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CHAPTER II.
WHAT I am going to tell you, gentlemen, happened when I was a
very young man, and when I was just setting up in business on my
own account.
My father had been well acquainted for many years with Mr.
Fauntleroy, of the famous London banking firm of Marsh, Stracey,
Fauntleroy & Graham. Thinking it might be of some future service
to me to make my position known to a great man in the commercial
world, my father mentioned to his highly-respected friend that I
was about to start in business for myself in a very small way,
and with very little money. Mr. Fauntleroy received the
intimation with a kind appearance of interest, and said that he
would have his eye on me. I expected from this that he would wait
to see if I could keep on my legs at starting, and that, if he
found I succeeded pretty well, he would then help me forward if
it lay in his power. As events turned out, he proved to be a far
better friend than that, and he soon showed me that I had very
much underrated the hearty and generous interest which he had
felt in my welfare from the first.
While I was still fighting with the difficulties of setting up my
office, and recommending myself to my connection, and so forth, I
got a message from Mr. Fauntleroy telling me to call on him, at
the banking-house, the first time I was passing that way. As you
may easily imagine, I contrived to be passing that way on a
particularly early occasion, and, on presenting myself at the
bank, I was shown at once into Mr. Fauntleroy's private room.
He was as pleasant a man to speak to as ever I met with--bright,
and gay, and companionable in his manner--with a sort of easy,
hearty, jovial bluntness about him that attracted everybody. The
clerks all liked him--and that is something to say of a partner
in a banking-house, I can tell you!
"Well, young Trowbridge," says he, giving his papers on the table
a brisk push away from him, "so you are going to set up in
business for yourself, are you? I have a great regard for your
father, and a great wish to see you succeed. Have you started
yet? No? Just on the point of beginning, eh? Very good. You will
have your difficulties, my friend, and I mean to smooth one of
them away for you at the outset. A word of advice for your
private ear--Bank with us."
"You are very kind, sir," I answered, "and I should ask nothing
better than to profit by your suggestion, if I could. But my
expenses are heavy at starting, and when they are all paid I am
afraid I shall have very little left to put by for the first
year. I doubt if I shall be able to muster much more than three
hundred pounds of surplus cash in the world after paying what I
must pay before I set up my office, and I should be ashamed to
trouble your house, sir, to open an account for such a trifle as
that."
"Stuff and nonsense!" says Mr. Fauntleroy. "Are you a banker?
What business have you to offer an opinion on the matter? Do as I
tell you--leave it to me--bank with us--and draw for what you
like. Stop! I haven't done yet. When you open the account, speak
to the head cashier. Perhaps you may find he has got something to
tell you. There! there! go away--don't interrupt me--good-by--God
bless you!"
That was his way--ah! poor fellow, that was his way.
I went to the head cashier the next morning when I opened my
little modicum of an account. He had received orders to pay my
drafts without reference to my balance. My checks, when I had
overdrawn, were to be privately shown to Mr. Fauntleroy. Do many
young men who start in business find their prosperous superiors
ready to help them in that way?
Well, I got on--got on very fairly and steadily, being careful
not to venture out of my depth, and not to forget that small
beginnings may lead in time to great ends. A prospect of one of
those great ends--great, I mean, to such a small trader as I was
at that period--showed itself to me when I had been some little
time in business. In plain terms, I had a chance of joining in a
first-rate transaction, which would give me profit, and position,
and everything I wanted, provided I could qualify myself for
engaging in it by getting good security beforehand for a very
large amount.
In this emergency, I thought of my kind friend, Mr. Fauntleroy,
and went to the bank, and saw him once more in his private room.
