"Well, sir?"
Arthur would almost have as soon undergone the terrors of the Inquisition as to brave the tempest he expected soon to fall upon his devoted head. He called up all his courage, however, and began.
"This afternoon, sir, I took some money from Mr. Wilkins to deposit in the bank."
"Well? come, be quick."
"I put it, as I thought, safely in this pocket; I went from here straight to the bank. I don't know how it happened, I'm sure I can't imagine," said Arthur, growing confused, with those stern, strong eyes staring straight into his, "but when I got to the bank I found, sir, I had lost it."
"The devil you did!"
"I am sorry to say it, it is true."
"And what were you doing, on your way to the bank, that you hadn't an eye on that money, I'd like to know?"
"The money I supposed was safe, sir, and I walked straight along without thinking about it, till I reached the bank."
"A likely story that! Who did you talk to, or see, on your way? any of your companions?"
"I saw only one person, sir, whom I knew at all; one whom I have not seen before for several weeks."
"And that very one, I dare say, picked your pocket. What was his name? who was he?"
"He is a gentleman, sir, who would not do such a thing, I'm sure, any sooner than you would. He is a friend of mine."
"What is his name, I say?"
"Clinton, sir. No one that you know, probably."
The merchant leaned forward, and peered keenly into Arthur's face, as if to see if there was aught of hidden meaning in his words; and his features grew ashy pale while he asked, in a hoarse whisper:-
"Clinton? Clinton what?"
"Mr. Clinton is the only name I know him by. I haven't heard his given name," returned Arthur, surprised at the merchant's agitation.
Mr. Delancey said nothing for a moment; but sat leaning forward, with his pale face dropped in thought upon his breast.
"Did he talk with you long?" he asked, at last.
"No, sir. He walked with me one block."
"You had the money when he left you?"
"I did not touch it from here to the bank, sir; and knew nothing of it from the time I left this door, till I reached the bank counter."
"Hem! yes, yes, a very likely story. It couldn't have got out of your pocket without hands, young man; and if your friend wouldn't do such a thing, and your pocket was safe, I don't think but what you know something about it."
"Me, sir? Mr. Delancey, you don't mean to say-"
"Tut, tut, I know about you young chaps; I might have known I would have just such trouble when I took you, I suppose you think I don't know that Henriquez's billiard table is between here and the bank, eh?"
"If you do, you know more than I do, sir."
"Dare you tell me that? Here, haven't you been gone a good two hours?-and all that time going to the bank, eh?"
"I tell you the truth, Mr. Delancey; and I am sure you are aware of it."
"Well, there's no use talking now; you will not convince me if you talk till doomsday. That money you've got to replace out of your salary."
"Why, sir, it was three hundred dollars."
"There! there! how do you know how much it was, if you didn't look at it, I'd like to know."
"I heard Wilkins say this morning he had such a deposit to make. Ask him, sir, if he didn't."
"I've heard enough about it. You must make it up, that's all; and you'll be more careful henceforth."
"And, sir, you will retract what you insinuated had become of it? I'll willingly make it up to you, if it takes every cent I earn; but I'll not have a blight upon my reputation, even in your opinion, sir."
His words fell upon empty air; for Mr. Delancey had already left the high desk, and was striking his cane heavily down with each step, as he stalked down through the store. Arthur sank upon a chair, and buried his face in his hands.
"A hard fate," he murmured, bitterly. "First to suffer the loss, and then to be accused, or at least suspected, of appropriating it. Heavens! it is too much; I will not and cannot stand it."
"Be calm, Arthur," said Wilkins, in his full deep tones; "look up, and tell us what has happened."
Arthur raised his head, and told his story unhesitatingly.
"This is a bad business, my young friend. I am extremely sorry; but the only way for you is not to mind it. This is Mr. Delancey's way. Intercourse with the world has rendered him suspicious, and you'll never convince him that you don't know something about the money. No one else that knows you will ever think so, though; and you will stand just as high as ever. Yours isn't the first case of this kind."
