I fear our tears were very close
to the surface.
We arranged for a small house at Sound Beach, Connecticut, a new
and pretty cottage directly on the Sound. Our small payments were
to apply on the purchase and we hoped in this way to once more own
a home.
Early in April there was a three-days' sale at the Knickerbocker
auction rooms. I attended the sale and witnessed, with aching
heart, the slaughter--for such it proved. With the exception of an
exquisite set of Webb cut glass, manufactured on an original design
and never duplicated, and a very small part of the rare china, the
prices realized averaged but little more than ten per cent. of the
cost. The great chest of Gorham silver brought hardly its bullion
value.
A few pieces I could not see so sacrificed and bought them in. The
fine hall clock, which had cost me six hundred and fifty dollars,
I could not let go for seventy-five. An imported cabinet, costing
two hundred dollars, at eighteen; a Tiffany vase for which I had
paid seventy dollars, at eight, and so on; but I had to stop some
where, and so most of the things were sold. Within a few days I sold
at private sale what I had bought in, but realized only a little
more than the auction prices.
Then came the paintings. These were sent to a down-town auction
room. All but four, which I withdrew, I saw sold at absurdly low
prices. The four and the hall clock, representing a cost value
of twenty-seven hundred dollars, were taken by Charlie Wood in
cancellation of a debt of five hundred and seventy-five dollars,
borrowed money. He certainly was well paid.
And now the library. Two small cases had been reserved from our
furniture sale, and these were to be filled with--what? There was
hardly a book in the whole library we did not love and cherish as
a friend. How were we to make the selection?
Dickens, Scott, Thackeray, Fielding, Prescott, Irving, Hawthorne,
the British Poets, Dumas, Lever, Cooper, Strickland, Kingsley,
Bulwer--these, all beautiful sets bound by Riviere, Zahnsdorff and
other noted binders, must be sold on account of their money value.
Over and over again we went through the catalogue and finally our
task was completed.
As I carefully packed case after case of the books destined for
sale, it seemed almost like burying a child when I nailed the covers
down.
The sale was at Bangs. The first day I attended but had not the
courage to go the second day. There were but few private buyers, and
hundreds of the volumes went back to the shelves of the booksellers
from whom I had purchased them. They told me afterwards they were
amazed at getting them so low.
In April we took possession of the cottage at Sound Beach. The house,
though very small, was comfortable and cozy, and the lawn extended
to the shore of the Sound, at that point rocky and picturesque.
With freedom from care I could have been very happy in the new
home; 'but with constant worry over the struggle for existence,
this was impossible. Despite my best efforts, matters continued
to go wrong, and before the summer was over I had reached the end
of my resources.
Then commenced the bitter struggle with real poverty.
It was impossible to keep out of debt for current expenses at
home and in the office. For the first time in my life I had become
"slow-pay" to small tradesmen. "Buy nothing you cannot pay for"
is all right in theory, but let those who preach it put themselves
in my place in those dark days. There were days and weeks when the
house would have been bare of food if the grocer and butcher had
refused me credit. There were days at the office when letters had
to be held over night for lack of money to pay postage.
My wife, unknown to me and in hope of helping me over the hard
spot, wrote to Mr. Viedler, asking him for a loan of a few hundred
dollars. He never replied to her letter. Then she wrote to Charlie
Wood. From him came a reply, that if I had not read it, I would
never have believed him capable of writing.
It was the first wickedly cruel blow dealt me by one whom I regarded
as a warm personal friend, and the cruelty was vastly accentuated
by dealing it through my wife.
In his letter he gave as a reason for not making the loan that
I had caused him to lose fifty thousand dollars--that as a result
he had been compelled to pay for his home, recently completed, and
one of the handsomest in Orange, New Jersey, in part by mortgage;
further, in writing, he went out of his way to express himself,
with an ability for which he is noted, in most unkind and bitter
terms.
Here are the facts:
At our first interview after my failure I said, "Charlie, I am sorry
for your loss." To which he replied, "Walter, you do not owe me a
cent." He had invested with us fifty-four thousand dollars, but he
had drawn in profits thirty-two thousand, so that his actual loss
was but twenty-two thousand dollars.
In 1890, _only two weeks_ after he had declined to share with me
that small investment in the Connecticut concern to benefit the
estate of his deceased partner, because he "could not go into any
outside investment," he came to my office and asked me to take
eighteen thousand dollars, to be--and was--later increased, for
operations in our market. I took it, not that I wanted it, but for
the reason that he was a friend who asked me to help him and as
was the case with every such investment, except Caine's, it was
distinctly understood that the risk of loss was the investor's.
When I negotiated the sale of this man's interest in those properties
to Mallison I secured him at least twenty-five thousand dollars
more than he expected or could have gotten himself, and it was on
that occasion his wife exclaimed, "Oh, Walter, what a friend you
have been"! He also was one of those investors whom I relieved from
being held as an undisclosed partner at the time of my failure--_and
this man was my friend!_
To the letter he had written to my wife I replied, resenting
indignantly the falsity and injustice of his charges and offering
the vouchers to prove my statements. His answer was conciliatory,
and admitted that "the facts were really much better" than he
supposed.
In those days I thought often of the many I had assisted in the
past and wondered if the "bread cast upon the waters would return
to me after many days" Of course I did occasionally find a friend
who helped a little, but these were few and far between.
There was one man whom I had once loaned three hundred dollars.
He asked for the loan, to be returned in two weeks. I never asked
for the money and it was not until more than two years had passed
that he had returned it. I wrote him in 1897 asking a loan of one
hundred dollars for a few weeks. In reply he wrote: "You will be
surprised at my not granting you this small favor, but I have lost
so much money through loans to friends that I make no more personal
loans."
Throughout the year there was no improvement in my affairs. I
managed to keep the debts for current expenses down to small figures,
altogether not more than a few hundred dollars, but I was always
a month or two behind, both in the office and at home.
We welcomed the end of the year, for we felt that any change must
be for better. I could not see how it could be much worse.