There he was at the same table, with the same heaps of papers
about him, and the same hearty, easy way of speaking his mind to
you at once, in the fewest possible words. I explained the
business I came upon with some little hesitation and nervousness,
for I was afraid he might think I was taking an unfair advantage
of his former kindness to me. When I had done, he just nodded his
head, snatched up a blank sheet of paper, scribbled a few lines
on it in his rapid way, handed the writing to me, and pushed me
out of the room by the two shoulders before I could say a single
word. I looked at the paper in the outer office. It was my
security from the great banking-house for the whole amount, and
for more, if more was wanted.
I could not express my gratitude then, and I don't know that I
can describe it now. I can only say that it has outlived the
crime, the disgrace, and the awful death on the scaffold. I am
grieved to speak of that death at all; but I have no other
alternative. The course of my story must now lead me straight on
to the later time, and to the terrible discovery which exposed my
benefactor and my friend to all England as the forger Fauntleroy.
I must ask you to suppose a lapse of some time after the
occurrence of the events that I have just been relating. During
this interval, thanks to the kind assistance I had received at
the outset, my position as a man of business had greatly
improved. Imagine me now, if you please, on the high road to
prosperity, with good large offices and a respectable staff of
clerks, and picture me to yourselves sitting alone in my private
room between four and five o'clock on a certain Saturday
afternoon.
All my letters had been written, all the people who had
appointments with me had been received. I was looking carelessly
over the newspaper, and thinking about going home, when one of my
clerks came in, and said that a stranger wished to see me
immediately on very important business.
"Did he mention his name?" I inquired.
"No, sir."
"Did you not ask him for it?"
"Yes, sir. And he said you would be none the wiser if he told me
what it was."
"Does he look like a begging-letter writer?"
"He looks a little shabby, sir, but he doesn't talk at all like a
begging-letter writer. He spoke sharp and decided, sir, and said
it was in your interests that he came, and that you would deeply regret
it afterward if you refused to see him."
"He said that, did he? Show him in at once, then."
He was shown in immediately: a middling-sized man, with a sharp,
unwholesome-looking face, and with a flippant, reckless manner,
dressed in a style of shabby smartness, eying me with a bold
look, and not so overburdened with politeness as to trouble
himself about taking off his hat when he came in. I had never
seen him before in my life, and I could not form the slightest
conjecture from his appearance to guide me toward guessing his
position in the world. He was not a gentleman, evidently; but as
to fixing his whereabouts in the infinite downward gradations of
vagabond existence in London, that was a mystery which I was
totally incompetent to solve.
"Is your name Trowbridge?" he began.
"Yes," I answered, dryly enough.
"Do you bank with Marsh, Stracey, Fauntleroy & Graham?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Answer my question, and you will know."
"Very well, I do bank with Marsh, Stracey, Fauntleroy &
Graham--and what then?"
"Draw out every farthing of balance you have got before the bank
closes at five to-day."
I stared at him in speechless amazement. The words, for an
instant, absolutely petrified me.
"Stare as much as you like," he proceeded, coolly, "I mean what I
say. Look at your clock there. In twenty minutes it will strike
five, and the bank will be shut. Draw out every farthing, I tell
you again, and look sharp about it."
"Draw out my money!" I exclaimed, partially recovering myself.
"Are you in your right senses? Do you know that the firm I bank
with represents one of the first houses in the world? What do you
mean--you, who are a total stranger to me--by taking this
extraordinary interest in my affairs? If you want me to act on
your advice, why don't you explain yourself?"
"I have explained myself. Act on my advice or not, just as you
like. It doesn't matter to me. I have done what I promised, and
there's an end of it."
He turned to the door. The minute-hand of the clock was getting
on from the twenty minutes to the quarter.
"Done what you promised?" I repeated, getting up to stop him.
"Yes," he said, with his hand on the lock. "I have given my
message. Whatever happens, remember that. Good-afternoon."
He was gone before I could speak again.
I tried to call after him, but my speech suddenly failed me. It
was very foolish, it was very unaccountable, but there was
something in the man's last words which had more than half
frightened me.
I looked at the clock. The minute-hand was on the quarter.