"It is too outrageous, Wilkins, and I won't bear it. Do you think I'll tamely submit to be called, or thought, a thief?"
"What can you do? It is useless to talk or feel thus; say nothing, go steadily on, and Delancey himself will forget, after awhile, his suspicions. As to replacing it, I feel that you have been unfortunate through my means, and I will assist you in that."
"I don't wish you to, thank you, Wilkins. I don't care so much for my money as I do for my good name. To be robbed of it in this manner, is more than I can possibly endure."
"Let me beg of you to think no more about it. Follow my advice, and all will yet be well."
Arthur sat moodily down, and gave himself up to thought. He fancied there was no possible way to extricate himself from the difficulty, and that it would be useless to argue with such a man as his employer. With flushed cheek and thoughtful air he rose and took his place behind the counter.
Wilkins watched him anxiously, and then, as though Guly were the elder, instead of the younger brother, he sought him for a consultation. He was busy with a customer, and Wilkins noticed that he was displaying some of Blanche's new work, and wondered whether it was that, or interest in his brother's behalf, which brought such a bright glow to his cheek.
"It is very beautiful," said the lady who was buying, examining one of the collars closely, "Very beautiful; is that your lowest, Master Pratt?"
"The very lowest, Madame. I have been gratified in being able to show these articles to you first. They are quite new, and I know how well you like the first choice."
"No one else, then, has bought from these before?"
"No, Madame."
"It is high, but I'll take it."
"Yes, Madame."
As the lady left the store, Guly turned to Wilkins, with a bright smile:
"You see I have kept my promise to Blanche, and have sold her work to a 'choice customer.'"
"I see," said Wilkins. "A word with you, Guly."
Guly stepped toward him.
"Arthur has-"
"Poor Arthur! true enough! how could I forget him; what was the matter, Wilkins? I have been so busy, you know."
"He has got into sad trouble; I feel very sorry for him; but I can't help him an iota, that I see; it's too bad, I declare."
Wilkins then gave Guly the details, as far as he knew them, of Arthur's misfortune.
"Well, Mr. Wilkins, this is outrageous!" exclaimed Guly, with a vehemence unusual to him. "It would require the virtue and forbearance of a saint to bear up under such things. It isn't the money so much, though I'm very sorry he lost it, but it is his good name; to have that sullied, even in thought! It is enough to drive any one to desperation."
"Don't tell Arthur so, for the world," said Wilkins, very earnestly.
"No, no, I'll not-can I go to him?"
"Of course."
"Dear Arthur," said Guly, beckoning his brother a little one side, "I know all. You know how I sympathize with you, my brother; but cheer up, we can live through it all; and you will be, in the end, thoroughly acquitted of what Mr. Delancey suspects you of, even in his own heart. The only way to convince him of his error, is to show him by your future course how much such an act would be beneath you."
"Oh, there's no use, Guly; I never could convince such a flint-hearted man in the world, of my innocence, if h
e chose to think me guilty. I was horrified at first, but I've thought of it, and thought of it, till I don't care much. It's my fate, I suppose."
"Don't give up in this way, Arthur; think of your own proud self, of how much depends upon you, of our dear mother, and all that. Don't allow yourself to be crushed."
"Guly, just think of it-a thief!"
"Only so in the opinion of one who will not reflect upon it long enough to see its utter impossibility."
"And all this year's labor lost, Guly; and nothing to send home now to mother."
"We'll try what we can do with my salary, Arthur."
"Pooh! the whole of it just covers the amount lost; and how are you going to live?"
"Don't give it up so, don't! There is One who will never desert those who trust Him. Remember that, Arthur, and look up."
"It is my fate to be forced to look down. It is useless for me to try to struggle against it. I can't be otherwise."
"You are too desponding, Arthur; many a man, now rich and happy, if he could tell his experience in getting so, would no doubt relate a harder life than yours can ever be. This should only serve to make you stronger."
