A CRASH IN WALL STREET.
At the end of two weeks Tom was again up and dressed. His struggle with
the pneumonia had been a frightful one. It was turned in his favor
largely by the aid of the best medical skill, and the untiring care
given him by his mother and his two faithful friends, Herbert and Bob.
The latter took turns in watching with him at night, while Mrs. Flannery
slept, that she might renew her strength for the day watch.
But the disease, as is not infrequently the case, left Tom with a hard,
dry cough, which threatened serious results. His lungs were weak, and
his body was much emaciated. He was not the Tom Flannery of old, the Tom
so full of boyish spirits and desire to push his paper trade. This
change in their young companion caused Herbert and Bob keen anxiety.
They had watched beside his bed through delirium and helplessness, when
there seemed no hope of his recovery. How glad their young hearts were
when he began to rally, and they could see him in imagination back with
them again in their old pleasures and pastimes! His failure, therefore,
to throw off the racking cough and regain his strength was a sore
disappointment to them, but this was not their only source of
apprehension.
How full these two weeks had been of bitter trouble--trouble that drew
deeply upon their sympathy; that destroyed splendid prospects and forced
one of them from a position of independence to one little better than
beggary.
Disturbing elements had been gathering for days in Wall Street, which to
a few wise old heads seemed ominous. They predicted danger, but their
warnings were laughed at by the less cautious speculators, who operated
with a reckless daring. At length, however, the storm struck almost
without a moment's notice. Wild reports filled the air, and men, strong,
bold men, crushed by the tremendous force of the panic, fell prostrate
here and there, and everywhere. Terror spread to all, and painted its
sickly hue upon their faces. When the storm had subsided the street was
full of wrecks. Among them was the daring firm of Breakwell & Co., who
had failed for a million and a quarter of dollars.
Young Randolph was stunned at the exhibition he witnessed on that fatal
day. House after house with whom his firm had done business, and who
were supposed to be almost beyond the possibility of failure, had closed
their doors. Breakwell & Co. were among the last to go under. They had
been kept up by the splendid loyalty of Richard Goldwin, who put his
bank account at their command, relying upon their assurance that they
were all right, and would come out of the storm stronger than ever, if
they could only receive temporary help. Mr. Goldwin, anxious to save
them, stood heroically by them, and went down with them--a victim of
noble generosity, of misplaced confidence. Yes, he had failed--Richard
Goldwin, the banker and broker, yesterday a millionaire, today perhaps a
pauper.
Herbert Randolph could not at first realize the awful fact, but the pain
he saw in Mr. Goldwin's face appealed so strongly to his sympathy that
the tears forced themselves from his eyes, try however bravely he would
to restrain them. The doors were closed, and all business with the house
of Richard Goldwin was at an end.
Mr. Goldwin bore the misfortune like a hero. His face was white and firm
as marble. Certain lines, however, told his distress, but never a word
of complaint at the miserable treachery of Breakwell & Co. escaped his
lips.
Herbert could not help thinking how severe the shock would be to Mrs.
Goldwin and Ray, who could not bridle their emotions with an iron will
like that of the ruined banker. The latter was accustomed, in his long
career in Wall Street, to seeing others meet the disaster that had now
overtaken him; but his wife and daughter--ah, how little they were
prepared for such a shock.
The panic that ruined so many men added quite largely to the fortunes
of young Bob Hunter. He had never before had such a trade. Papers sold
beyond all imagination, and at double their usual price. The result was
a profit of seven dollars and forty seven cents for his day's work. He
felt richer than ever before in his life, and so happy that he could
hardly wait till the usual time for Herbert to join him, he wanted so
much to make known his grand success. But when young Randolph came to
him with the sad story of that day in Wall Street, his happiness gave
place to a feeling of unusual sadness, and the sadness deepened on
learning that his friend was now out of a position.
"But you can get another place, Herbert," said he, reassuringly;
"perhaps a better one than you have lost."
"I hope so," was all the reply the young bank clerk made, but there was
a world of expression in the way he said it. His face, too, looked the
disappointment and sorrow he felt, and Bob rightly divined that the
sorrow was more for Mr. Goldwin and his family than for himself.
It is safe to presume that Herbert thought long and regretfully of
the probability of Mr. Goldwin being reduced to a state of poverty--of
his being turned out of his luxurious home--of Ray, his daughter,
being obliged to work for her living--of her young, sweet life being
embittered by want and miserable surroundings, so out of keeping with
her beauty and genial, sunny nature. And if he did think in this wise,
what resolutions he formed for relieving her of such a life, and of
restoring her to her proper place we can only imagine, for on this
matter he said never a word, not even to Bob Hunter.
On the following morning, Bob Hunter handed Herbert a small roll of
bills.
"What is this for?" said the latter.
"It's for you," replied Bob. "There's only eight dollars in it, but
you'll perhaps need it, and then you'll feel better with it in your
pocket while looking for work."
"But I cannot accept your money, Bob," protested Herbert, with feelings
of deep gratitude.
"Yes, you must, for you are out in the cold, and my business is good;
and then, you know, I made most all of it yesterday out of the failures
in Wall Street--out of your firm's failure as much as any, probably, and
that meant your failure to keep your place; so in a way I kinder made it
out of you, and now I want you to have it again."
Herbert's eyes were now moist.
"Bob, you are very good and generous," said he, rather huskily; "but you
are not logical. I have no claim on your money, neither has any one. You
made it in legitimate trade, and should not feel that it does not belong
to you."
"Well, I know I did; but I feel in a kind of way that it was made off of
the misfortunes of others, you see."
[Illustration: YOUNG RANDOLPH AGAIN IN THE RANKS OF THE UNEMPLOYED.]
"But the misfortunes were not caused by you. They had occurred, and
people wanted to know about them, and were willing and glad to pay for
their information. This gave you an opportunity to make some money, and
you made it."
"Well, of course you will beat me at arguing, Herbert, for you always
do; but all the same I wish you would take the money, for I think you
will need it."
"If I do need any money, when mine is gone, I will then borrow this of
you, but until then you must keep it."
After this discussion, and after a very frugal breakfast, Herbert once
more joined the ranks of the vast army who go from place to place,
hungry and thinly clothed many times, in search of employment--anything
to keep the wolf from the door.