CHAPTER XXVI.
A CRASH IN WALL STREET.
At the end of two weeks Tom was again up and dressed. His struggle withthe pneumonia had been a frightful one. It was turned in his favorlargely by the aid of the best medical skill, and the untiring caregiven him by his mother and his two faithful friends, Herbert and Bob.The latter took turns in watching with him at night, while Mrs. Flanneryslept, 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, andhis body was much emaciated. He was not the Tom Flannery of old, the Tomso full of boyish spirits and desire to push his paper trade. Thischange in their young companion caused Herbert and Bob keen anxiety.They had watched beside his bed through delirium and helplessness, whenthere seemed no hope of his recovery. How glad their young hearts werewhen he began to rally, and they could see him in imagination back withthem again in their old pleasures and pastimes! His failure, therefore,to throw off the racking cough and regain his strength was a soredisappointment to them, but this was not their only source ofapprehension.
How full these two weeks had been of bitter trouble--trouble that drewdeeply upon their sympathy; that destroyed splendid prospects and forcedone of them from a position of independence to one little better thanbeggary.
Disturbing elements had been gathering for days in Wall Street, which toa few wise old heads seemed ominous. They predicted danger, but theirwarnings were laughed at by the less cautious speculators, who operatedwith a reckless daring. At length, however, the storm struck almostwithout a moment's notice. Wild reports filled the air, and men, strong,bold men, crushed by the tremendous force of the panic, fell prostratehere and there, and everywhere. Terror spread to all, and painted itssickly hue upon their faces. When the storm had subsided the street wasfull of wrecks. Among them was the daring firm of Breakwell & Co., whohad failed for a million and a quarter of dollars.
Young Randolph was stunned at the exhibition he witnessed on that fatalday. House after house with whom his firm had done business, and whowere supposed to be almost beyond the possibility of failure, had closedtheir doors. Breakwell & Co. were among the last to go under. They hadbeen kept up by the splendid loyalty of Richard Goldwin, who put hisbank account at their command, relying upon their assurance that theywere all right, and would come out of the storm stronger than ever, ifthey could only receive temporary help. Mr. Goldwin, anxious to savethem, stood heroically by them, and went down with them--a victim ofnoble generosity, of misplaced confidence. Yes, he had failed--RichardGoldwin, the banker and broker, yesterday a millionaire, today perhaps apauper.
Herbert Randolph could not at first realize the awful fact, but the painhe saw in Mr. Goldwin's face appealed so strongly to his sympathy thatthe tears forced themselves from his eyes, try however bravely he wouldto restrain them. The doors were closed, and all business with the houseof Richard Goldwin was at an end.
Mr. Goldwin bore the misfortune like a hero. His face was white and firmas marble. Certain lines, however, told his distress, but never a wordof complaint at the miserable treachery of Breakwell & Co. escaped hislips.
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 willlike that of the ruined banker. The latter was accustomed, in his longcareer in Wall Street, to seeing others meet the disaster that had nowovertaken him; but his wife and daughter--ah, how little they wereprepared for such a shock.
The panic that ruined so many men added quite largely to the fortunesof young Bob Hunter. He had never before had such a trade. Papers soldbeyond all imagination, and at double their usual price. The result wasa profit of seven dollars and forty seven cents for his day's work. Hefelt richer than ever before in his life, and so happy that he couldhardly wait till the usual time for Herbert to join him, he wanted somuch to make known his grand success. But when young Randolph came tohim with the sad story of that day in Wall Street, his happiness gaveplace to a feeling of unusual sadness, and the sadness deepened onlearning 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 wasa world of expression in the way he said it. His face, too, looked thedisappointment and sorrow he felt, and Bob rightly divined that thesorrow was more for Mr. Goldwin and his family than for himself.
It is safe to presume that Herbert thought long and regretfully ofthe probability of Mr. Goldwin being reduced to a state of poverty--ofhis being turned out of his luxurious home--of Ray, his daughter,being obliged to work for her living--of her young, sweet life beingembittered by want and miserable surroundings, so out of keeping withher 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 ofrestoring her to her proper place we can only imagine, for on thismatter he said never a word, not even to Bob Hunter.
On the following morning, Bob Hunter handed Herbert a small roll ofbills.
"What is this for?" said the latter.
"It's for you," replied Bob. "There's only eight dollars in it, butyou'll perhaps need it, and then you'll feel better with it in yourpocket while looking for work."
"But I cannot accept your money, Bob," protested Herbert, with feelingsof 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 failuresin Wall Street--out of your firm's failure as much as any, probably, andthat meant your failure to keep your place; so in a way I kinder made itout 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 youare not logical. I have no claim on your money, neither has any one. Youmade it in legitimate trade, and should not feel that it does not belongto you."
"Well, I know I did; but I feel in a kind of way that it was made off ofthe misfortunes of others, you see."
YOUNG RANDOLPH AGAIN IN THE RANKS OF THE UNEMPLOYED.]
"But the misfortunes were not caused by you. They had occurred, andpeople wanted to know about them, and were willing and glad to pay fortheir information. This gave you an opportunity to make some money, andyou made it."
"Well, of course you will beat me at arguing, Herbert, for you alwaysdo; but all the same I wish you would take the money, for I think youwill need it."
"If I do need any money, when mine is gone, I will then borrow this ofyou, but until then you must keep it."
After this discussion, and after a very frugal breakfast, Herbert oncemore joined the ranks of the vast army who go from place to place,hungry and thinly clothed many times, in search of employment--anythingto keep the wolf from the door.
Boy Broker; Or, Among the Kings of Wall Street Page 29