"If Mr. Delancey was only a different-tempered man, perhaps I could do better. If he had sympathized with me, and assured me kindly of his belief that it was all an accident, oh, I would have felt so differently, so happy in comparison! There is no pleasure in serving such a man; it is only rigid duty, rigidly performed, for one you cannot but hate. He is never so happy as when mixing gall with the honey of one's happiness. I am miserable, Guly, miserable! and I can't rouse myself. I wish I was as meek and forbearing as you are, I could be happier; my pride, my strong unbending pride, has been, and ever will be, my curse."
Arthur's tones seemed to struggle up so heavily in his sorrow, from his heart's depths, that Guly felt strongly inclined to tell him there were very few, however meek and charitable, who would submit to an insult of this kind quietly; but he remembered his promise to Wilkins, and refrained.
"If I could reason with Mr. Delancey, if he would talk with me as it is his duty to talk with me, I am sure he would think differently upon the matter; but for me to stay here for the ensuing year, as I now am forced to do, whether or no; and for me to feel that every time those cold eyes are turned upon me, they believe themselves to be looking on a thief! Oh, my God! Guly, it is too much!"
Arthur was intensely excited, and the veins in his forehead stood out like cords, so swollen were they, and his face was deeply flushed.
Guly's heart ached for him, and he was trying to think of something which he could say to comfort him, when he was called away by a customer, and, with a kindly pressure upon his brother's hand, he left his side.
Arthur also stepped back to his place; but every attitude he assumed, every changing expression of his handsome face, told the restless misery of that young heart, and the crushing weight upon that lofty spirit.
Guly waited anxiously for night to come, that he might talk to, and try to encourage, Arthur. When the lamps were lighted, and the customers had gradually thinned out, he was about to cross over and speak to him. To his surprise he saw that his place was vacant, and he was nowhere to be seen. A sharp pang went through the boy's heart, succeeded by a sickening faintness; and he leaned against the counter for support, filled with undefined fears of sorrow, and danger, and unhappiness.
With a blush at his apparently causeless emotion, he stepped to the clerk who always stood next to Arthur, and inquired if he knew where he had gone.
"No," the young man said; "he went out about half an hour ago, and Mr. Quirk was with him."
"Quirk!" ejaculated Guly, involuntarily, while the pang went through his breast again; and seizing his cap, he started forth, in the hope of discovering Arthur's where-abouts.
CHAPTER XVI.
"Press me not, I beseech you, so;
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,
So soon as yours could win me; so it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful I denied it."
Winter's Tale.
Through the damp streets, where shone mistily through the heavy fog the lamps on the corners, Guly, with anxious heart and hurried step, wandered alone. He sought every place of which he believed his brother to have any knowledge, and left no spot unvisited where they had ever been together. All in vain. None of whom he inquired had seen Arthur, and of many he could not bring himself to inquire, blushing at the thought of his brother being known to them. Still, as he turned to retrace his steps, he found himself involuntarily looking into the richly furnished saloons, where the show of luxury, and display of wealth, lead so many, through their very love of gorgeousness, to drink, to distress, to death! Each time, as his eyes turned thitherward, a sigh of relief rose from his heart to find that Arthur was not an inmate there. Thus seeking, thus hoping, he found himself again before the door of No. -, Chartres-street. Having no pass-key, he rapped for admittance, for the store was closed, and all around it dark. Wilkins' voice bade him enter. Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and going in, saw Wilkins sitting by the coal fire-which the chill air of November now rendered necessary-alone, and apparently in deep thought. With as cheerful an air as he could assume, he approached him, and laying a hand upon each shoulder, as he stood behind his chair, bent forward, and looked up in the thoughtful eyes gazing on the fire.
"What can be the subject of your meditations, Mr. Wilkins? your face looks sad enough to be the index of a sorrowful heart?"