My office was just far enough from the bank to make it necessary
for me to decide on the instant. If I had had time to think, I am
perfectly certain that I should not have profited by the
extraordinary warning that had just been addressed to me. The
suspicious appearance and manners of the stranger; the outrageous
improbability of the inference against the credit of the bank
toward which his words pointed; the chance that some underhand
attempt was being made, by some enemy of mine, to frighten me
into embroiling myself with one of my best friends, through
showing an ignorant distrust of the firm with which he was
associated as partner--all these considerations would
unquestionably have occurred to me if I could have found time for
reflection; and, as a necessary consequence, not one farthing of
my balance would have been taken from the keeping of the bank on
that memorable day.
As it was, I had just time enough to act, and not a spare moment
for thinking. Some heavy payments made at the beginning of the
week had so far decreased my balance that the sum to my credit in
the banking-book barely reached fifteen hundred pounds. I
snatched up my check-book, wrote a draft for the whole amount,
and ordered one of my clerks to run to the bank and get it cashed
before the doors closed. What impulse urged me on, except the
blind impulse of hurry and bewilderment, I can't say. I acted
mechanically, under the influence of the vague inexplicable fear
which the man's extraordinary parting words had aroused in me,
without stopping to analyze my own sensations--almost without
knowing what I was about. In three minutes from the time when the
stranger had closed my door the clerk had started for the bank,
and I was alone again in my room, with my hands as cold as ice
and my head all in a whirl.
I did not recover my control over myself until the clerk came
back with the notes in his hand. He had just got to the bank in
the nick of time. As the cash for my draft was handed to him over
the counter, the clock struck five, and he heard the order given
to close the doors.
When I had counted the bank-notes and had locked them up in the
safe, my better sense seemed to come back to me on a sudden.
Never have I reproached myself before or since as I reproached
myself at that moment. What sort of return had I made for Mr.
Fauntleroy's fatherly kindness to me? I had insulted him by the
meanest, the grossest distrust of the honor and the credit of his
house, and that on the word of an absolute stranger, of a
vagabond, if ever there was one yet. It was madness--downright
madness in any man to have acted as I had done. I could not
account for my own inconceivably thoughtless proceeding. I could
hardly believe in it myself. I opened the safe and looked at the
bank-notes again. I locked it once more, and flung the key down
on the table in a fury of vexation against myself. There the
money was, upbraiding me with my own inconceivable folly, telling
me in the plainest terms that I had risked depriving myself of my
best and kindest friend henceforth and forever.
It was necessary to do something at once toward making all the
atonement that lay in my power. I felt that, as soon as I began
to cool down a little. There was but one plain, straight-forward
way left now out of the scrape in which I had been mad enough to
involve myself. I took my hat, and, without stopping an instant
to hesitate, hurried off to the bank to make a clean breast of it
to Mr. Fauntleroy.
When I knocked at the private door and asked for him, I was told
that he had not been at the bank for the last two days. One of
the other partners was there, however, and was working at that
moment in his own room.
I sent in my name at once, and asked to see him. He and I were
little better than strangers to each other, and the interview was
likely to be, on that account, unspeakably embarrassing and
humiliating on my side. Still, I could not go home. I could not
endure the inaction of the next day, the Sunday, without having
done my best on the spot to repair the error into which my own
folly had led me. Uncomfortable as I felt at the prospect of the
approaching interview, I should have been far more uneasy in my
mind if the partner had declined to see me.
To my relief, the bank porter returned with a message requesting
me to walk in.
