THOMAS BROWNING AT HOME
In one of the handsomest streets in Milwaukee stood a private
residence which was quite in harmony with its surroundings. It looked
like the home of a man of ample means. It was luxuriously furnished,
and at one side was a conservatory. It was apt to attract the
attention of strangers, and the question was asked: "Who lives
there?"
And the answer would be: "Thomas Browning. He will probably be mayor
some day."
Yes, this was the residence of Thomas Browning, formerly Thomas
Butler, the man to whom the dead father of Luke Walton had intrusted
the sum of ten thousand dollars to carry to his wife and children. How
he fulfilled his trust, or, rather, did not fulfill it, we already
know. But in Milwaukee, where Mr. Browning had become a leading
citizen, it was not known. It was entirely inconsistent with what was
believed to be his character. For Mr. Browning was president of one
charitable society and treasurer of another. At the annual meetings of
these societies he was always called upon to speak, and his allusions
to the poverty and privations of those who were cared for by these
societies never failed to produce an impression.
It was popularly supposed that he gave away large sums in charity.
Indeed, he admitted the fact, but explained the absence of his name
from subscription papers by saying: "All my gifts are anonymous.
Instead of giving my name, I prefer to put down 'Cash,' so much, or 'A
Friend,' such another sum. I don't wish to influence others, but it
jars upon me to have my name ostentatiously paraded in the public
prints."
Now, in all subscriptions there are donations ascribed to "Cash" and
"A Friend," and whenever these occurred, it was generally supposed
they represented Mr. Browning. But, to let the reader into a little
secret, this was only a shrewd device of Mr. Browning's to have the
reputation of a philanthropist at little or no expense, for, as a
matter of fact, he never contributed at all to the charities in which
he seemed to take such an interest!
In a pleasant room on the second floor sat the pseudo-philanthropist.
The room was furnished as a library. At a writing table, poring over
what looked like an account book, he looked the picture of comfort and
respectability. A few well-chosen engravings adorned the walls. A
pleasant light was diffused about the room from a chandelier suspended
over the table.
Thomas Browning leaned back in his chair, and a placid smile
overspread his naturally harsh features. He looked about him, and his
thoughts somehow ran back to a time when he was very differently
situated.
"Five years ago to-night," he said, "I was well-nigh desperate. I
hadn't a cent to bless myself with, nor was the prospect of getting
one particularly bright. How I lived, for a considerable time, I
hardly know. I did have a notion at one time, when I was particularly
down on my luck, of committing suicide, and so ending the struggle
once for all. It would have been a great mistake!" he added after a
pause. "I didn't foresee at the time the prosperous years that lay
before me. Frederick Walton's money changed my whole life. Ten
thousand dollars isn't a fortune, but it proved the basis of one. It
enabled me to float the Excelsior Mine. I remember there were a
hundred thousand shares at two dollars a share, all based upon a few
acres of mining land which I bought for a song. With the ten thousand
dollars, I hired an office, printed circulars, distributed glowing
accounts of imaginary wealth, etc. It cost considerable for
advertising, but I sold seventy thousand shares, and when I had
gathered in the money I let the bottom fall out. There was a great
fuss, of course, but I figured as the largest loser, being the owner
of thirty thousand shares (for which I hadn't paid a cent), and so
shared the sympathy extended to losers. It was a nice scheme, and
after deducting all expenses, I made a clean seventy-five thousand
dollars out of it, which, added to my original capital, made
eighty-five thousand. Then I came to Milwaukee and bought this house.
From that time my career has been upward and onward. My friends say
some day I shall be mayor of the city. Well, stranger things have
happened, and who knows but my friends may be right!"
At this moment a servant entered the library.
"Well, Mary, what is it?" asked the philanthropist.
"Please, sir, there's a poor woman at the door, and she would like to
see you."
"Ah, yes, she wants relief from the Widows' and Orphans' Society,
probably. Well, send her up. I am always at home to the poor."
"What a good man he is!" thought Mary. "It's strange he gives such low
wages to the girls that work for him. He says it's because he gives
away so much money in charities."
Mary ushered in, a moment later, a woman in a faded dress, with a look
of care and sorrow on her thin features.
"Take a seat, madam," said Thomas Browning, urbanely. "Did you wish to
see me?"
"Yes, sir. I am in difficulties, and have ventured to call upon you."
"I am glad to see you. I am always ready to see the unfortunate."
"Yes, sir; I know you have the reputation of being a philanthropist.
"No, no," said Mr. Browning, modestly. "Don't mention it. I am fully
aware of the flattering estimation which is placed on my poor
services, but I really don't deserve it. It is, perhaps, as the
President of the Widows' and Orphans' Charitable Society that you wish
to speak to me."
"No, sir. It is as President of the Excelsior Mining Company that I
wish to make an appeal to you."
"Oh!" ejaculated Browning, with a perceptible change of countenance.
"Of course you remember it, sir. I was a widow, with a small property
of five thousand dollars left me by my late husband. It was all I had
on which to support myself and two children. The banks paid poor
interest, and I was in search of a profitable investment. One of your
circulars fell into my hands. The shares were two dollars each, and it
was stated that they would probably yield fifty per cent dividends.
That would support me handsomely. But I didn't decide to invest until
I had written a private letter to you."
She took it from the pocket of her dress, and offered it to Thomas
Browning, but that gentleman waved it aside.
She continued: "You indorsed all that the circular contained. You said
that within a year you thought he shares would rise to at least ten
dollars. So I invested all the money I had. You know what followed. In
six months the shares went down to nothing, and I found myself
penniless."
"I know it, my good woman," said Thomas Browning. "I know it, to my
cost. I myself had sixty thousand dollars invested in the stock. I
lost it all."
"But you seem to be a rich man," said the poor woman, looking about
her.
"I have made it out of other ventures. But the collapse of the mine
was a sad blow to me. As the president, I might have had something
from the wreck, but I did not. I suffered with the rest. Now, may I
ask what I can do for you?"
"It was on account of your advice that I bought stock. Don't you think
you ought to make up to me a part of the loss?"
"Impossible!" said Browning, sharply. "Didn't I tell you I lost much
more heavily than you?"
"Then you can do nothing for me?"
"Yes; I can put you on the pension list of the Widows' and Orphans'
Society. That will entitle you to receive a dollar a week for three
months."
"I am not an object of charity, sir. I wish you good-night."
"Good-night. If you change your mind come to me."
"Very unreasonable, upon my word," soliloquized Thomas Browning.
At eleven o'clock Mr. Browning went to his bedchamber. He lit the gas
and was preparing to disrobe, when his sharp ear detected the sound of
suppressed breathing, and the point from which it proceeded. He walked
quickly to the bed, bent over, and looked underneath. In an instant he
had caught a man who had been concealed beneath it.
The intruder was a wretchedly dressed tramp. Browning allowed the man
to get upon his feet, and then, facing him, demanded, sternly: "Why
are you here? Did you come to rob me?"