Mr. Wilkins made no reply, but lifting his arm, drew the golden head upon his bosom, and held it there, stroking back with listless fingers the soft bright curls.
"Has anything unpleasant happened since I went out, Wilkins?"
"No, Guly; nothing has happened. I was alone here-the fire was bright, the arm-chair empty, so I sat down, and fell to thinking, that's all. Have you been to see Blanche?"
"Blanche! I don't suppose I could have found her, had I thought of trying."
"True enough. We are going there together. What of your brother, Guly?"
Guly told him of his ineffectual search; the fact of his not having seen him in any of the saloons, and the hope he entertained of seeing him walk in, by and by, feeling happier for his walk, and seating himself there by the fire.
Wilkins shook his head, doubtingly.
"Your brother's spirit is one which needs to be peculiarly dealt with, until he grows a little older, and less impetuous. I'm sorry to say it, but he has more pride than principle just at this age; and he ought to have the blessing of a home and a mother's love, till the principle could be made to predominate. Get a chair, Guly, and sit close by me, here."
Guly brought the chair, and placed it close to his companion, and seated himself. Wilkins drew his head again upon his bosom.
"It is about him," continued Wilkins, "that I have been thinking this evening. I really take a deep interest in his welfare, and wish I knew how to guide him. For his sake I wish my own heart was more disciplined, that I was not so utterly incapable."
"Don't let such thoughts as these prevent you from using your influence with my poor brother, Wilkins. I am too young, too weak, too inexperienced, to control him. He would naturally scorn the advice of one so much younger; but you, oh! don't let too lowly an opinion of yourself deprive Arthur of the counsel and guidance he so much needs."
"Ah! Guly, you don't know me. I might tell him how he should do; but my example, if he should ever chance to see it, would disgust him with my advice. Had it been different when I first came here, I might now be a better man. I was an orphan, came here from the North, had no soul in this vast city to love or care for me, and for five years I have lived here loveless and lonely, save when with those companions which a friendless being is almost sure to fall in with here; and I can turn to no one, feeling that they care for me."
"Wilkins, I love you; indeed, I love you as a brother."
"I believe you, Guly; though we are so different; though my cherishing you is like the lion mating with the lamb, still I believe in my heart the honest love I feel for you, God has blest me by causing you to reciprocate. I have been a better man since I first held you here on my heart. A better man, Heaven knows!"
"Wilkins, in all the five years you have been here, do you mean to say Mr. Delancey has never asked you to his house, or noticed you any more than he does now?"
"I have never been asked to enter his door, Guly, any more than you have. He would as soon, I suppose, turn a herd of swine into his drawing-room, as to ask his clerks there. He is very proud."
"That isn't pride, Wilkins; it is meanness. A truly proud man would adopt the contrary course, I am sure; and so attach all his employees to himself, and to his interests."
"Ah! he never thinks of that. His negroes get better treatment than his clerks, by far; and there isn't a soul among them but what loves him dearly, and would die for him, I don't doubt, at any moment. So you see he can be kind, strange as it may seem."
"It is strange, Wilkins. Mr. Delancey is a man I cannot understand or appreciate. I don't think I like him at all."
"He certainly has done nothing to make you, my poor boy. His pride, for it is pride, renders him very disagreeable. If all the sin, which his harshness and indifference has caused in others, were laid up against him, 'twould make a mighty pile. There's a day of retribution coming for him, though."
As Wilkins spoke he bent forward, and rested his head on his hand, with a peculiar smile upon his lips.
"A day of retribution! What do you mean, Wilkins? Is there any trouble brooding for him?"
"All pride must have a fall," muttered Wilkins, as if to himself, while he gave the coals a vehement thrust. "Don't ask me anything more about it, Guly."
"But you have roused my curiosity," said Guly, looking up in surprise. "If it isn't a secret, I would like to know more of what you mean."
The Brother Clerks; A Tale of New-Orleans. Page 10