What particular form my explanations and apologies took when I
tried to offer them is more than I can tell now. I was so
confused and distressed that I hardly knew what I was talking
about at the time. The one circumstance which I remember clearly
is that I was ashamed to refer to my interview with the strange
man, and that I tried to account for my sudden withdrawal of my
balance by referring it to some inexplicable panic, caused by
mischievous reports which I was unable to trace to their source,
and which, for anything I knew to the contrary, might, after all,
have been only started in jest. Greatly to my surprise, the
partner did not seem to notice the lamentable lameness of my
excuses, and did not additionally confuse me by asking any
questions. A weary, absent look, which I had observed on his face
when I came in, remained on it while I was speaking. It seemed to
be an effort to him even to keep up the appearance of listening
to me; and when, at last, I fairly broke down in the middle of a
sentence, and gave up the hope of getting any further, all the
answer he gave me was comprised in these few civil commonplace
words:
"Never mind, Mr. Trowbridge; pray don't think of apologizing. We
are all liable to make mista kes. Say nothing more about it, and
bring the money back on Monday if you still honor us with your
confidence."
He looked down at his papers as if he was anxious to be alone
again, and I had no alternative, of course, but to take my leave
immediately. I went home, feeling a little easier in my mind now
that I had paved the way for making the best practical atonement
in my power by bringing my balance back the first thing on Monday
morning. Still, I passed a weary day on Sunday, reflecting, sadly
enough, that I had not yet made my peace with Mr. Fauntleroy. My
anxiety to set myself right with my generous friend was so
intense that I risked intruding myself on his privacy by calling
at his town residence on the Sunday. He was not there, and his
servant could tell me nothing of his whereabouts. There was no
help for it now but to wait till his weekday duties brought him
back to the bank.
I went to business on Monday morning half an hour earlier than
usual, so great was my impatience to restore the amount of that
unlucky draft to my account as soon as possible after the bank
opened.
On entering my office, I stopped with a startled feeling just
inside the door. Something serious had happened. The clerks,
instead of being at their desks as usual, were all huddled
together in a group, talking to each other with blank faces. When
they saw me, they fell back behind my managing man, who stepped
forward with a circular in his hand.
"Have you heard the news, sir?" he said.
"No. What is it?"
He handed me the circular. My heart gave one violent throb the
instant I looked at it. I felt myself turn pale; I felt my knees
trembling under me.
Marsh, Stracey, Fauntleroy & Graham had stopped payment.
"The circular has not been issued more than half an hour,"
continued my managing clerk. "I have just come from the bank,
sir. The doors are shut; there is no doubt about it. Marsh &
Company have stopped this morning."
I hardly heard him; I hardly knew who was talking to me. My
strange visitor of the Saturday had taken instant possession of
all my thoughts, and his words of warning seemed to be sounding
once more in my ears. This man had known the true condition of
the bank when not another soul outside the doors was aware of it!
The last draft paid across the counter of that ruined house, when
the doors closed on Saturday, was the draft that I had so
bitterly reproached myself for drawing; the one balance saved
from the wreck was my balance. Where had the stranger got the
information that had saved me? and why had he brought it to my
ears?
I was still groping, like a man in the dark, for an answer to
those two questions--I was still bewildered by the unfathomable
mystery of doubt into which they had plunged me--when the
discovery of the stopping of the bank was followed almost
immediately by a second shock, far more dreadful, far heavier to
bear, so far as I was concerned, than the first.
While I and my clerks were still discussing the failure of the
firm, two mercantile men, who were friends of mine, ran into the
office, and overwhelmed us with the news that one of the partners
had been arrested for forgery. Never shall I forget the terrible
Monday morning when those tidings reached me, and when I knew
that the partner was Mr. Fauntleroy.
I was true to him--I can honestly say I was true to my belief in
my generous friend--when that fearful news reached me. My
fellow-merchants had got all the particulars of the arrest. They
told me that two of Mr. Fauntleroy's fellow-trustees had come up
to London to make arrangements about selling out some stock. On
inquiring for Mr. Fauntleroy at the banking-house, they had been
informed that he was not there; and, after leaving a message for
him, they had gone into the City to make an appointment with
their stockbroker for a future day, when their fellow-trustee
might be able to attend. The stock-broker volunteered to make
certain business inquiries on the spot, with a view to saving as
much time as possible, and left them at his office to await his
return. He came back, looking very much amazed, with the
information that the stock had been sold out down to the last
five hundred pounds. The affair was instantly investigated; the
document authorizing the selling out was produced; and the two
trustees saw on it, side by side with Mr. Fauntleroy's signature,
the forged signatures of their own names. This happened on the
Friday, and the trustees, without losing a moment, sent the
officers of justice in pursuit of Mr. Fauntleroy. He was
arrested, brought up before the magistrate, and remanded on the
Saturday. On the Monday I heard from my friends the particulars
which I have just narrated.
But the events of that one morning were not destined to end even
yet. I had discovered the failure of the bank and the arrest of
Mr. Fauntleroy. I was next to be enlightened, in the strangest
and the saddest manner, on the difficult question of his
innocence or his guilt.
Before my friends had left my office--before I had exhausted the
arguments which my gratitude rather than my reason suggested to
me in favor of the unhappy prisoner--a note, marked immediate,
was placed in my hands, which silenced me the instant I looked at
it. It was written from the prison by Mr. Fauntleroy, and it
contained two lines only, entreating me to apply for the
necessary order, and to go and see him immediately.
I shall not attempt to describe the flutter of expectation, the
strange mixture of dread and hope that agitated me when I
recognized his handwriting, and discovered what it was that he
desired me to do. I obtained the order and went to the prison.
The authorities, knowing the dreadful situation in which he
stood, were afraid of his attempting to destroy himself, and had
set two men to watch him. One came out as they opened his cell
door. The other, who was bound not to leave him, very delicately
and considerately affected to be looking out of window the moment
I was shown in.
He was sitting on the side of his bed, with his head drooping and
his hands hanging listlessly over his knees when I first caught
sight of him. At the sound of my approach he started to his feet,
and, without speaking a word, flung both his arms round my neck
My heart swelled up.
"Tell me it's not true, sir! For God's sake, tell me it's not
true!" was all I could say to him.
He never answered--oh me! he never answered, and he turned away
his face.
There was one dreadful moment of silence. He still held his arms
round my neck, and on a sudden he put his lips close to my ear.
"Did you get your money out?" he whispered. "Were you in time on
Saturday afternoon?"
I broke free from him in the astonishment of hearing those words.
"What!" I cried out loud, forgetting the third person at the
window. "That man who brought the message--"
"Hush!" he said, putting his hand on my lips. "There was no
better man to be found, after the officers had taken me--I know
no more about him than you do--I paid him well as a chance
messenger, and risked his cheating me of his errand."
"_You_ sent him, then!"
"I sent him."
My story is over, gentlemen. There is no need for me to tell you
that Mr. Fauntleroy was found guilty, and that he died by the
hangman's hand. It was in my power to soothe his last moments in
this world by taking on myself the arrangement of some of his
private affairs, which, while they remained unsettled, weighed
heavily on his mind. They had no connection with the crimes he
had committed, so I could do him the last little service he was
ever to accept at my hands with a clear conscience.
I say nothing in defense of his character--nothing in palliation
of the offense for which he suffered. But I cannot forget that in
the time of his most fearful extremity, when the strong arm of
the law had already seized him, he thought of the young man whose
humble fortunes he had helped to build; whose heartfelt gratitude
he had fairly won; whose simple faith he was resolved never to
betray. I leave it to greater intellects than mine to reconcile
the anomaly of his reckless falsehood toward others and his
steadfast truth toward me. It is as certain as that we sit here
that one of Fauntleroy's last efforts in this world was the
effort he made to preserve me from being a loser by the trust
that I had placed in him. There is the secret of my strange
tenderness for the memory of a felon; that is why the word
villain does somehow still grate on my heart when I hear it
associated with the name--the disgraced name, I grant you--of the
forger Fauntleroy. Pass the bottles, young gentlemen, and pardon
a man of the old school for having so long interrupted your
conversation with a story of the old time.
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